Titbits and pictures from the confines of our world

One of the ironies of this global crisis is that our world has suddenly become much smaller. No longer are we travelling to work, or even to go for a walk. Something we often did before was get in the car and drive across the border to a place we could take a walk, but Belgium is out of bounds to us now. Instead, what is happening is that we're rediscovering the very local world around us because that's all we have access to.

In the Netherlands, we aren't as locked down as many of the other European countries. I'm not going to get into the rightness or wrongness of this. There's already more than enough discussion about it and I'm in no position to know. I wonder if anyone is, really, given that it's a situation none of us has ever encountered before. In fact, I've cut down on a lot of the news I read because I just find it too distressing – so many lost, so many under extreme pressure; still, the point remains that we in the Netherlands can still go out and about as long as we keep our distance from others – 1,5 metres to be precise.

Just as a by the way, I was talking to a Chinese student of mine the other day who comes from Wuhan...yes...that place, and he told me they're lifting the lockdown there. When I asked him what he thought of it, he said: "I don't criticise anyone; I just protect myself. That's all we can do. Protect ourselves." What a wise young man. So that's what we're doing here too 'in our own little way' (thank you for that legendary phrase, Gary and Jill), and in our own little corner of the Netherlands.

But anyway, back to our diminishing world, we're very lucky here to have so many gorgeous walks close by and we're really appreciating how beautiful they are. The blossom is making a special effort for us this year, as are the birds whose glorious singing has stopped me in my tracks on more than one occasion. On one walk, I was privileged to listen to a complete concert from a blackbird sitting on the corner of a roof. Its full throated aria was worthy of a La Scala prima donna.

We also have the Hennie H within walking distance, which means we can at least be on board. Koos has resumed work on the engine, and I've started my annual attempt to stay on top of the paintwork. I say attempt because to date, I've never succeeded – not in the twelve years we've had her. Maybe this year will be my chance... (yes, I see you nod, that'll be the day).

The upside of working on board is that we get to chat to neighbours too, and because we've always done so from the decks of our own ships, nothing feels different. The Dutch talk at the tops of their voices as a cultural habit (friendly, noisy exuberance is one of their most likeable characteristics), so it's actually condition normal for them. Last week, Koos asked one of the nearby couples who live on board how they were were managing with social distancing: "I suppose you don't sleep together anymore?" he quipped. The neighbours laughed. "No," said the husband. "We take it in turns to sleep so we can keep a proper distance." Right. Legs and bells came to mind.

Here are a few photos before I start rabbiting on too much.

Video conferencing with my grandpup 

Pretty as a picture along the dyke

Path through the woods

And then along the creek

Blossom bursting forth

Our nature reserve borders a creeek

Reed island

Along the other side of the creek

Looking back

it makes a lovely walk

Village street

The ships still plough their way along the canal

On their was to and from Ghent.

A lovely day to start the clean-up job on the HH

Loads to do, but she still looks bright.

Have a good week allemaal. As always, stay safe and keep well!