Zatâhdag 8-2. Kâhwe klâhwe.
Om kwagt auvâh vèf gaat de wekkâh. Ken ut nog vroegâh?! We fiesen doâh Scheveninguh richting dat worremvorremag anhangsel dat ze duh pieâh noeme. Gein grèze dakdùif te bekenne, alle Schollekoppe legge nog in hun rukbunkâh. Ik rèd nog bèna un âhd fossiel an die streipieskaudûh an ut lope is. We zien un groep doffe droeftoetâhs staan âhwehoerûh. Krèg nâh tiete, ut zèn onze matûh! Goeiuhmogge! Èndelèk op ut strand motte we ons ège ùitkleije, maah iederein staat de kat ùit de baum te zèke. Moevuh! De èskâhwe zei in met ze alle. Na drie minute kâh lède kaume twei naakte manne schreiuwend ut watâh ùit. Gein porum, denk ik bè me ège. Iederein hep kâhwe klâhwe. We renne terug naah ut vuâh om op te warreme. In de vegte zien we twei koplampe. Dat zulle toch nie de de wâhtuh zèn? Blèken ut gewoân twei hagtlopeâhrs tuh zèn. Kap nâh! Ut is maui geweis, we gan naah hùis.
Tot moâhge en hâh je haags!
Mikí
2025 - Day 21 - February 8th - Ice-cold Mitts
At 'alf past five the bleedin' alarm goes off. Could it be any earlier, mate? We’re ridin’ through Scheveningen headin' for that squirmy appendage they call the Pier, bruv. ot a bloomin' grey pigeon in sight, all the geezers are still snoozin' in their bleedin' beds. I 'ardly missed smackin' a pensioner crossin' the zebra. We spot some folks gatherin', bleedin' natterin’. Cor blimey, these 'ere are our mates! Mornin'! At last, we’re at the beach, time to get our kit off, but all the fam's waitin' to see which way the wind's blowin'. Get a wriggle on! Get yer 'inds in the bleedin’ ice-cold sea, all of ya. After three minutes of shiverin’ in the cold, two bare blokes come outta the watter. This ain't proper, I think to meself. Everybody’s got ice-cold mitts. We leg it back to the fire to toast ourselves. In the far off, we spot a pair of headlights. Is that the rozzers, yeah? Nah, looks like just a couple of joggers, innit? Pack it in, yeah! It’s been a right laugh, time to leg it 'ome
Catch ya later, look after yerself!
Mikí
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