Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
P. Ramlee in Memory (Abadi Dalam Kenangan)
.JPG)
This coming 29th of May will be the 36th anniversary of the demise of Malaysia's legendary maestro of film and music Allahyarham P. Ramlee. Gone forever but never ever forgotten, he left behind a legacy of artistic wealth for generations to avail to. So much had been written about Allahyarham that there is really no need for me further add on to.Here is my video tribute to him - GETARAN JIWA , probably his greatest and most popular composition. This version by Ismail Haron is for me personally one of the best two ever interpreted and recorded, the other by Singapore's Biduanita Negara Kartina Dahari (wonderfully transformed into kroncong). Recorded in the mid 70s they are still fresh and contemporary after almost four decades.
Composed for and featured in his 1960 film ANTARA DUA DARJAT, Getaran Jiwa has become an evergreen, everlasting classic sung and recorded by countless singers (including American singer Lobo who recorded it in English as 'Whispers in the Wind' which I personally feel is a desecration of the song).
Al fatihah for Allahyarham....
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Lilacs everywhere....
My neighbourhood, and everywhere else is currently coloured by an abundance of blooming lilacs in white purple, and...lilac (how do one describe it- light or grayish purple, pinkish blue or powdery blue?). The air if filled with a gentle perfume emitted from these abundance of blooms. Wonderful, and to savour while it lasts! 
Are there lilac trees in the heart of town
Can you hear a lark in any other part of town
Does enchantment pour out of every door
No, it's just on the street where you live.....
Freddy Eynsford-Hill's pining for Eliza Doolittle in ' My Fair Lady'.
GEMPAMELAYU - being Malay and the Malay being
I have recently discovered a website GEMPAMELAYU http://gempamelayu.com/– a platform/forum for discussing and bringing together all good things in the Malay World. Having read a few postings it promises to be an interesting future forays for a rediscovery, reassertion, reintroduction and re…. many other things about my Malay being and being a Malay. It is a good initiative and I hope more Malays will join this march to put the Malay World in the right direction, especially the younger generations, many of whom I personally believe are sadly digressing from their root and heritage.
Why this need to reassert being Malay? For many reasons I believe, but I am not going to delve into that here. Let me just give my 2-sen worth of my own perspective on the subject.
I am a modern Malay living in a western country,yet steeped in the Malay traditions and having much love and respect for them. This despite having lived abroad over 20 years of my life in different countries and visiting many more, and loving and profiting from all the good things the west and other parts of the world I have lived in or visited had to offer me. But never ever forgetting that I am a Malay. I feel privileged to have had the opportunity to experience different cultures, traditions and social norms and to make comparisons to that of my Malay (and the Malaysian) being.
There are aspects in which we are better than many others as Malays or Malaysians; in some aspects we are also lacking and wanting. I can only observe, and say this out to some people but I am not an agent of change. I am grateful for the exposure and in many ways it make me have a broader perspective of things, and hopefully I am more tolerant because of it.
At the same time it made me wonder and sometimes sad about some negative traits in the Malay psyche and behaviour, and made me question why we are like that. Again I am not going to elaborate here; suffice to say that I should know where to draw the line in commenting about my own people. Many of us are not necessarily tolerant of criticisms I am afraid, however constructive!
In my early years, I had been accused of not being Malay enough by those who did not know me better. My expatriate friends in Malaysia used to tease me as not being Malay, or Chinese, or Indian but as ‘other’. All because of own ‘peculiar’ or 'original’ approach and lifestyle and my penchant for thing western or foreign. But I know ‘me’ – I am Malay thorough and through, and the older I am, the best I get out of my Malayness and my penchant for things foreign/western. And I feel very privileged to be able to enjoy both sides of me in this regard. I like to believe I have a healthy balance in my Malay and Western/foreign lifestyle and outlook. And that is why I am sad when I see the young generations losing their Malay side in pursuit of a western lifestyle when they can actually have the best of both.
Eventually I will cease living abroad permanently and I will return to my country for good. And I am be grateful to have a country to return to where I can still have the best of the east and west. And this Malay will be eternally be grateful for the experiences of living in so many diverse cultural, social, geographical and economic environment and never losing sight of being a Malay. And I have always been tireless and proud of gently asserting my Malayness and yet fitting in well into, and being thoroughly comfortable in any non-Malay/Malaysian environment.
