I read today that 12,00 bikes and 52 cars are fished out of the Amsterdam canals per year. I also read that 35 people on average fall in per year and that my dickhead friend coxhill is the only man in history to voluntarily jump into the disgusting system amassed of sewage, dead bodies mixed together with some water. The stuff looks like motor oil at night and I'm sure even the yarra wouldn't swim in this gunk. Non the less Cocka ran this idea through his skull and gave it the all clear and hence now has two heads. This is the result of the famous Amsterdam pub crawl in which we cannot say we completed due to losing the group after a trip to my favourite dutch chain known as chipsy king. After cursing chipsy king for being such a delicious and alluring food we headed for the red light district where we decided a few more beers would be in order. It was at this point where we lost Coxhill, until we found him later looking like a drowned rat and talking like a Queenslander due to his new thongs. We had met a bloke earlier at the hostel from Blackburn who was keen as mustard to see the district. Finch, Blackburn Alex and myself sat in the tiger bar and watched the seediest of seed bags pulling the curtains and leaving the booths, reshelving their nut sacks and sniffing their fingers. One guy we saw came out, t-shirt tucked into his jocks, jeans tucked into his runners, hand down the pants, sweat on the brow and a look of shear terror on his face (he may or may not have had a limp, I was pretty blind). The girls in the windows are not what you expect a sex worker to look like. They are amazing young stunners. As ironic as it sounds the dutch sex trade came about due to protests by a women's rights lobby. They believed that prostitution was a legitimate form of business and that they should be recognised as tax paying contributors of Holland. The bloke in charge at time caved like a house of cards and with the women over here I can sympathise with him. I can do this as we ended up in a shady strip joint in the district. When in Amsterdam. I planned on going in there and spending not a cent, but when Blackburn Alex got a dance without any money I knew we were in trouble. He left and the heat was on me and finch to cover it. We were arguing with the biggest brute of a women, topless and smacking either me and finch back in to line with her riot norks whenever we tried to escape. she put her hands in my pockets looking for money to find 3 euro. I had strategically dacked my wallet as I knew it would probably come to this. Finch not being the thinker I am (I was the winner of the Contiki trivia) left his phone in his pocket, which she grabbed and headed for management. At this point I handed her a 10 and got the fuck outta' there before any other bare chested pitbulls could have a crack at us. We met Blackburn Alex outside and came to the agreement that he owed us a kebab each for our troubles. If prostitution is legally accepted then I think kebabs should be an EU recognised currency as between our group you never get paid back, you get a garlic soaked wrap assembled by a back alley turk. We had a laugh and headed en route back to the Hostel, via chipsy king, via the hotdog stand. 3.30 am and the stoners were still occupying the smokers area. I don't know how those smoked trouts do it. Once at the top of the stairs I could hear a familiar cackle echoing around the hallway. Coxhill looking like ratatouille after falling in a bowl of soup was stomping around putting 'ay at the end of every sentence. Couldn't even look at him. He smelt reasonable considering the circumstances, but then again I have been doing the smell tester on my jocks every morning for the last couple of months, so a grimy Coxhill didn't match some of the punches to the face I have copped doing that. So much more, but I have to see Anne Frank, after a visit to chipsy king.
Thanks for reading (it's good to be back on the Blogging scene I have really missed it)