bloody amsterdam again

A forum where you can read the great
adventures of the visitors to Amsterdam.

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chigusa
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bloody amsterdam again

Postby chigusa » Tue May 08, 9:36 am

i'm going to amsterdam tonight, i think anyway. time is fuck all to do with me in this instance. some other bugger's coming in a motor to take us to the airport.
fucking easyjet but flying from manchester so at least it's not liverpool.
how much of a cunt is it booking a cheap hotel close to time? we're staying over a kebab shop but they can stick it up their arse if the room is crap.
i'm not having any fucking nonsense, i'm just not. i've got a pocket full of hard earned high denomination euro notes and i'll be spending most of them on weed. so fuck off.

we are only in town for two nights, it's some fucker's birthday.

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Re: bloody amsterdam again

Postby Dazzler » Tue May 08, 9:49 am

chigusa wrote:how much of a cunt is it booking a cheap hotel close to time?


Osborne-sized at any time, more so at this time of the year (Spring time and shit - the krauts and septics come in their droves to gawp at the fucking flowers).

If you're happy to pay €1000 for a hotel room, you'll get one. Otherwise you'll be looking for alternative accommodation for the whole two days. Try agoda.com. lastminute.com are, and always have been, expensive and useless.

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Postby Rudy » Tue May 08, 2:38 pm


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Postby Dazzler » Tue May 08, 3:16 pm

Rudy wrote:http://www.xavierahollander.com/sleeper


kind of proves my point. AT LEAST €100 a night, shared bathroom, miles from anywhere. I'm betting you'd end up spending another 40-50 a day on taxis.

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Postby boneymaroni » Tue May 08, 3:18 pm

If things don't work out, call that shitbag of a place...Hotel Abba..from AMS 0206 183058

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Postby chigusa » Sat Jun 02, 12:41 am

There is a smoking area at Manchester airport. They’ve knocked through onto the departure lounge roof and bolted together quarter inch thick steel mesh panels to make a sort of smoker’s prison. It has a trough at knee height to put your fags out in and in spite of the wind the whole thing stinks like an ashtray. It’s wonderful.

We had been struggling to book a room in anything like a decent hotel, days spent arseing about on the ‘phone and internet. One place couldn’t process the payment; another was cursed with some cunt on the desk who was too stupid to speak to. Out of spite and boredom I had put my name down for a twin room in a hotel above a kebab shop on Prins Hendrkkade. It was obviously a bit shit and grubby, the pictures on the internet did nothing to hide the fact, but it was cheapish and close all the horrible shit.

We arrived at central station fairly early, maybe ten in the morning and so set off for a quick look at the hotel and to buy some fags, before going on to voyagers for a smoke. I had read on the booking website that next to the hotel over the kebab place was a grocery shop owned by the same people, two birds with one stone. I’m so glad we went for a recce, on the pavement outside the hotel was a pile of suitcases and bags, a couple of crying women and two really angry red faced American blokes. In the shop an equally angry old Turk looking chap was playing bloody hell with a pair of generic fuckers straight from horeca central casting. I’m no linguist but it was obvious that some cunt or cunts had done something which had upset every other cunt. We bought cigs and left the shop and all thought of staying at the hotel behind us.

Fifty yards up the street from the shithouse hotel we came to voyagers coffeeshop. We, at that point, were me and my mate Chris. Later we’d be meeting up with some more friends from home who had been in town since the previous day.
Voyagers, it’s fucking great really. Nice wedge shaped building with the door at the point. It’s so plain inside that a man with a van could have the whole place cleared and gone in an hour, a few chairs and tables along the walls and a counter to sell weed over.
It was only ten- thirty at the latest and the shop hadn’t been open for long but already there were a few customers. A big American with a bong was holding forth to a pretty Spanish girl about some hard to get beer he had enjoyed the previous evening, and a busy little Chinese cleaning woman of indeterminate age was in and out with a duster. I haven’t really got the words to describe what voyagers inspired in me that morning. Even just writing this now, I can see the sunlight shining off the canal and dancing onto the shop ceiling, I can hear the bicycles click clacking and ding fucking dinging. Seriously, it gives me fucking chills.
Amsterdam is just a place, voyagers is just a coffeeshop and weed as always is just weed, but right then, right there in the coffeeshop doorway I realised what it is that I’ll miss when it’s gone. I’ll miss that feeling of it still being there when I’m not. The safe knowledge that while I’m at home working, wanking or whatever, Amsterdam cannabis commerce is carrying on without me and that I can jump back into it whenever I like for the price of an easyjet nightmare. I really do blame anne.