Some time back a Malay lady married to a European here invited me to their home for lunch. It was a warm and pleasant sight when I saw how her two grown-up sons, who were not born in Malaysia, would walk gently bending forward with right hand lowered as a gesture of respect (unspoken request of permission to pass by) each time they pass by us if we were sitting, as was the expected norm of well brought-up Malay children in my country.
And a few days ago, I invited a Malaysian colleague for lunch and be brought along a Malay friend who was with his teenage son on holiday here. I was charmed when the young boy who had been studying in London these last few years bend down and kissed my hand upon introduction and on leaving. Indeed, he was well bought-up and had not forgotten to be a Malay.
There are many beautiful things about being a Malay - don't let our younger generation ever forget it!
Why this need to reassert being Malay? For many reasons I believe, but I am not going to delve into that here. Let me just give my 2-sen worth of my own perspective on the subject.
I am a modern Malay living in a western country,yet steeped in the Malay traditions and having much love and respect for them. This despite having lived abroad over 20 years of my life in different countries and visiting many more, and loving and profiting from all the good things the west and other parts of the world I have lived in or visited had to offer me. But never ever forgetting that I am a Malay. I feel privileged to have had the opportunity to experience different cultures, traditions and social norms and to make comparisons to that of my Malay (and the Malaysian) being.
There are aspects in which we are better than many others as Malays or Malaysians; in some aspects we are also lacking and wanting. I can only observe, and say this out to some people but I am not an agent of change. I am grateful for the exposure and in many ways it make me have a broader perspective of things, and hopefully I am more tolerant because of it.
At the same time it made me wonder and sometimes sad about some negative traits in the Malay psyche and behaviour, and made me question why we are like that. Again I am not going to elaborate here; suffice to say that I should know where to draw the line in commenting about my own people. Many of us are not necessarily tolerant of criticisms I am afraid, however constructive!
In my early years, I had been accused of not being Malay enough by those who did not know me better. My expatriate friends in Malaysia used to tease me as not being Malay, or Chinese, or Indian but as ‘other’. All because of own ‘peculiar’ or 'original’ approach and lifestyle and my penchant for thing western or foreign. But I know ‘me’ – I am Malay thorough and through, and the older I am, the best I get out of my Malayness and my penchant for things foreign/western. And I feel very privileged to be able to enjoy both sides of me in this regard. I like to believe I have a healthy balance in my Malay and Western/foreign lifestyle and outlook. And that is why I am sad when I see the young generations losing their Malay side in pursuit of a western lifestyle when they can actually have the best of both.
Eventually I will cease living abroad permanently and I will return to my country for good. And I am be grateful to have a country to return to where I can still have the best of the east and west. And this Malay will be eternally be grateful for the experiences of living in so many diverse cultural, social, geographical and economic environment and never losing sight of being a Malay. And I have always been tireless and proud of gently asserting my Malayness and yet fitting in well into, and being thoroughly comfortable in any non-Malay/Malaysian environment.
Some time back a Malay lady married to a European here invited me to their home for lunch. It was a warm and pleasant sight when I saw how her two grown-up sons, who were not born in Malaysia, would walk gently bending forward with right hand lowered as a gesture of respect (unspoken request of permission to pass by) each time they pass by us if we were sitting, as was the expected norm of well brought-up Malay children in my country.
And a few days ago, I invited a Malaysian colleague for lunch and be brought along a Malay friend who was with his teenage son on holiday here. I was charmed when the young boy who had been studying in London these last few years bend down and kissed my hand upon introduction and on leaving. Indeed, he was well bought-up and had not forgotten to be a Malay.
There are many beautiful things about being a Malay - don't let our younger generation ever forget it!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Happy Mother's Day
Kau sinaran bulan
Thursday, May 7, 2009
A home in Rome
It was a sad day when my master finally left me for good. We had had a fine rapport for nearly fifty months. He liked me the first time he saw me although there was much bargaining on my worth and whether he should accept me bare or with accessories.
My proprietor was a busy man and not used to these sorts of dealings. He just wanted to hand me over to someone whom he could trust to take care of me. He did not have much choice though since I was rather expensive and there were not many people who were willing to consider to have me. He had spent a lot of money doing me up but he was really very inexperienced in such matters. There were things which I still disliked about myself as a result of his intervention.
