De Muur 6 (04-029)

De Muur 6 (04-029)

Number: 04-029
Title: De Muur 6
Author: Diversen (Dimitri Verhulst, Peter Ouwerkerk e.a.)
Language: Dutch
Year: 2004
# Pages: 112 (5363)
Category: Sports
ISBN: 90-204-0460-1

Part 6 in the series with cycling stories, completely dedicated to the most beautiful classic race in this sport; The Tour of Flanders. 11 stories and 2 poems. Jeroen Wielaert has done some good research and tells us about the beginning of the last century, when the race developed into a classic. Mart Smeets has found another photographer who tells us a few things, though the pictures actually tell us much more. A portrait of former manager Lomme Driesens by Peter Ouwerkerk is worth more pages, perhaps the start of a biography?

Herman Chevrolet dismisses the story about the last of the real Flandriens and Bart Jungmann goes back in time with Johan Lammers, who won the race as a young and upcoming new star and later had to admit that this was the highlight of his career.

Again this series proofs that cycling is the sport most suitable for literature.

Editing memories

I have been using the memories quite a lot, especially for several of the series I write, I think this is a great feature. But with over 300 memories, it does get out of hand now. Several of the posts I wouldn't mind not being memorized. Yet I can't seem to find the way to unmemorize things. So, in short, I don't want to delete the posts (sometimes I can't as they're not mine), but I do want a shorter memories list. How can I do that?

Pinkpop

Watching pinkpop. Complete noise.

You asked for it (1)

Describe a body part (requested by joy_joy)

I should have known that it would immediately start with a difficult one. For days I have been thinking about what part to choose. Then I decided for 3 parts, far apart, yet connected in some way. On my foot, my knee and my forehead I have got scars.

As a small child one night I was thirsty, therefore went for a glass of water. Not really a problem, apart from the fact that I only very recently had learn to walk. So, the guess is that at some point my balance wasn’t how it should be and the glass dropped on the floor. Immediately I stood in the middle of it. A couple of hours later I was back in bed, a dozen stitches in my tiny foot. I can’t remember anything of it, but the scar reminds me that it really happened.

Some years later, I must have been 11 or so, I fell of my bike. I remember the spot exactly, after the bridge we turned right. This is not the shortest road to the town my grandparents lived, but it was the quiet road. Going downhill, I managed to find a tiny left over piece of ice on the road, it must have been the end of the winter. I fell and hurt my knee. Badly. Not that I was bothered. That didn’t happen until a couple of weeks later when I fell on the same knee during a game of football. It started bleeding and I had to be taken off. It was our championship game.

The last scar is the weirdest. Another 5 years later I guess. I had developed a habit of doing my homework lying down on my bed. Desk is for nerds. But with late night reading and secret radio listening, it also meant that I did fall asleep once in a while as well. A warm spring day, window open, me asleep and some insect comes in. Half asleep I don’t pay attention to it, just wave my hands in the air at random to get rid of it. Then it stung me on the forehead. It left and I got my beauty sleep. When I woke up I saw where it had succeeded to target me; exactly in the middle of my forehead. A day later it was bigger, another day and my mom wouldn’t even let me go to school. The third day we went to the doctor. It was like two half eggs above my eyes. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t bother me, but it sure didn’t look nice. I got some tablets and a week later they were gone. Unfortunately, when the scabs came of (does anybody manage not to play with them?), the two scars were clearly still there.

My mom told me I could have an operation in a few years (her sister had plenty after a childhood traffic accident), but I never did. Over the years they have become smaller and less visible, but for someone who stands close, they can still be seen.

(You asked for it, a series I started to give anyone the opportunity to tell me what to write. You want to tell me as well: leave a comment or mail me (email in user info). This was part one, two more in line at the moment.)