We hadn’t smoked any weed since leaving home fucking ages ago. I got some of the strawberry gubbins, Chris bought kandy kush. Neither of them were particularly expensive and they were both really fucking strong. I was twatted almost straight away. Honestly.

Somewhere around lunchtime seemed as good as any to start hunting for digs, and slogging around the city on foot was easy to spot for a poor idea. The internet had mentioned that Frederick’s on the brouwergracht would rent us some nice knackered looking bikes for ten euros a day, which is rock bottom cheap. Voyagers to the brouwergracht is a short walk that contains all the usual Amsterdam stuff and I was stoned as a cunt so trams, bikes, noise, stupid bastards, all the sights and sounds. Until you come to the top of the singel. The rokery really is closed. My only interest in Amsterdam is the coffeeshops, I don’t notice much else about the place, so when I see one gone it draws my eye. I didn’t like it. Not at fucking all.
The people we were due to meet later were staying at the Quentin arrive, just across from the dampkring; which was on the way to the bike shop so we stuck our heads in looking for the lads. They were out taking drugs. It was hard to imagine them being back anytime soon and we had been trying their phones without success since arriving in the city so we carried on down a back street to brouwergracht and Frederick’s.(They weren’t in the dampkring either and we didn’t stop for one. It’s a bit like being underwater in the dampkring and I’m not over keen).
The street running from haarlemerstratt to brouwergracht is one of those spots where Amsterdam suddenly turns quiet. Drugs and shopping at one end, leafy canal tranquil motherfuckery at the other. Chris and I both felt the change as we strolled along and were both moved to comment on what a fucking pleasant place cunts round there live in. Drugs and sunshine, I’m very easy to please.

Frederick of Frederick’s rentabikes Amsterdam is a lovely bloke. Born in France he moved to Amsterdam with his artist parents as a child, where they become involved with the art scene and opened a guesthouse. His office is a split level, glass fronted place looking onto the canal and he bounds down the stairs to offer a hail and well met welcome to visitors.
The bike hire was a piece of piss, man scribbled a few things on a chitty which we were to take round the corner to trade for bikes at his workshop. Bike business done we asked on the off chance if Frederick could point us at some cheap and top hole accommodation. Of course he could. As it happened he had a studio apartment close by which was free until the weekend. Bathroom, two double beds; little kitchenette and cheaper than the shithouse hotel had been. Fucking great. We threw money at him and were given instructions to come back in a couple of hours to allow time for cleaning before we picked up the key.
We were issued our bikes by a Sonny Barger type with a terrible limp. Colours, filthy jeans and a rebel cap. Nice enough chap. My bike was a huge bastard of a thing. One of those big old cloggie twats with enormous wheels, the ones that fucking hurtle along once you get rolling. The bike was perfect for me, an extension of my arse. Best of all it had proper brakes, with cables and handles; none of that back peddling wrongness. Chris’ bike was along similar lines but with a genuine dutch rattle to the spokes, which must have taken Sonny fucking ages to get sounding right.
We pulled away from the workshop like kids on Christmas bikes and headed up the canal toward the singel.

It doesn’t take long to get to anywhere in Amsterdam when you are on a bike and we had decided earlier to go for food after sorting the bike hire, so five minutes later found us at the waterlooplein
Looking for wheatshitters.
Wheatshitters is that cloggie thing where they fry up ham and eggs with cheese and bread, then just turn it out onto a plate. I’m not sure if it’s actually pronounced “wheatshittersâ€￾ or not, but they seem to get the idea if you say it often enough. It’s good food for the stoned. The coffee we were served was fucking wonderful, and a real relief, we hadn’t had a decent brew since arriving, ( For all it’s attractions voyagers has a shit coffee machine and they serve brews in paper cups). Of course it was impossible to smoke even a cigarette inside the café so we settled up and fucked off on the bikes to the goa coffeeshop.

