Just Like Honey

Amsterdam

Went out last night with Andy and some of his Dutch work colleagues. We were in a cafe place in the middle of the Vondelpark, and much to my surprise we were drinking rose wine. Not only our group, but seemingly everybody that was there was knocking into some, with only a few foreigners having beer and nobody at all having white or red wine. I can't remember ever having much rose before, but after half a dozen glasses it was beginning to taste sickly, like Vimto. Looks like Vimto too. Unsurprisingly, as time wore on, Andy started to hold court in foul fashion, and he insisted we go on to another local bar. On the way, one of his friends lent me her bike (everyone here has one of them, too) and pointed me in the general direction of this place. As I tottered uncertainly forward, I was aware of her shouting "to brake, just pull back" but before I knew what was going on, I was careering down a hill and clattering firmly into the inevitable concrete pillar. Not sure if my insurance policy covers crashing a bike like an idiot while pissed on Vin de Vimto, but thankfully my ego was the only thing to take a battering. Finally making it to this bar, we stumbled in on a game of 'DJ Bingo', everyone had a card with the name of a song in each square to tick off when it's played. First to get a line had to run to the front of the bar and hit a big button, not unlike the final game of TV's Wipeout. I was one short, but sadly the bit of trashy 90s Europop I needed didn't come up, so we went back to Andy's empty-handed and stayed up drinking tea, playing Cure and Pulp records and ranting until 3.

I felt a bit delicate this morning, but managed to slump in front of the TV and watch "Lost in Translation" on DVD. It was just as good as I remembered it.