"Daddy," my daughter says while she cycles next to me.
"Yes?"
"I'm so happy Billie Stormzy was born. And I'm so happy his name is Billie Stormzy!" (Of course, the attentive reader knows that this isn't really what she said - first of all because she speaks Dutch, not English, and secondly because his name is not Billie Stormzy.)
Billie Stormzy himself, meanwhile, was naming the colours of the cars we passed by: "Also grey. Also blue. Also white. Also black. Also black. Also purple."
A little while later, we parked our bicycles at the entrence to a small pathway leading into the dunes, just before the entrance to the biggest outdoor car parking in Scheveningen. Then we walked this pathway, up a steep hill, and down a couple of stairs to the beach. Billie Stormzy was enthusiastically speeding ahead of us, waving his arms around as he always does when he's running, and looking comically, especially because he was wearing rain boots - something he insisted upon when I put on his shoes that morning. Every once in a while he came back to us, holding on to my hand or his sister's, or walking in between us holding both our hands; after which he once again took off. Once the pathway started to slope downwards, however, he slowed down and made sure he held on to us tightly, probably remembering how he had a nasty fall on a similar slope a little while ago.
At the end of this pathway, where the stairs reach the beach, lies Strandtent Soomers, where we were going to have today's breakfast - or actually, I was the only one for whom this was going to be breakfast. Billie Stormzy and his sister had both already eaten. During the weekend's and now while we're having vacation, this is our morning routine when it's my turn to wake up when the kids do: my daughter watches television while I give Billie Stormzy his porridge (which he refused today, demanding a bottle of milk instead, to which I still managed to add a little porridge). Once that's done, I make banana pancakes for my daughter, which she eats while watching a series or film. Often, Billie Stormzy manages to persuade her to give him a bit of her pancakes too. Today, he wanted more than the small bits she gives him, so a made a few extra for him.
Anyway, as I said, this means I'm the only one who hasn't eaten yet, although I've shared a bowl of olives with Billie Stormzy as the kids were playing in the courtyard. Still, when looking at the menu I decide to go for the smaller Sunshine Breakfast (€9,50) instead of the large Soomers Breakfast (€14,50). The latter is good value for money, as it adds strawberry-orange juice and salmon, while a fresh juice by itself already costs €4. But I really don't feel like salmon today. I also order a latte macchiato for myself, and a strawberry-orange juice for the kids.
Billie Stormzy and his sister, meanwhile, have gone off to the playground of neighbouring Beachclub WOW. When Billie Stormzy returns, the drinks have already been brought. The latte macchiato is perfectly acceptable - which makes it remarkably good for a beachclub, given that coffee normally tastes abysmal around here, as I've noted before. Billie Stormzy also appoves of the juice. "Nice! Nice juice. Nice nice! Nice and cold!" he says while he drinks through his straw. Then, he's off again.
A little later, my partner also joins us and as soon as she arrives, Billie Stormzy drags her off to the playground. While they're gone, my breakfast is brought. My daughter returns to the table and is delighted to discover that the breakfast comes with a mini donut. "For whom is that?" she asks and I tell her she can have it. Instead of the donut, however, she grabs the small bowl with fresh fruit (grapes, bits of melon, etc.) and finishes before I know it. Then, she sits down to eat the donut. The juice she doesn't like at all, but she does have a go at the croissant, of which Billie Stormzy also has a bit. This means I'm left with some slices of cheese and ham, and a nice ciabatta-like piece of bread to eat them on, as well as a generous serving of salad. All in all, I'd say it's a good breakfast.
On the sound system, funky soft jazz is playing - a bit boring really, and I'm happy when C&C Music Factory's classic "Everybody Dance Now!" starts. After a minute or so, the song is interrupted though. Apparently it doesn't suit the type of music they want to go for this morning. An old couple arrives and the waitress asks them how they're doing. "I'm fine when I see you," the man replies.
My daughter says she's off to the toilet, but returns to announce she didn't go to the toilet but did notice they sell ice cream. We tell her not today, after which she becomes really angry. Her mood is somewhat volatile this summer - she can suddenly become really grumpy or angry and we've had quite a few clashes because she tends to ignore attempts to correct her. This time, however, I kind of have to agree with her that we don't really have a good reason to not give her an icecream. Money isn't tight, and the argument that it wouldn't be precisely healthy has already been undermined by us saying she can have a popsicle at home. So in a move that parenting consultants the world over would probably disagree with, we decide that she can have some ice cream after all. I tell her to also ask the waitress to come with the bill.
The manager arrives with my daughter and tells me she's already taken some ice cream. I pay and she chats a little with my daughter, about the possibility of working at a beach club: "Once you're sixteen, the manager tells her, you're welcome to join our staff. It's hard work, but also a lot of fun!"Whether my daughter finds the prospect attractive or not is impossible to tell from her neutral expression.
Also on Breakfast at the Beach: Jump back in time to when I visited this place with Rihanna Gaga in 2014
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