“Your highness. Now that you have been successfully crowned William-Alexander, King of The Netherlands how would you like the occasion to be remembered? Your face will already adorn our nations stamps and its currency but perhaps we should name a street in your honour… or an entire city maybe… Possibly we could erect a mighty statue which captures your majestic likeness or build a great structure of architectural marvel in your name to show your strength. How my lord? How would you like to be remembered?”
“With none of these things.”
“My lord?”
“I desire something truly fitting of a king. Something that the people will remembered me for forever, for generations to come.”
“But how my lord?”
“This… this is how I wish to be remembered…”
“… The orange King’s Burger!”
Spotted sellotaped to the tram stop at Koningspein in Amsterdam:
I foresee two possible outcomes.
One will result in a very touching scene between a father and son a few years from now when the inquisitive young boy asks how mummy met daddy. The proud father will put his paper and pipe down, pick up the young boy and sit him down on his knee. As they sit together next to the fire in the father’s favourite old leather armchair he starts to tell his son a most wonderful story about a romantic search across an entire city to find the girl who had quite unexpectedly taken his breath away one summer day on tram number five. It is the kind of epic love story that poems and novels are written about. It is a story that stays with the young boy. It shapes and forms many of his own thoughts and ideas about love which eventually lead to him meeting his own wife many more years later… and then, a few more years later still, it is a story he tells to his own children about how grandmother met grandfather…
That or a lengthy court case resulting in a restraining order. It could go either way.
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