Instalment 29: The sweaty smell stops Axel from breathing through his nose.

Recently there was a survey in the Netherlands about men’s urinating habits. It mainly covered behaviour at home. The results revealed that 56% peed standing up and 43% preferred to sit down. I was immediately curious about the missing 1%. Do they do it tied up, hanging upside down from the ceiling?

Instalment 30: While sitting on his father’s lap, Axel is being told that grandpa started as a horse driver in the mine.

Instalment 28: During the midnight mass Axel is being told that the Word has become flesh.

Arnold Jansen op de Haar wrote Not a Declaration of Intent, a poem about writing and reading poetry, to celebrate Dutch Poetry Week 2015.

Who will it be: Harry Potter, Basil Fawlty, Paddington Bear, Mr Bean, Dr Who or James Bond after all? I don’t believe there is another country with as many fictional celebrities as the United Kingdom. To select the greatest fictional celebrity is rather difficult because there is a long history.

This competition is now closed

Instalment 27: From the leatherette back seat in Roy Heijnens’s, the red-headed owner of driving school ROY, dual control Daffodil, Axel watches fearful sweat drops trickle down his mother’s neck.

My neighbourhood here in London accommodates more women wearing burkas than the whole of the Netherlands. There is even a woman in a burka living in my apartment block. She emerged giggling from the lift because she couldn’t immediately locate the front door. I found the giggling reassuring.

Instalment 26: One summer they are not holidaying at the Nolle beach in Flushing.

2014 was the year when I officially still lived in the Netherlands but actually stayed in London. Here, I have a view across a green. That’s also the place where I smoke my cigars. Cigars that are four times as expensive as in the Netherlands. That’s why I smoke four times less, so that I spend the same amount of money. Sometimes, while having a smoke, I think of the Netherlands.

Instalment 25: ‘Well, we simply have to make a new one,’ the reverend father, a short fat cigar clenched between his front teeth, had told grandma Reuser after little Frans had gone to heaven on the very first day of his life on earth.

I’ve been in hiding for a bit. This came about because I was up to my neck in a swamp of estate agents and solicitors here in London. My sister was selling a lovely, small, sunny apartment with a balcony. A sought-after item in a raving mad housing market.

Instalment 24: Aunt Joep’s birthday party really takes off when Reverend Uncle Peer with his dark, bass voice starts a polonaise, waving its chain through auntie’s living room.

Instalment 23: A soft pink haze, like a sea of orchids, covers Kunder Hill.

Instalment 22: During the National Art programme, mummy pulls Axel onto her lap and whispers into his ear that she has some lovely news.

Last week, reports emerged from the Netherlands about Big Bird being seen at an over-18s festival surrounded by naked female dancers and men in bondage gear. This sprang to mind when Labour leader Ed Miliband began to get involved in the Scottish referendum. It was as if Eddie laddie had gatecrashed the wrong party.

Instalment 21: When mummy has to have an operation on her womb, Axel is allowed to stay with mummy’s best friend Bea Buitendijk.

Last weekend, after having lived in London for three months, I was in Amsterdam with Holland Park Press for the Uitmarkt, which is the opening of the cultural season. ‘The opening of the cultural season?’ you may well ask. ‘Summer is one big cultural event with all those tourists and busy theatres!’ Yes, in London, but in the Netherlands many venues are closed during the summer. It’s like having dinner on the dot of 6pm. It’s set in stone.

Instalment 20: Reverend Uncle Peer is quite tipsy. While he’s sitting on the green leatherette two seat sofa, he pompously drowns another Bacardi…

Instalment 19: Axel sprints panting through the fog homewards by way of a labyrinth of back passages.

Recently my sister, based in London, had to get her picture taken for her new Dutch passport. So we headed for a photographic shop which specialises in passport pictures. It was called Snappy Snaps. Photos for British passports were less than ten pounds. Pictures for baby and foreign passports were twice as expensive. This is an advance warning for the Scots.

Instalment 18: Don Carlo hails from Curacao. Axel can’t tear his eyes away from him when he looks with his neighbour
for fern imprints on the stone dump near the Silver Stream.

I’ve been to watch the Tour de France with my sister, in London, because I’ve been living there for the past six weeks. The Tour’s finish line was within walking distance.

Intalment 17: On the promenade, out of sight of Monsieur Jacques, a bronze man lost
among shopping women, mummy retrieves her pastel green customer card
from her big red purse.

The first thing we noticed about her was her hat; a black hat with
protruding bits. A witch’s hat. This hat moved up and down behind the
fence which surrounded the dog-walking area. These pets had to be
checked in by drivers who wanted to put their car on the Channel Tunnel
train.

Instalment 16: Slowly the growing darkness encroaches on the world outside. The classroom windows become mirrors…

Recently, I went to a meeting of the Torriano Poets in Kentish Town, London. It was a beautiful summer’s evening. The stifling hot room was packed. I estimated that the average age was 73.

I’m in the middle of moving from Arnhem to London and thinking about getting a dog. You will say, ‘What? You want a dog?!’ Well, here’s the story.

Instalment 15: Every Saturday afternoon Axel’s father pays his weekly visit to his mother & Axel learns something about his granddad.

