The glorious sun was out and it was Easter Sunday, so we just had to do something if even just for an hour or so. Though most likely exhausted from driving to and from far-away Hellevoetsluis, trimming out his mother’s garden, and doing errands in between, my partner still wanted to drive us in the direction of the oddly-named town of Cruquius (pronounced Kroo-kyus). He brought us to a café right smack next to a historic pumping station dating back to the 1750s now reborn as a museum. The café itself morphed from being the house of the station foreman – yet another example of that all-too-regular adaptive reuse common in this country. It was the perfect antidote to being stuck at home all day Saturday and, apart from a forgotten food order, made for a decent Sunday afternoon out.