When my master left, I felt empty, in both sense of the word. I was stripped to the barest minimum but be made sure I was thoroughly cleaned so that my proprietor would not have any complaints when he comes to retrieve me. Not that there was anything to worry about. My master always took good care of me. He had this fine lady come once a week, usually on a Friday and she would put her heart and soul into the task of cleaning me up thoroughly and at very nook and corner. It was always a joy to see the satisfied look on my master’s face when he appeared at the end of the day to find me sparkling clean and fresh-smelling.
I had liked my master from the first time he came to inspect me, although he was a foreigner. Fortunately the two men came to a compromise. My proprietor agreed to provide me with the basic accessories and my master agreed on my price.
I remembered how relieved I was knowing that I would finally have a master again. I had been lonely and neglected too long after my original proprietor left me to go into an old-people’s home. He was so heart-broken when his beloved wife died that he decided to leave me too. They did not have any children; the one child they had died during his boyhood one day when he fell from a tree in my garden. That tree still stood there proud and defiant, a lot bigger than at the time the poor child met his untimely end.
The lonely couple then turned their attention to my present proprietor who was a favourite nephew of theirs. When my original proprietor left me he gave charge of me to this nephew with provision that I would fully be his upon his death. The old man died some years later and I become the legal property of this nephew.
At two hundred and twenty square metre, I was very large indeed for one person’s need; my master was single. But he made thorough use of me and there was not a part of me neglected. And yet, despite my size there were times when my master had staying guests that we both realised how inadequate I could be. This was because when my proprietor had me renovated he did not give proper thought to practicality but followed his whims and fancy. As a result certain parts of me became impressive but non-functional.
By present standard, I was far from modern, but I was solid and made of good stuff. It was during the Fascist era that the building I am in was constructed in a very prestigious residential. I was one of the ten units in the five-storey building and being on the elevated ground floor I had a garden of my own. My present neighbours were some rich retired elderly couples, a rich widow, a single elderly man, and two lawyer offices.
Having a master who was single, I would be left alone most time of the day and quite a few evenings per week. I was to discover later that he also liked travelling so I was frequently left on my own for stretches ranging from a weekend to a week or sometimes longer. I did not like very much these solitary periods, for I would be dark and suffocated and there would be no fresh air entering me. It was eerie when the phone rang and he was not there to pick it up and I would from time to time be jolted from my solitude by the ringing of my doorbell.
At times like these I would miss his pottering around me, and also the beautiful music and songs that were constantly played when he was around. I would also miss the fresh smell of his cologne each morning that would linger long after he had left me for his office and I would miss too hearing his voice conversing on the telephone with his friends or humming in the kitchen or bathroom. It was always a relief to see him eventually return and he would normally have a decorative obje
ct to add on to me.
I was also afraid that during his long absences someone would break into me but gratefully it never ever happened. I had no alarm system but my master had a piece of paper stuck on each of my doors on which were prayers and incantations (in Arabic script) supposedly to keep intruders and thieves away from me. His friends and visitors would often ask what those pieces of papers were and my master would always answer in a jest that they were room tariff like those found in all hotel room! And they never pursued him with more questions on the matter.
His job also required him to entertain. So there were often dinners or teas which were very pleasant and cheerful affairs. I was not particularly happy with guests who left thick airs of smoke in my living room but my master would always open the windows for a few hours after the guests had left and I would gratefully breathe fresh air again.
My inadequacies aside, it was a good partnership, my master and I. He made the most of me – I was his home. That relieved look on his face each time he came back to me after a long trip or a long day was always something I look forward to.
Despite being on my own most of the time I was a happy home. I was fully utilised and lived-in. In between the solitary periods there were cheerful days and nights filled with music, voices of guests or visitors, the sweet smell of freshly-cooked food competing with the scents of fresh flowers for the occasion. Non-winter days saw me bright with sunshine and fresh air from the many windows while the faint distant droning of the traffic and the city mingled with chirping of birds from the orange trees in my garden. The bright ambiance allowed many plants to thrive in me.
Alas, I missed all that now. For two years before my master’s departure my proprietor tried to sell me off. I was too big for his need and my location did not meet his ideal. Countless were the number of people that invaded my privacy on the excuse of inspecting me to see if I qualified to be their property. My master was annoyed at this invasion though my proprietor was very polite about it. It eventually worked out that any prospective buyer could come and inspect me only on Fridays when the kindly lady was cleaning me up. Quite often the lady would report to my master how disagreeable some of those visitors were, especially if they smoked.