Goa. Fucking Goa. There’s a coffeeshop which has changed beyond all recognition. It’s been taken over by the Chinese, and they’ve kicked all the character out of the place. Squared off the edges and moved the bar up to the back of the building. The décor is at the level of tin foil cut outs and lucky cat robots with tassels. It’s bollocks. It’s fucking bollocks. Coffee served in those stupid thin blue see through china cups. Dogshit, but at least it’s still there. Bloody Anne again I expect.


I'll write some more in a bit. nothing really happens other than we have a good time, but i fancy writing it down.

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chichi123
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Postby chichi123 » Sat Jun 02, 12:52 am

Excellent Chig.

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Postby bogart » Sat Jun 02, 1:25 am

I won the pig from a Belarussian

over a rigged game of Sicilian style chess.

It is tiny and rubber with its mouth raised to the sky,

Artfully designed.

So, I've got the pig but

I need it to grow wings and carry me over the ocean

To the only country that will tolerate

that I tolerate

or I could just get stuck here

and live life to the fullest

But the pig is minute,

like a corpulent fighting fish

an aquarian in an aquarium

Never to escape,

But for the island of Sicily

and wine every night

To fuck up the nonsense

Into a grudge match of sane and power

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Postby worldcitizen1723 » Sat Jun 02, 1:45 am

Thanx chig

Write more..
Ya bring the city to life

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Postby Old Fart » Sat Jun 02, 2:07 am

Great report Chig

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Postby Dazzler » Sat Jun 02, 2:29 am

Nice slice of prose. Evocative and bittersweet. Do you have a blog or something?

Goa. Fucking Goa. There’s a coffeeshop which has changed beyond all recognition. It’s been taken over by the Chinese, and they’ve kicked all the character out of the place. Squared off the edges and moved the bar up to the back of the building. The décor is at the level of tin foil cut outs and lucky cat robots with tassels. It’s bollocks. It’s fucking bollocks. Coffee served in those stupid thin blue see through china cups. Dogshit, but at least it’s still there. Bloody Anne again I expect.


Oddly, reading that reminded me of the last time I was in Chiang Mai. The last time I'd been there - in 2007 - there were different parts of town, isolated islands of dirt-floor bars that looked as though they'd been chucked up in a week with covered gardens full of climbing plants and with names like 'Reggae Garden' and the ubiquitous 'Marleys'. I went there last May and they'd all been replaced with monotonous concrete shophouses or wipe-clean blue-and-gold restaurants serving plaggy Thai food. All for the Chinese market.

Everywhere in South-East Asia you can see the signs of new Chinese wealth.

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Postby boneymaroni » Sat Jun 02, 4:09 am

Top job!

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Postby winnie » Sat Jun 02, 8:29 am

great reading

I've heard rumours that the people who own Goa now own Basjoes too

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Postby Red Pleb » Sat Jun 02, 8:49 am

chigusa wrote:The street running from haarlemerstratt to brouwergracht is one of those spots where Amsterdam suddenly turns quiet.


Ive always loved this about cities. Amsterdam , particularly. That stroll to Siberie on a warm, early summers morning. Ill miss that.
Great read at breakfast. More please.

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Postby Dogbreath » Sat Jun 02, 10:37 am

Most excellent report chigusa... looking forward to your next installment...

Dogbreath

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Postby a bollocks » Sat Jun 02, 11:58 am

Bollocks & Anne in the same sentence. Nice.

Good stuff, Mr. Shite.

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Postby sidhe333 » Sat Jun 02, 1:42 pm

^^what they said^^
thanx chig, a fine read

who says channels is dead?
sure, it may take wading thru several months of slag...
but it's worth it for the occasional gem
cheers

s:.

