Advertising your honesty may very well have the opposite effect. But what if you are and need to let this know? That about sums up the problem I face when I have to go to Dublin. I happen to be so very lucky as to get free dental treatment. In exchange I commit my body to science so students can practise on me. The very idea used to scare the bejaysus out of me, but by the care of my personal archangel and the pressure of dental decay I soon relaxed in the diligence of students who are totally able to apply the latest techniques in virtually painless treatment.
The only time I did hurt was when Salva extracted a molar. With endless patience she had wriggled it looser and for the final pull a host of students had gathered around us. With the ultimate hoist a roundabout murmur of praise kindled me to groan, 'Is it a boy or is it a girl?'
Now in certain parts of Dublin it is not wise to park and leave your car and neither is spending the night in it. Which suggests landing myself in a well-to-do neighbourhood. But here social control is apt to incite calling in the Garda. And they were not likely to be easy on me.
But it is amazing what you can get away with as long as you do it with confidence. So yes, I do park my VW van in between shining Beemers, Lexuses and Mercs, with the courage of 'be honest and fear not'. Both sides of my van read 'Dolphin Address, www.janploeg.nl', so if vigilance rises, my credentials are available in a decade-comprising CV.
So here I abide, in a quiet and respectable cul-de-sac with lush gardens and steps leading to the front doors, a three-minute walk from high-frequent public transport, only two stops from the heart of the city.
My other luck is that the Irish are extraordinarily tolerant souls. My heart fills with happiness when I think back to the time I parked at White Strand for three dolphin seasons. On one occasion I had locked myself out of the van. I asked a local friend for help who in turn called on others and suddenly I found that everybody knew me and I felt showered in goodwill.
Not only do I park and sleep here, I also do a little living. Like yesterevening I watched Jack Nicholson and Helen Hunt in 'As good as it gets' and today I have been writing this from an early hour.
Before the movie I went to a pub. I really don't seek to be the oddball, but I don't drink alcohol because of my kidneys, so I'm the only one drinking tea. And I'm the only one who's practically sober and through the haze I see the people, doing their ting. There's a fellow next to the toilet door who intercepts acquaintances on their way to point Percy at the porcelain. He juggles an unlit cigarette between lips and fingers and his stool is kept vacant by the barman when he smokes it outside. The fellow beside me spends his time between fidgeting with his iPhone and making expert remarks across the bar. A startled science man, eyes high on his forehead, speaks to a woman who keeps on nodding long after he finishes talking. A man-faced woman is the only one who notices me speaking into my voice recorder, so different from Berlin.
My alarm alerts me to high time for dialysis. So off to the van, drain a warm bag and flush in two stone-cold litres. Cheerrrrs!