Kerkstraat, it is quarter past nine in the morning. Three men are peering down into a hole in the ground; dug by themselves, or so it seems. ‘I bet that one there is the sewer’, the oldest man says, pointing. Not a peep from the others.
I happen to know that there is a central register of water mains and underground cables. Shall I tell them? No better not because I also happen to know that the register is incomplete and, besides, mains and cables have a nasty habit of going ‘walkabout’. They probably don’t want to know anyway.
Nice word ‘walkabout’. Why don’t I just go walkabout too.
Frits Hoorweg, 18 January 2012