Summer 2016.
To please my wife, I went to the Pure Market on Sunday afternoon. Tbh, there aren't many things I look forward to less, save for perhaps a dentist appointment, than a visit to the low budget version of the Rolling Kitchens, but I don't always want to be the spoilsport in our duo act.
"You don't have to come, Mark van Arkel," Xandra said only half-heartedly. "You can go cycling if you really want to."
By the look on my face she could tell that I was seriously considering the possibility. "But if you do come along," she quickly added, "you'll have a say in what’s for dinner."
She had a point, of course. Like she always has. If you want to keep your relationship alive and well, you have to give in every once in a while.
I had already been to the movies the day before. Admittedly, she had gone out to visit some old friends, but it was a film - the action comedy The Nice Guys - that she might have enjoyed too, so that was a minus on my weekly score card.
On the other hand, I liked her friends just fine and would have been properly thrilled to see their new home, if I hadn't already made other plans. Anyway, if you start to call debit and credit on everything, nothing good is ever going to come out of that, so I tagged along to the Pure Market.
As per usual, I tire quickly of shuffling past stalls full of completely useless stuff, but when Xandra digs up a beautiful photograph or a special print, I always have to admit I'm wrong.
So I tried to keep up with her, which can be quite difficult in such a melee of people. I feel the same aversion for the food stalls.
I'm not a snob when it comes to food, on the contrary, you can serve me almost anything, but too often on these occasions, I've tasted somethingand thought: I don't understand what all the fuss is about.
But hey, if after an extensive search, Xandra finds a paella dish that makes us both happy, who am I to keep nagging?
We only had one moment of discomfort this time, when I complained that the queue for the chicken meals was very long and she thought I shouldn't complain.
“They did have some nice potatoes and vegetables with that chicken,” she muttered a little later, still a bit aggrieved, while I put three “homemade pies” in my bag, which I was going to prepare with some red cabbage.
While Xandra wasn't paying attention, I had gone into an adjacent tent, pushed past some people who couldn't make a choice from the wide selection and immediately ordered the Mexican pie with jalapenos. After which Xandra, who noticed I had made a move, chose two more (the Chicken Thai Pie and the Steak in Red Wine Sauce Pie). It was her turn to fork over, so it was important that we both enjoyed it.
On balance, Xandra was quite satisfied. She got ready to poke around some more among the other stalls and she didn't need me anymore. "Go do your own things," she said.
"My own stuff?,’ I said in mock complaint voice. ‘My dear, I'm going to do the rest of the shopping.’
I left, happy that our apparent state of harmony had survived the afternoon. In the supermarket, the man who took the next trolley, said that the music was blaring way too loud through the speakers. He was right, but I quite enjoyed Elton John singing I’m Still Standing.
If I hurried along, I could work on my director’s statement for a full hour before Xandra came home with a bag full of brand new stories.