The European elections are imminent and Austria was represented in Europe by a woman with a beard or, if you prefer, a man in a dress: Conchita Wurst. I find this reassuring. Not only because Conchita Wurst really can sing, but also because this Song Contest entry comes from Austria.

Instalment 14: The class falls silent when Miss Tempelman enters.

Instalment 13: Suddenly Axel feels an upward pressure, and he manages to take to the air with pathetic moves of his arms.

The British cherish being islanders. From a geographical point of view,
their country belongs to Europe, but they are of a different view.
Inhabitants of islands are a bit opinionated. Islanders are a bit
eccentric. This is even more true of people who live on an island close
to a big island.

That day, I had given a reading in Birmingham library, a fortress of culture. From the outside it actually looks like a fortress, but inside they’ve created something on a grand scale: a tower of Babel for books.

Instalment 12: Squinting Joep and Carlo Clever have overpowered Manon Lokhof…

Recently, I had to go to the pharmacy. There is always a bowl of liquorice on the counter. Customers who have to wait are allowed to take a piece of liquorice. Most people do; after all, it’s free. I never take one; I’m in a pharmacy, people who go there are ill.

Instalment 11: On the dot of six, soup is served. The Reverend Uncle Peer has made the journey from Meijel in his beige DAF 33 in just under an hour.

The British Museum is showing an exhibition about the Vikings with the title: The Vikings Are Here! There have been times in the past when this wouldn’t have been such a welcoming message.

Instalment 10: Upstairs, Reverend Uncle Peer, with his iron cast Jesuit views, is ensconced in the smoking chair next to the hearth.

Enjoying poetry from the What’s your Place? competition

All English poems nominated in full

Telephone Box by Stan Mooij

Departures by GenneRose Nethercott

You get a lovely surprise every time the ski girls take off their helmets after crossing the finish line during the Olympic Winter Games. Someone somewhere must have decided that only models can take part in Alpine skiing events.

Instalment 9: From the schoolyard, made up of 400 by 300 concrete tiles around a bare
chestnut tree, Axel & Co. march in an orderly queue, swimming gear
in their bags, towards the municipal swimming pool, or numicipal
swimming pool according to one of the gang.

The anthology was prominently displayed in the bookshop. Quickly, I scanned the contents pages under J for Jansen op de Haar. Damn it, I wasn’t in it. Yet, at the same time, I realised that this could provide opportunities. Appearances as ‘The Poet They Left Out’ on radio and TV. Enough to make me break into a celebratory dance.

Instalment 8: For days Axel scooters himself into a sweat, leaving the others behind, to collect as many autographs as possible.

Congratulations to the English & Dutch shortlisted poets!

Don’t worry, I’m fully dressed, in my own clothes. Unlike Gerrit Zalm, CEO of ABN AMRO bank, who during his bank’s New Year receptions appeared as Priscilla, his sister, clad in a blue dress and sporting Dame Edna glasses.

Instalment 7: The walls of the waiting room are painted mint green. Axel mechanically thumbs Red Knight magazine until a door opens and six children are carried in by the same number of nurses.

It’s actually quite hard to be consistent. Boris Johnson has been thinking up various nicknames for Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg. He’s not doing this in an entirely consistent way. According to London’s Mayor, Clegg is a yellow albatross around the collective Tory neck, a radio DJ, a lapdog, a wobbling jelly of indecision and vacillation, very, very decorative and a condom (although Boris used a rather more involved description). So what is he, then?

Instalment 6: One summer afternoon, tempted by the heavy air dancing above the tarmac
he has spotted in the distance, at the end of Lindbergh Street, Axel
crosses the main road on his red scooter.

So Nigella can’t cook, according to her former assistants, the Grillo sisters. This made me think about the members of the Royal Family. Actually, members of any royal family. They aren’t good at anything either. Well, Nigella can lick a spoon in a most sensual way, and the Royal Family is good at cutting ribbons. I think I’ll have to explain this first.

This week a hacker published some doodles by Bill Clinton. It transpired that the American ex-president had drawn, not only a large limousine, but also a penis in classified documents, the latter item next to a sentence about Bob Dole. Was this related to Bob Dole, or was it a selfie? Monica Lewinsky would say: ‘Not a good likeness: it was bent. I’ve seen it myself.’

5th instalment: Hidden under his father’s overcoat on the bike’s back seat, Axel has entered a different world.

When I was a child I owned a cowboy outfit, which I wore until it burst at the seams. Later, when I was in the army, I would, in a similar way, burst out of my gala uniform.

19 Dec, 18.15in the Great Western Studios

I’m rather quick to show compassion. For example, you walk past a school playground just when it’s break time. Obviously, there’s always a child that’s separate from the group. This one is trudging all alone through the fallen leaves in a corner. That’s when I take pity. Not that I was a child to be pitied. I was quite popular at school. So what brings this on?

4th instalment: When grandma’s warmed up salad oil no longer does the job, the wide
brown bottle with the red rubber stopper makes an appearance.

Last week I visited an exhibition in London. The house was located in Mayfair and nothing showed on the outside. My female companion and I stood on the doorstep in the pouring rain. The door opened before we had managed to ring the bell.