No transaction took place till my master left; I was too expensive. Just as he had come to me, my master left me also on a fine summer day. But as if knowing its fate, the climbing rose in my garden did not bloom so well that summer. This was somehow made up by the profusion of pink oleander blossoms in my neighbour’s garden. It was to be a long period of solitude when my master closed shut my front door from the outside for the very last time.
***************************
Many months have passed since and I am now the new property of a middle-age Contessa, divorced and quite fussy, who trotted about me with her mink stole, a hand perpetually balancing a long cigarette holder; giving orders what should be done to me. Again I am stripped and knocked about, peeled, scrapped plastered and painted. The orange tree in my garden were chopped off and removed, in their places were new skinny young ones. The majestic tree from where the little boy fell was now but a sad stump and my faithful old climbing roses were drastically pruned. There were no more colourful geraniums in the terracotta pots on my balcony. I wonder if the tulips and daffodils will sprout their blooms next spring. They looked tired this year but the Contessa did not really know that they are now resting in the ground so they had been spared of removal so far.
The neighbours are still there. The single elderly man had sold his penthouse to a high-ranking government engineer and the unit is undergoing a face lift just like me. We have a new porter now, but he does not polish the brass door knob of my main entrance as well as the former one did, neither does he sing while doing his job like she did.
I wonder how my former master will react if he saw me now in my sorry unfinished state and my naked garden. And I do not even know if I will like the chain-smoking Contessa and her two teenagers . But I could certainly use a new plumbing!
E la vita continua,... che sara sara!
(And life goes on, .. ..what will be, will be!)
Interno II
Via Domenico Chelini 5
Roma - Parioli
When my master left, I felt empty, in both sense of the word. I was stripped to the barest minimum but be made sure I was thoroughly cleaned so that my proprietor would not have any complaints when he comes to retrieve me. Not that there was anything to worry about. My master always took good care of me. He had this fine lady come once a week, usually on a Friday and she would put her heart and soul into the task of cleaning me up thoroughly and at very nook and corner. It was always a joy to see the satisfied look on my master’s face when he appeared at the end of the day to find me sparkling clean and fresh-smelling.
I had liked my master from the first time he came to inspect me, although he was a foreigner. Fortunately the two men came to a compromise. My proprietor agreed to provide me with the basic accessories and my master agreed on my price.
I remembered how relieved I was knowing that I would finally have a master again. I had been lonely and neglected too long after my original proprietor left me to go into an old-people’s home. He was so heart-broken when his beloved wife died that he decided to leave me too. They did not have any children; the one child they had died during his boyhood one day when he fell from a tree in my garden. That tree still stood there proud and defiant, a lot bigger than at the time the poor child met his untimely end.
The lonely couple then turned their attention to my present proprietor who was a favourite nephew of theirs. When my original proprietor left me he gave charge of me to this nephew with provision that I would fully be his upon his death. The old man died some years later and I become the legal property of this nephew.
At two hundred and twenty square metre, I was very large indeed for one person’s need; my master was single. But he made thorough use of me and there was not a part of me neglected. And yet, despite my size there were times when my master had staying guests that we both realised how inadequate I could be. This was because when my proprietor had me renovated he did not give proper thought to practicality but followed his whims and fancy. As a result certain parts of me became impressive but non-functional.
By present standard, I was far from modern, but I was solid and made of good stuff. It was during the Fascist era that the building I am in was constructed in a very prestigious residential. I was one of the ten units in the five-storey building and being on the elevated ground floor I had a garden of my own. My present neighbours were some rich retired elderly couples, a rich widow, a single elderly man, and two lawyer offices.
Having a master who was single, I would be left alone most time of the day and quite a few evenings per week. I was to discover later that he also liked travelling so I was frequently left on my own for stretches ranging from a weekend to a week or sometimes longer. I did not like very much these solitary periods, for I would be dark and suffocated and there would be no fresh air entering me. It was eerie when the phone rang and he was not there to pick it up and I would from time to time be jolted from my solitude by the ringing of my doorbell.