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Postby Dazzler » Sat Jun 02, 1:53 pm

"Wheatshitters is that cloggie thing where they fry up ham and eggs with cheese and bread, "

Do you mean 'uitsmijter' (IPA: œytsmɛitər), by the way?

http://www.thedutchtable.com/2011/04/ui ... dwich.html

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Postby Mokumania » Sat Jun 02, 3:27 pm

Top fucking notch fucking writing mate!

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Postby Generous_J » Sat Jun 02, 5:12 pm

Very special report. I hereby unnoficially award you with the trip report of the year compliment. I very much appreciated the following segments:

° I'm no linguist but it was obvious that some cunt or cunts had done something which had upset every other cunt. We bought cigs and left the shop and all thought of staying at the hotel behind us.

° Amsterdam is just a place, voyagers is just a coffeeshop and weed as always is just weed, but right then, right there in the coffeeshop doorway I realised what it is that I’ll miss when it’s gone. I’ll miss that feeling of it still being there when I’m not. The safe knowledge that while I’m at home working, wanking or whatever, Amsterdam cannabis commerce is carrying on.

° Voyagers to the brouwergracht is a short walk that contains all the usual Amsterdam stuff and I was stoned as a cunt so trams, bikes, noise, stupid bastards, all the sights and sounds.

° The street running from haarlemerstratt to brouwergracht is one of those spots where Amsterdam suddenly turns quiet. Drugs and shopping at one end, leafy canal tranquil motherfuckery at the other.

° My bike was a huge bastard of a thing. One of those big old cloggie twats with enormous wheels, the ones that fucking hurtle along once you get rolling. The bike was perfect for me, an extension of my arse.

° We pulled away from the workshop like kids on Christmas bikes and headed up the canal toward the singel.[\

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Postby smokedpeppers » Sat Jun 02, 7:28 pm

'I write one page of masterpiece to ninety one pages of shit.'
- Ernest Hemingway in a letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald, 1934


your tr ol'boy seems to be that one page, bravfuckingo!

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des
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Postby des » Sun Jun 03, 7:39 pm

Nice writing, Chig ... loving it!

Did you pick up any vibes on what's likely to happen in Amsterdam come January 1st?


Peace, Des.

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Postby worldcitizen1723 » Sun Jun 03, 9:19 pm

des wrote:Nice writing, Chig ... loving it!

Did you pick up any vibes on what's likely to happen in Amsterdam come January 1st?


Peace, Des.


Read somewhere this morning that the weit pass was put on hold for the new government to deal with and that it would most likely be reversed at that time. The article was posted from the Hague. I think you should be safe for your February' vacation : >

Lol
Read it on channels!
Bit of hope thread

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Postby des » Mon Jun 04, 2:47 pm

worldcitizen1723 wrote:
des wrote:Nice writing, Chig ... loving it!

Did you pick up any vibes on what's likely to happen in Amsterdam come January 1st?


Peace, Des.


Read somewhere this morning that the weit pass was put on hold for the new government to deal with and that it would most likely be reversed at that time. The article was posted from the Hague. I think you should be safe for your February' vacation : >

Lol
Read it on channels!
Bit of hope thread


I'm keeping all my fingers (and toes) crossed!

Peace, Des.

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Postby FitZerOy » Wed Jun 06, 10:32 pm

Great stuff this...looking forward to more...

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Postby chigusa » Mon Jun 18, 2:35 pm

A hundred yards along the wrong side of the canal saw the bikes locked up in front of the Green Place. I wanted to buy something called ghost face killer but it wasn’t even on the menu so I got a piece of hash. No idea at all what it was , I just can’t remember; it must have been black though because it did that thing where your mouth gets a greasy patina of resin that you can taste it at the back of your nose. Hash that is so good it more or less makes you sick is something we don’t see enough of at home.

The Green place terrace is tiny and like everywhere with a terrace they police the whole little steel stud business like rabid dogs. It’s fine, I fucking understand, the studs in the floor denote the area of terrace which the property concerned is at liberty to put fucking tables out on. It’s a rule. Whofuckingever’s in charge of Amsterdam loves rules, and cloggie business owners enjoy coming down like a ton of bricks on any poor cunt who breaks them; but fucking hell, don’t fill up your scrap of space like steptoe’s yard. People are going to want to sit out there and when they’re fucking stoned and their hands are fucking full with dope and drinks and skins and fags and stuff, well everything’s just going to go everywhere, isn’t it? The fuck do you expect?

