The Den Hague Slagroom

Guess who’s back? Why me of course.

As I write to you from Den Hague, after spending a really tough week adjusting to my new temporary job and life combined with no wifi access in my new “apartment” – I am just so relieved to be back on line (Managed to blag one of those internet USB sticks from the new job.) 

So much to say  – but let’s start with my “Apartment,” shall we.

Now, during this past week, I have realised that I have become a bit of a pampered pooch.  Back in London, I live in a huge converted church filled with junk shop found antiques, I have my own dressing room/boudoir, two bathrooms and central heating–  so when I got the keys to the place they kept calling my “apartment” my heart kind of sank.

For starters, the “bathroom” is the size of the cupboard under the stairs back in London. Take a look at these pictures. I have used one of my rollers so you can compare the size. This also is where the toilet is located. Nice.

Then there was the cold my dear chums ---oh, how I lamented my days as I sat shivering in this cold studio with what looked like a pathetic glorified hairdryer-type heater to warm my cockles and dry my creme de la merde skin, which I moved around the room with me like some kind of umbilical cord. 

By the way, that Creme de La Mer post was one I had prepared back in London - my last taste of glamour.

It has been snowing like mad here – sub-zero temperatures. I managed to convince the landlady to provide  me with another plug-in heater on day 2 - would have taken her to the Hague Human Rights Tribunal had she not agreed, and had her tried for crimes against glamour.

Then there was the towels they provided me with in what I assumed was a fully-serviced apartment. Please see picture – again, I have used a roller to convey size issues.

Now, back home I kind of re-defined vanity and have about 10 huge mirrors. Here I have none – apart from the small one in the en-suite toilet. So every morning I have been stepping out of the door to work, only knowing what I look like from the neck up!

Oh - did I mention that there was nowhere to hang my clothes I spent hours ironing, folding, dry-cleaning before getting here? There were no fucking hangers – I mean what the fuck! I AM STILL IN EUROPE RIGHT? 

WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT 

I had to dig deep deep within my dreadlocked techno-crusty girl roots to  find my "I can adapt to anything" chromosome and become super pragmatic with everything. It was like John Major’s Back to Basics campaign all over again.

It was tough, and that was even before I actually started work at the office - which is full of Dutch people by the way.

Of course, I did not want to complain to the employer about the “apartment” they provided me with –as I  did not want to come off as the diva that I am on day one. I mean, this is the land of the Quakers after all and I have to blend in.

I am not working for the private sector  or the UN you see...... Oh, I wish I could just tell you what I am doing, its so exciting.

Anyway, this really made me laugh --- a yoghurt called SLAGROOM, which greeted me in the fridge. Perfect for a frenemy don't you think?

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