At times like these I would miss his pottering around me, and also the beautiful music and songs that were constantly played when he was around. I would also miss the fresh smell of his cologne each morning that would linger long after he had left me for his office and I would miss too hearing his voice conversing on the telephone with his friends or humming in the kitchen or bathroom. It was always a relief to see him eventually return and he would normally have a decorative obje
ct to add on to me.I was also afraid that during his long absences someone would break into me but gratefully it never ever happened. I had no alarm system but my master had a piece of paper stuck on each of my doors on which were prayers and incantations (in Arabic script) supposedly to keep intruders and thieves away from me. His friends and visitors would often ask what those pieces of papers were and my master would always answer in a jest that they were room tariff like those found in all hotel room! And they never pursued him with more questions on the matter.
His job also required him to entertain. So there were often dinners or teas which were very pleasant and cheerful affairs. I was not particularly happy with guests who left thick airs of smoke in my living room but my master would always open the windows for a few hours after the guests had left and I would gratefully breathe fresh air again.
My inadequacies aside, it was a good partnership, my master and I. He made the most of me – I was his home. That relieved look on his face each time he came back to me after a long trip or a long day was always something I look forward to.
Despite being on my own most of the time I was a happy home. I was fully utilised and lived-in. In between the solitary periods there were cheerful days and nights filled with music, voices of guests or visitors, the sweet smell of freshly-cooked food competing with the scents of fresh flowers for the occasion. Non-winter days saw me bright with sunshine and fresh air from the many windows while the faint distant droning of the traffic and the city mingled with chirping of birds from the orange trees in my garden. The bright ambiance allowed many plants to thrive in me.
Alas, I missed all that now. For two years before my master’s departure my proprietor tried to sell me off. I was too big for his need and my location did not meet his ideal. Countless were the number of people that invaded my privacy on the excuse of inspecting me to see if I qualified to be their property. My master was annoyed at this invasion though my proprietor was very polite about it. It eventually worked out that any prospective buyer could come and inspect me only on Fridays when the kindly lady was cleaning me up. Quite often the lady would report to my master how disagreeable some of those visitors were, especially if they smoked.
No transaction took place till my master left; I was too expensive. Just as he had come to me, my master left me also on a fine summer day. But as if knowing its fate, the climbing rose in my garden did not bloom so well that summer. This was somehow made up by the profusion of pink oleander blossoms in my neighbour’s garden. It was to be a long period of solitude when my master closed shut my front door from the outside for the very last time.
***************************
Many months have passed since and I am now the new property of a middle-age Contessa, divorced and quite fussy, who trotted about me with her mink stole, a hand perpetually balancing a long cigarette holder; giving orders what should be done to me. Again I am stripped and knocked about, peeled, scrapped plastered and painted. The orange tree in my garden were chopped off and removed, in their places were new skinny young ones. The majestic tree from where the little boy fell was now but a sad stump and my faithful old climbing roses were drastically pruned. There were no more colourful geraniums in the terracotta pots on my balcony. I wonder if the tulips and daffodils will sprout their blooms next spring. They looked tired this year but the Contessa did not really know that they are now resting in the ground so they had been spared of removal so far.
The neighbours are still there. The single elderly man had sold his penthouse to a high-ranking government engineer and the unit is undergoing a face lift just like me. We have a new porter now, but he does not polish the brass door knob of my main entrance as well as the former one did, neither does he sing while doing his job like she did.
I wonder how my former master will react if he saw me now in my sorry unfinished state and my naked garden. And I do not even know if I will like the chain-smoking Contessa and her two teenagers . But I could certainly use a new plumbing!
E la vita continua,... che sara sara!
(And life goes on, .. ..what will be, will be!)
Interno II
Via Domenico Chelini 5
Roma - Parioli
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Goodbye my darling Toby ( 1996 - 2009 )
My darling cat Toby whom I wrote about in my posting on 24 November 2008 died today after spending a few days at the vet. He died of old age with kidney failures and other complications. The doctor said he had had a good long life and it was a good age to go.Toby had not been himself this last three months and my brother finally took him to the the vet a few days ago seeing how bad his condition was getting. The doctor recommended he be put to sleep to alleviate his suffering but my brother did not agree to it. Thankfully he did not suffer too long before he passed on. And gratefully Anita came home just in time from her one month holiday in Germany and The USA to see and comfort him before he expired.
