It’s Sunday morning after class. My fellow yoga teacher and I have finished our cappuccinos. I steal the biscuit from his saucer and start to nibble.

 “My offer to you still stands you know,” the 50+ colleague confides in me. “You can still become my yogic mistress.”

 “I’m fine in my own backyard,” I smile weakly. A backyard where no one has set foot in for 6 months, and that is gearing up for a long cold winter.
 “The last 20yo, why did he leave?” he asks. “I remember something about him falling for a girl with a guinea-pig.”

“It was a hamster.”
My phone trembles against my leg. A text message from Henry: “Get your divine yogic ass over here! We’re gonna see Rutger Hauer!”

 “I’m going to see Rutger Hauer,” I repeat to my colleague.
 “At least I know who that is,” he answers. “Try that with a 20 year old.”

It’s in chilly Nijmegen where Henry and I see Rutger Hauer. At a retrospective.
“Do you think he’ll do autographs?” Henry asks. “I would love to get him to sign my  copy of Fatherland.”
I shake my head. “No, but check eBay. He sells things for charity.”
 “I hope we can shake his hand again, just like 5 years ago!” Henry wishes.
We met Rutger at the 2005 retrospective, when he was reunited with his beaming, radiant, girl-blushing co-star from 1971.
 “His hands are so big and strong!” I remember.
 “No wonder Monique van de Ven is still in love with him,” Henry chuckles.

5pm. The theatre is packed for the interview with movie actor and director Rutger Hauer.
 “Please text your question for Rutger,” the interviewer says.
A huge screen gives us a mobile number. Two-hundred people start texting, including me. In a moment of brightness I name-drop his charity foundation. An assistant brings three pages of questions to the desk.

“Why are you not on Facebook?” the interviewer asks. “This fan would find it useful to keep track of Starfish auctions.” Henry and I look at each other wide eyed.
“That’s your question!” Henry’s mouth mimics.
“That’s MY question!” my mouth dumb-screams.
Only 2 fans hear their question being asked to Mr. Hauer and I am one of them.

Rutger doesn’t answer yet instead spends 20 minutes explaining the work of the Starfish Foundation, but nothing can stop me from beaming, radiating and girl-blushing.

After the interview we go for a drink at the bar.
“I was so into Rutger when I was 20,” I tell Henry. “And he was already 50 then! I was crazy in love. Rutger is the proof that I can be interested in older men.”
“That doesn’t proof a thing,” Henry laughs. “You re into Rutger despite of his age. Despite of his money. Despite of the fact that he’s happily married to Ineke.”

Despite or thanks to. We will never know.

But my offer  – to become Rutger Hauer’s secret yogic mistress  – still stands.

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