Amster-wham-bam-thank you-dam
Sleeping for 4 hours on a sofa didn’t refresh me but I knew if I had gone to bed I would have overslept and missed our groups rendezvous at Fleet services. 3am and a spicy pasty later we were on our way to Heathrow. Nice clear roads made for an uneventful arrival at Terminal 1 where we were able to check straight in almost… and no queue!
I managed to sleep through the in-flight munchies but being only a 45 minute flight this seemed of little concern.
We all hopped on the train to Amsterdam City Centre and meandered through the cobbled streets to our Hotel… the Grand Hotel Krasnapolsky. It certainly lived up to its name and some. The awarded 5-stars were worthy additions to this stunning guest-house indeed. Expedia certainly gave us a real bargain this time.
Having stored our bags with the Porter we headed out across the cobbles. Steve marching forward with an air of propriety in his stride – he knew just where we were headed. The Grasshopper! On the way we were accosted by Tim Brown who had just ordered eggs for breakfast… we arranged to meet him post-eggs.
There weren’t many girls in this establishment… mainly young English blokes excited about the legality of what they were boastfully smoking. This pub took on 3 floors but we chose the one that served alcohol and merrily slurped at the large beers we ordered.
The agenda for the Saturday evening was the perusal of sex shops, a meal in an Argentinean Restaurant (that wasn’t much cop) and an early evening Live Sex Show. This was a rather orchestrated and choreographed performance with cigar puffing madness and heckling from the audience shouting ‘who’s your daddy’ Raucous laughter ensued as I took my place right in front of the stage as the others were forced into the corner seats. The payment of an additional 5 euros secured a 2nd show for the following evening too.
Having taken in a few of the ‘lanes’ earlier, Carole and Tracey were laughing at one of the prostitutes who had secured a customer… as he entered the door the prostitute winked at them both as if to say ‘he comes another sucker’. It was pure female poetry.
Some of the girls in the windows were very young in deed. Most of them were stunning – only a very small number were old/ugly/overweight – still, something for everyone I guess.
So following this tittering performance we headed off to what we had come to Amsterdam for… Northern Soul.
The venue was reminiscent of what I can only describe as a hayloft. The stairs to the mezzanine were somewhat risky for those inebriated but with a sea of people below I am sure that anyone who took a tumble would be squarely caught by some unsuspecting patron below.
The dance floor reminded me of These Old Shoes with its slight incline toward the stage. The wallpaper came straight out of the 70’s and the standard lamp was in tatters – much like our brains come the end of the night. The music was first class. Tim Brown, Steve Csordas and Molly each took turns to delight the audience. Many of whom were from good old Blighty.
I was approached by a girl called Mandy who was a British ex-pat living in Amsterdam with her Husband Paul. We chatted through-out the evening and Paul announced that he had arranged for the DJ’s to spin a few more records at a Bar he DJ’d at called O’Reilly’s. This had been added to our itinerary for the Sunday night and ensured more soul which can only be a good thing.
3am brought a closure to our evenings jollies. Drunk, jocular and hungry we went in search of edible sustenance. Food!
I fell into bed around 4.30am and slept soundly until we all re-convened in the lobby of the hotel in readiness for a trek to find breakfast.
Eggs were the order of the day, fried eggs. Tim hassled the waitress demanding that he should have 3 eggs contrary to the 2 eggs they typically served with the meal. He argued that the restaurant next door served him 3 eggs only the day before. Her retort was that the chef was merely getting rid of old eggs yesterday LOL. Needless to say we all received 3 fried eggs and received a free drink each too.
Having perused the shops along the way we headed into the famous Amsterdam Sex Museum. The bargain of the weekend at only 2.5 euros each we wandered around the labyrinth of love. Cries of wow, whoa and what echoed around the corridors as punters eyed the many exhibits. There were photographs of pornography through the ages some of which were very base but some being very artistic and beautiful. Our voyage of voyeurism came to a close as we arrived back on the cobbled streets.
Back to the hotel for a nap, shower and change before we headed back out for the evening.
It was back along the canal to the sex show for the early evening performance – the venue was the sister auditorium which was far more classy than the first seedy one we stumbled upon. With a centre stage that lifted and rotated it ensured that all seated guests got a good view of the stage antics. One of the girls started her Banana Dance, inviting 5 members of the audience to dance with her. One of the men was at least 70 years old… yuck! He couldn’t kneel down like the rest and when his turn came to take a bite of the banana from her flange he had to be helped down and up again by a bloke in a gorilla suit sporting a massive rubber cock. That made us girls feel sick – at that age you should be holding yourself with a little decorum, not embarrassing yourself in that way. I was sure he was going to die right there on the stage through the excitement he was obviously experiencing.
Onward and upward we headed off in search of food prior to the nights soul engagement.
The O’Reilley’s pub, who were playing host to our musical delights, was typically like any other O’Reilley’s Irish pub. Sitting there supping beer and Cointreau, and listening to great music ensured a great evening for us all. From there we skipped around the corner to a bar that allowed smoking and settled ourselves in what I can only describe as a cave! Massive padded shelves and very dim lighting.
Having indulged and appreciated this watering-hole we headed back toward the Hotel, stopping briefly to pay homage to our hunger pangs once more.
In bed again by 4ish I drifted off with thoughts of ‘what a fucking great weekend’.
Molly, Tracey, Tim and I treated ourselves to the 22 euro breakfast in the Winter Garden Restaurant within the hotel. Not very impressive as most of the food was lukewarm and the staff were quite inattentive due to our late arrival.
The rest of the day was spent perusing shops, smoking stops and coffee breaks. Cigarette purchases were made and our hotel bills paid.
All aboard the taxi for our journey to the Airport and back to good old Blighty again.
To sum up the weekend I would say it was a raucous, raunchy, rude and resilient three days. I would definitely go again – it was so much fun.