I was hoping I would be able to see him again when I return for a meeting in June but that was not to to be. When I saw him last in October last year, our reunion was really something, and I wrote about it in my 24 Nov 2008 posting .
.jpg)
Thank you God for giving me Toby for a good joyful six years during which I had a profound experience what it was like to love an animal and to be reciprocated with so much love.....And thank you Ngah, Anita, Andreas, Anna and Joyce for looking after and loving Toby these last seven years.
Toby's remain is buried at his favourite spot in a corner of my brother and Anita's luscious garden under the shadow of a currently profusely blooming casia bioflora (Indian laburnum). Sleep well my darling Toby....
.jpg)
Here's a video I made of Toby some time back : http://youtu.be/T-5wd2VYeMc
Friday, May 1, 2009
First of May
When I was small, and Christmas trees were tall,
We used to love while others used to play.
Don't ask me why, but time has passed us by,
Someone else moved in from far away.
Now we are tall, and Christmas trees are small,
And you don't ask the time of day.
But you and I, our love will never die,
But guess who'll cry come first of may.
I am so tempted to search my Bee Gees CD and play one of the track I like most 'First of May'! The song was first released as a single in 1969 and forty years down, it still sometimes make my hair stand listening to it.
I should be on the road on my way to Berlin today but circumstances had changed it. Just as well as my colleague in Frankfurt warned that the roads will be full with the long weekend travellers that a normal 5 hour drive from Frankfurt two Berlin could take double the time! The original plan was to drive to Frankfurt after work yesterday, spend the night and drive to Berlin today to attend a wedding tomorrow. Well that is not to be.
Last year today, together with my brother Wes, his wife and cousin Wan, we drove from Milan to Rome with a stop-over in Florence. We drove to Milan the night before and spent the night there. We started our journey again very early next day but the road was chock-a-block with traffic and we were practically crawling all the way to Florence where we made a two hours stop. Fortunately our drive from Florence to Rome was more free and easy and we arrived in Rome just after 5pm..JPG)
We had a pleasant 3-night stay in Rome. There were hordes of tourists everywhere we went.
And it was the same when we stopped in Venice on our back. Still we had a good time all the same.
So this year's long May Day weekend will see me pottering in the house. A visit to an art exhibition opening later today followed by dinner with a friend. On Sunday I will take a drive to Geneva for a barbecue lunch. Hopefully the weather will be good.
My house guests from Holland who had stayed with me since Saturday and drove down to Italy on Tuesday will no doubt be happy to find me home when they return tomorrow evening to break their journey before driving back to Holland on Sunday!
We used to love while others used to play.
Don't ask me why, but time has passed us by,
Someone else moved in from far away.
Now we are tall, and Christmas trees are small,
And you don't ask the time of day.
But you and I, our love will never die,
But guess who'll cry come first of may.
I am so tempted to search my Bee Gees CD and play one of the track I like most 'First of May'! The song was first released as a single in 1969 and forty years down, it still sometimes make my hair stand listening to it.
I should be on the road on my way to Berlin today but circumstances had changed it. Just as well as my colleague in Frankfurt warned that the roads will be full with the long weekend travellers that a normal 5 hour drive from Frankfurt two Berlin could take double the time! The original plan was to drive to Frankfurt after work yesterday, spend the night and drive to Berlin today to attend a wedding tomorrow. Well that is not to be.
Last year today, together with my brother Wes, his wife and cousin Wan, we drove from Milan to Rome with a stop-over in Florence. We drove to Milan the night before and spent the night there. We started our journey again very early next day but the road was chock-a-block with traffic and we were practically crawling all the way to Florence where we made a two hours stop. Fortunately our drive from Florence to Rome was more free and easy and we arrived in Rome just after 5pm.
.JPG)
We had a pleasant 3-night stay in Rome. There were hordes of tourists everywhere we went.
And it was the same when we stopped in Venice on our back. Still we had a good time all the same.
So this year's long May Day weekend will see me pottering in the house. A visit to an art exhibition opening later today followed by dinner with a friend. On Sunday I will take a drive to Geneva for a barbecue lunch. Hopefully the weather will be good.
My house guests from Holland who had stayed with me since Saturday and drove down to Italy on Tuesday will no doubt be happy to find me home when they return tomorrow evening to break their journey before driving back to Holland on Sunday!
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