Tucked in with us at the table were a couple from essex, They had been crowbarred into the corner by a sweaty employee of the shop who hadn’t missed a beat of his phone conversation while menacing them along the bench into an ever decreasing space in order to make room for him and us. Job done, Sweaty fucker flopped down on a chair and carried on berating whatever poor fucker was on the other end of his phone.

Mr and Mrs essex were pretty much Jeremy kyle’s front row. He was a spunkle and she seemed overly concerned with her ex. It was their first time in Amsterdam and their last coffeeshop before leaving for home. What little I could understand of their conversation seemed to imply that they had enjoyed their visit but had only started talking to people that morning after checking out of their hotel. They had been in coffeeshops and the like but just hadn’t bothered talking to anyone. Having started they’d fucking developed a taste, and their obvious delight at talking to northerners was a bit of a worry.
They harped on with all the usual excited bollocks about Amsterdam. It’s so free, wouldn’t it be good if it was like this at home, (for the record, it isn’t and it wouldn’t), yahda yahda fucking yahda, and told us a few stories about the pitbull they use to upset the pikey kids on their estate, before setting off the wrong way for the train station. Fucking essex, eh?

While rolling a joint of the fucking really really really good hash I had a proper look at sweaty bloke. He’d come back outside to deliver another phone bollocking and was giving off such a war criminal vibe that bikes and foot traffic shied away to either side of him. The shark shape I saw him cut through the flow of people was entirely the product of hours of no sleep and loads of weed, but it was no less wonderful for all that.

As we prepared to leave I spotted a scumbag approaching, he was junksick, limping along sweating and shivering in an overcoat far too heavy for the sharp May sunshine; a pale heroin ghost of old Amsterdam.
There was a time when you saw junkies everywhere in Amsterdam. They were at the monument in dam sq waiting to score. You could watch flocks of them hanging about outside the albert hein behind the royal palace, hands flapping in that distinctive, spot it a mile off, Bill Burroughs sort of way. When I first started visiting Amsterdam barely five fucking minutes would go by without some skanky drugs bunny bouncing up to you with the offer of drugs or a plea for charity. They were part of the fabric of your holiday and if you didn’t mind a gamble they weren’t all that bad to score from. You would give your money to some smelly little drug addict, he would scurry off across the square to his mate and soon enough he’d be back with your goods.
I remember there being one cunt who did the whole thing on roller skates, weaving through tourist crowds to arrive back in a spinning halt and hand over the coke or whatever. If that isn’t a tourist attraction then I’m no judge of a pint of piss, but it’s not what the modern cloggie teacher with no sense of humour wants to see; whatever shitty bit of cultural real estate the Amsterdam junkies once occupied has been torn up and built on.
Back in the here and now, or then I suppose, the vampire smack ghost put on a brief turn of speed; as he drew level with our table his dirty fucking claw of a hand shot out into the ashtray and withdrew with all the roach ends. He did the whole thing while looking me right in the eye. Vampire smack ghost.
It was a strange move, there were phones , cigs and weed on the table but he took the roach ends. His pockets must fucking stink.

It had got to mid-afternoon and long gone time to ride back to Fredericks, the keys had probably been waiting for an hour. we needed to get some bits for in the fridge and do something about finding Terry and the other lads from home.

The bikes were too good. Once I’d stopped making an arsehole of myself with the lock and untangled the handlebars from the ten bikes that had joined themselves to mine in the short time we’d been in the coffeeshop; I followed Chris down the street and over the bridge to the proper side of the canal. As long as you don’t act the cunt, bikes in Amsterdam can and pretty much do go wherever their rider fancies. It was only a few years ago that I realised there is a proper side of the canal that you are supposed to ride on. If you do ride on the proper side then every bridge becomes a wonderful sweeping left turn, get the speed and angle just right and you coast over the bridge almost coming to a stop at the crest, you can feel the physics.

