Something to aim for

The other day I was talking with a former colleague who, unlike me, is still gainfully employed. I was bemoaning the lack of structure in my retired life, the reduced scope for socialising, and the lack of anything to get my intellectual teeth into. In short, I was feeling the loss of something to aim for.

We also discussed the pleasures and ordeals of business travel, and I concluded that the loss of paid-for travel is one of the less expected disbenefits of retirement. We observed that a frequent node in the routings of the European business traveller is Amsterdam, where Schiphol is one of the world’s most civilised airports, well planned and well connected both in the air and on the ground, and even possessing a flightside mini-Rijksmuseum.

This got me recollecting some of my Dutch colleagues and acquaintances, most of whom were “characters” of an outgoing and occasionally overtly extravert nature, open minded and proud of their linguistic prowess. A nation whose motto should be “why not?” Like the man with a fondness for bright green, blue and orange, assigned to shirt, jacket and trousers in no particular order. Well, why not?  Like the man who, when I fumbled diplomatically towards a hesitant enquiry about a shop in Utrecht called “Piet Snot”, advised me tersely in his matter-of-fact Wedgie Benn accent – “yes, it means the same as in English”. I can’t remember if he was the same guy I had to wait for almost an hour after I arrived early one morning at Schiphol. When he eventually turned up he explained, but didn’t apologise, that he’d been in bed with his girlfriend. Well, why not? He definitely wasn’t the same man as the one conducting a one day course in a proprietary scheme for assessing business intelligence, who every now and then would punctuate his tediously detailed monologue with: “no shit, you do the analyses”. “Analyses” being pronounced as “anna lyzes” rather than the conventional “analyseez”. That is all I remember of that day.

Which sort of brings us round full circle. Or at least to the Gents at Schiphol, where as is very well known each urinal is adorned – appropriately enough for an airport – with an image of a fly. A precisely drawn fly embossed onto the enamel, just above and to the left of the drainage holes. I presume that some genius worked out that most of the populace are right, er, handed, and that no real man can resist a target. Quite stylish are these flies, modernist in the European tradition. Curiously enough they occurred to me last night, totally out of context but in the comfort of my own home in the wee wee hours, as I was taking aim at something considerably more three dimensional and organic, something altogether less arty and less flash in the pan. Success. Bullseye. A perfect score. No shit. You do the anna lyzes.

 
I really must work harder at being retired.