how not to do amsterdam

I know I literally just told a tale of Amsterdam, but I feel that there may not be enough out there on the Internet, and believe it or not, eating banana out of a sex performer is probably not the funniest thing to happen to me in the Netherlands.

I seem to like going to Amsterdam. A good European jaunt is always required, and I do try and make it to Europe at least once a year to escape England without too much effort, mainly heading out with the aforementioned pal with whom I went to Berlin (and we totally got into Berghain…).

Ash and I went to Amsterdam a couple of years ago, when I was discovering hideous hats and in the process of bleaching out the black which lived under my fringe from year 7 (that would be why any pictures of me come complete with fluorescent orange fringe). Now I’m pretty sure I can’t get into trouble for talking about blazing up that 420 ‘erb in a country where it’s legal, but I’m a pretty paranoid android so for legal purposes (lol) I’m going to refer to it as getting Snoop Dogg’d.

So off we went with Snoop Dogg in our hearts and a thirst for culture, back in 2012. Being rather brassic at the time, we only ended up booking to spend two nights in the Dam, with just one full day to get out there amongst it and get stuck in to all that the beautiful city has to offer… So naturally we went out and got shandied on the first night and ruined the rest of the trip for ourselves.

Checking in to our hostel was an absolute experience. We had somehow, for reasons unbeknown to ourselves, ended up booking two nights at none other than a ‘movie’ themed hostel, and we’d managed to bag the James Bond room. As you can imagine, our hilarious selves adopted the roles of sexy British spies for the amble up three flights of death-defying stairs to the room, chanting the Bond theme tune at the top of our excitable voices. It was diamond.

Anyway once we’d gotten over the excitement of our hilarious gaff, and the disbelief of our window view of the ladies of the red light district, we took to the canals, and had the booziest night since records began on large Dutch jars of lager and various shots of horribleness, waking up feeling less than fresh on our only day to enjoy the sights.

So as avid sight-see-ers (is that really how you spell that?), we found ourselves the nearest cosy looking coffee shop and browsed the products, ready to get Snoop Dogg’d and laugh away any heavy heads. As you may know, we had a choice between baked goods and good rolled into a small cone shape by the helpful Dutch honeys, and so my friend and I went for the latter, while the other five members of our party munched their way through a delicious space cake at high speed.

Just as Ash and I were enjoying the full effects of our shared spliff, giggling merrily along to life and finding minute objects of much hilarity, the effects of the space cake seemed to slam into each of the other five like a bat from Floyd Mayweather, and they were not in the best of shape. We could physically see the effects settle in to each and every person around the table, who crashed and burned into a hole of Snoop Doggyness, being a little too Snoop Dogg’d for life. Being under the SD influence ourselves, however, we could only find the whole scenario highly amusing while everyone suffered around us, and when everyone had to head home to spend the rest of our only Dutch day in bed, we headed to Mr Chipsy and munched our way into complete heaven, feeling smug as fuck that we’d been the sensible honeys of the group.

The second night of our trip is possibly a story for another time, although I may never choose to tell it.

Long live Snoop Dogg.

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