1 January 2006
Somebody I told about our useless trip to Auckland, wondered if we couldn’t have left the paintings to the neighbour of the gallery? Of course we have walked around looking for something that looked reliable, but Parnell Road exactly looks every shopping street on Sunday afternoon. Deathly quiet with rolled-down shutters and at the very end a doner kebab guy who sits in front of his shop in the sun, attentively cleaning his nails with a fork.
Across the gallery was a classy elderly flat with a central door and 20 shiny brass bells, but suddenly I lost my desire to explain who I was, why I was here and what should be done in a tiny microphone to a complete stranger.
Returned home I sent a acidly email to the secretary where I ‘thanked’ her for the warning about the closing hours.
Two days later we went again. Without notice them and knowing they were open. The secretary was on vacation, the owner of the gallery was out for surfing and the girl who looked after the shop … well, she was just looking after the shop and has nothing to do with it.
My relationship with Auckland became even more difficult because the photographer next door, unanticipated had no time for me in the next 2 weeks!!! While during my visit of 2 weeks ago I already asked him if he was sure I didn’t need to make an appointment: “No, you can come between Christmas and New Year. Just come along and you will have professional pictures of your paintings within one and a half day.”
I can’t wait 2 weeks because the paintings will hang in 1 week. So no pictures then …
Well … it all does not matter because my clafoutis has become golden brown and the inside was not too sticky. No, that’s not Latin for an inflamed body part, but it is the first recipe from my new “Agenda for housewives.” Whahaha. In the absence of our ‘Dutch oliebollen’ I promoted the clafoutis to our New Year cake because of the wonderful name. And it tasted good!!! Gosh!