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Going Dutch

Readers will know how much Astragal enjoys national stereotypes. And no nation tickles his fancy more than the ‘craazy’ Dutch. When not sticking their fingers in dykes, Astragal believes, the average Hollander can be found cycling through the red-light district puffing on a hefty jazz fag. And this belief has only been confirmed by the behaviour of OMA’s press office in Rotterdam. Astragal made the mistake of trying to contact Rem Koolhaas’ acolytes using a phone number printed at the bottom of a press release. Several fruitless attempts to get through to the Netherlands were greeted with the phone at the other end being repeatedly picked up and then immediately put down again. When a rapidly angering Astragal finally managed to speak to someone, he got through to a very refreshed-sounding OMA minion. ‘The presh offish?’, this befuddled chap responded to Astragal’s query, ‘oh shit man, I don’t know what their number is.’ Astragal then listened in with growing frustration as the Dutchman put the phone down on his desk, scrabbled around with what sounded suspiciously like some king-sized Rizla for a while, and then carefully replaced the phone on the hook.

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