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Hangin around like a bad smell
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I read something in a Holland tourist giude back in Rotterdam that gave a list of the things to go and places to be seen if you consider yourself to be the type of shaker who's got their finger well and truly bang on the pulse. Which is me to the tee, really. But that aside, there was one detail hidden amongst the list of clubs and happening weed bars in the fine print that took my attention, and that is, if you go to a popular club, the general custom is that you pay the no-necked bouncer at the door a tip upon leaving, otherwise, the bouncer has carte blanche to effectively kick your backside, pretty much throw you into a nearby canal or smack you right in kisser. I'm not a big fan of clubs as it is, but damned if im tipping any bouncers.
After a sterling run of glamorous, bronzing weather, Utrecht finally copped a bit of a cool change today, as the clouds came out in relative force and threw down a spray of the wet stuff to keep things interesting. Resultingly, the B+B crew and i were relegated to the interior of the place, mucking around on the internet and watching consecutive b-grade VHS tapes courtesy of the predominantly 1980's video library on the hostel shelf. I was particularly thrilled to see that Police Academy 6 was present in the collection, by far one of the greater episodes in the Police Academy series, where the zany, fun-times crew heads to Miami Beach, Mahoney kicks Captain Harris' snaky ass once again and Bobcat Goldthwait continues to make no sense and a lot of noise. Ever since i watched Police Academy 1 with my Nana when i was 4 years old i've had a shameful soft spot for poor, 1980's American b-grade humour, indoctrinated forever by this poor taste cinematic swill.
So the day elapsed in a relaxing fashion, i played cards with Sanna the shaved haired Finnish bird, Angus the Scot and Corey, Legion Dave's mate from Canada, who used to work more or less alongside the former Prime Minister of Canadia before the newer Right Wing government won the recent election. We sat around, drank wine, played cards, and hung out, a staple way to see out a less than desirable outdoor day. Come nightfall, Martin and i chowed down on a meal of pasta, and i actually went for a jog around town to combat my return to the path of alcohol-related unfitness. The gut is nowhere near the roll-levels achieved back through the mass-pasta and wine consumption of Amalfi, nor that of Prague and Cesky, but i fear that any further disregard may be to my detriment.
After feeling a little shady, i hung around in a restless mood and conceded that i should probably just hit the hay and call it a night. Well, i did that, and i couldn't sleep, so i threw on some jeans and headed back out into the mild night air, across the road to a fairly empty bar and met up with Corey and Legion Dave for a drink. Of course, one drink inevitably leads to at least four more drinks, finding a cosy joint further down the main road called 'T-Grass', and knocking back some additional rounds of tasty 'Palm' brand booze. We had a good chat, a good laugh, as Corey and Dave filled me in on their various stories back home, what Canada is like to live in, and some of Dave's many dubious escapades with the ladies. Polishing off the night with a cup of chips and curry sauce, Corey tried to convince us to have another grog, but the pubs were shut, and the night was getting on, so we returned back to ye old hostel for a dash of French Toast and a smattering of slumber.
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