Windmill d'Orange, Willemstad

The town was named after William of Orange, so the name of the windmill isn't that surprising.

Willemstad is just across the Hellevoetsluis from Numansdorp, where Micky lives, and I visited her today.  Brought a bouquet of deep pink hollyhocks and lilies and some daisies, and it turned out that she's allergic to lilies so she wondered who to give them to.  I trust she has disposed of them by now.  No, I am not a fan, so I turned them down.  As you know, Micky is an ex-colleague from Rotterdam, and we ended up talking shop most of the time.  I did not say so in so many words, but I'm sure she understood how thankful I (still) am that I left when I did.  I should actually use the word 'quit' because that is really what happened -- I threw up my hands in disappointment, disgust, and then relief, that I no longer had to, and no longer have to, put up with that school's policy.  Many people choose to hang on in such environments, and I admire them, and maybe I was a coward to leave, but some things were/are simply more important and couldn't/can't be ignored, especially as I ignored them in the past and paid the price for doing so.

Of course, we also talked about other stuff, and laughed a lot, and I showed her what I'd finished so far in the colouring book, and she showed me the paint she bought for her living room -- lovely colours there, too!  She is slowing regaining her strength, but, well, work will wear her down again, I'm afraid.

AW was fine when I left, and fine when I got back.  His 'snout' is swollen, still, and that will take a few days.  To amuse us both, he made some monkey sounds because, according to himself, he looks like Hanuman, the Indian monkey god.  At this point I am somewhat concerned and so I told him it was not a good 'joke'.