Where I live it’s all fucking hills, there is no joy involved in cycling; just grim determination and a desire for it to be over. Amsterdam is different, it’s easy to get carried away and start taking longer routes; this was a case in point. I know we set off the right way, over the bridge and back up the canal to the top of town. I know we got on the singel, but I don’t know how we ended up at the kadinsky. The one near spui, nowhere near where we needed to be. An appointment to keep and we were in a coffeeshop buying weed.

Apart from some new stools the kadinsky hasn’t changed at all, the window seats are just right, the window itself is zen perfect and the menu doesn’t seem to have changed all that much in the last twenty years. I bought orange bud and it was fucking lovely.
A quick word about weed. Other than a bag bought at a shithole called the soft temple,(more about which later), every gram of weed and hash seemed perfect. In fact everything I consumed was a perfect example of itself. Weed was sweet and fruity, hash was strong and greasy; chocomel became a miracle cure to be discovered all over again, and as for the hamburgers, fuck.

Orange bud and coffee in the window at kadinsky, Chris was smoking something equally old fashioned and lovely. Every pretty girl in town was kind enough to pass by our windows seats over the next half hour or so. There is a little designer clothes shop next door to a book shop directly across from the kadinsky and girls on bikes look fucking magnificent riding past it.
Go to kadinsky. Very little has changed since the last time you were there, it’ll make you happy.

It was absolutely time to pick up the keys. We collected the bikes and forced them to go the right way to the brouwergracht and Frederick.
The keys were waiting and had been for a while, Frederick handed them over with directions to the flat and a map marked with a couple of restaurants and coffeeshops he thought we might enjoy. The directions went right over our heads so one of Fredericks cleaners took us around the corner and pointed us at the door.

Our apartment was on the street we had walked down earlier, pretty much right at the point where we’d stopped to admire the flats and the view over the canal. Luck was on our side, we could have done with a billy hills being at the end of the street.
Ground floor so we could bring the bikes inside, fantastic little kitchen built into a cupboard and a toilet plumbed in very high onto the wall. Ladies would need to use a box just to climb onto it.
Albert hein was two minutes away on the haarlemerstrat, so we nipped round and did maybe twenty euros on the usual cloggie stuff, along with some chocomel.
Cheese in Albert hein. I don’t give a fuck what anybody says, it’s all the same stuff. All of it. We bought a packet of bright yellow cheese, it was labelled as old Belgian cheese. Fucking arsewater, just the same as every other bit of cloggie cheese I’ve eaten. Nice though.

After filling the fridge and enjoying coffee and a joint down by the canal we walked the fifty yards up the street to the Quentin and the dampkering to see if we could find the lads. The woman on the desk was happy to let me go up to Terry’s room and bang on the door. No luck so we left a message at the desk and went across to the dampkering.

When the dampkering was Pink Floyd there was that lovely big bar where the Scottish bird would knock up toasties and bits of cake while all the time being as charming as fuck to all comers and pissing out some of the nicest coffee in town. I sort of loved her a bit. That’s all gone, it’s all gunmetal grey and steel effect mesh looking shite. The counter has small windows set along its length each containing an item from the menu. The drinks counter is at the other end of the room and they still make decent coffee, but it’s two and a bit fucking euros for a thimble full; and the waitresses are as predatory as fuck.

We had been upstairs smoking for maybe ten minutes when we heard a familiar Manchester voice,
“Allright yer cunts, where ‘ave yew been all fucking day?â€￾
Terry had arrived.
Last edited by chigusa on Mon Jun 18, 3:43 pm, edited 1 time in total.

worldcitizen1723
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Postby worldcitizen1723 » Mon Jun 18, 3:28 pm

Hope this is a really long trip!!!
Enjoying the report and your pov
Thanks

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Postby Tall Guy » Mon Jun 18, 3:51 pm

If you're not a writer, you're in the wrong job squire. Quality ramblings.

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boneymaroni
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Postby boneymaroni » Mon Jun 18, 3:57 pm

Very nice...more please.

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smokedpeppers
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Postby smokedpeppers » Mon Jun 18, 4:51 pm

chigusa wrote:where the Scottish bird would knock up toasties and bits of cake while all the time being as charming as fuck


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