Admittedly she was only six weeks old, and it was a peck on the cheek and a cuddle.
The weekend in Amsterdam with my friends, their 4 year-old and their newborn was lovely. We did nothing, achieved little and on Sunday we never left the house. Truly the relaxing weekend that I needed.
And the baby is just beautiful. Really quite gorgeous. I get this way with friends kids, I have to say. I fall totally in love with them and really enjoy the time I spend with them. Whenever I've taken a holiday with friends and their kids or with my brother and his kids, it is always the kids that end up making the trip special.
So getting to spend this time with my lovely friends and their beautiful daughters was a real treat. It was, as expected, the polar opposite of my weekend with Conortje in Den Haag, but nonetheless it was lovely.
It was with a heavy heart that I waved them goodbye at Schiphol.
On the flight home I got sat next to a leg presser.
Of all the people you don't want to sit next to on a plane, the leg presser is high up on the list. He's on the list somewhere next to the smelly person, the nursing mother, the vomiter, the unaccompanied minor, the chatty Cathy and the Eastern European hooker (I sat next to a pair of these once between Paris and Valencia. One of the worst flights of my life).
Anyway, I was on the aisle, he was in the middle. And no matter where I put my leg, he followed it a couple of seconds later with his. He pressed his leg up against mine for practically the whole flight.
Now, I'm not always one to complain about these things - I remember flying Alitalia from Bucharest to Milan MXP quite vividly (and I remember it quite often, he he) - but this guy was a pain. He was mid-forties, nerdy and he was 'reading' a very dull computer magazine. So, more Pee-Wee Herman than George Clooney, and a real effing nuisance.
To make it worse, when we were getting off the plane and the crowd was lining the aisle waiting to move forward, I swear I felt his hand cup my backside.
I turned to look at him and he winked. He winked. I mean really. Winked.
Now, I like being winked at and touched up by strange men as much as the next 'mo, but being touched up in economy? Non merci.
I have standards, you know.