I felt awful on the train. Its probably because I mixed, Champagne, white wine, red wine and beer. It took a few different choice on the iPod before I could settle into a rhythm on the train. Eventually in preparation for the carnage which I was predicting for the weekend I settled on Appetite for Destruction:
From that delayed guitar in the opening track(Welcome to the Jungle), you just know how much fu n you're going to have. Guns N' Roses is unadulterated cheese, and it took me a while to be able to admit I like them, but you kind of have to think of them as the same level as Queen rather than the same level as Pearl Jam or something like that. Axl Rose's lyrics are so cheesy and bad that it makes the band. Carefree, in your face cock rock - can't be beaten. It really gives the espresso time to kick in and lets me look forward to the weekend.
This weekend is going to be a long one. Nine Inch Niña is coming to visit Amsterdam with a friend(Miss Diddley). I was at high school with Nine Inch Niña, and while being slightly taller than 9 inches tall, she earned her name by appearing in the blog at a nine inch nails concert. nin - Glasgow She is also a good friend of Luke Skye-trekker of Skye and T in the park blogging fame.
I'm really looking forward to their trip as Gay parade is on this weekend, and I know that they like to party. Your social life in Amsterdam is defined by who you are with, so I wanted to make sure I had some live wires here for the Gay Parade. I trust they will not disappoint.
Finally after what seems like an hour, of me standing waiting to be dived on by an old friend, I see them and run over(Hungover - running, I must be excited). Its great to have some mates over in Amsterdam again - it seems like ages since I've done the tour guide thing. It reminds you how exciting everything is. Niña and Diddley are clearly some of the finest catches known to man, these women greeted me with a bottle of Irn Bru:
Scotland is the only country in the world where Coca Cola is not the number one soft drink. In Scotland it's Irn Bru. Irn Bru is a very sugary orange drink, which has the medicinal properties of curing hangovers. So any women who arrive with a supply of their own hangover cure are definitely welcome in my house.
Before long we are on the train to Amsterdam Centraal. I talk to much, but Niña talks more. This is when I start to notice the looks which we are getting from fellow travellers. I forgot how much different Scottish travel is, where we all talk quiet animatedly about this, that and everything, whereas in Amsterdam(Maybe it's a big city thing), people tend to keep themselves to themselves and stay quite quiet. I'm getting the impression that Amsterdam could learn quite a lot culturally about this visit. Probably more than its visitors.
We continue talking right onto the tram and I am very pleased when Amsterdam's naked roller blader passes our tram. The girls are in hoots. He's basically a guy who roler blades round Amsterdam every day wearing nothing except a thong. In the winter I'm told he covers himself in lard becasue it gets cold. The rest of the tram laugh at the girls, as they see this guy pretty often.
In my flat, the Irn Bru continues to flow, making me feel human again. Diddley goes for a snooze, while I catch up with Niña. We swap a few new musical finds and generally talk nonsense. Again this is something I've missed - someone who talks as much crap as I do, but still looks as if she is listening.
Since they are tourists(Only Diddley has been in Amsterdam before), we head off. I have organised some bikes for them, in order that we can get around Amsterdam quickly and cheaply. We head off to pick up the bikes. Luckily they are in a back street so I now get the hilarity of being reminded how different your memory of riding a BMX from riding a Dutch bike in your mid 20's:
The lack of brakes(You pedal backwards), and the height discrepancies between Nine Inch Niña and the Dutch means that it's clear that we are travelling by tram or taxi for the whole weekend. Niña feigns disappointment, but Diddley is less of an actress. We decide instead to top up our calories by indulging in some Dutch traditional food.
So after some pannekoeken(Pancakes) and patatjes(Chips) we are set up for a wander towards the Red Light District in order to be as touristy as possible as quickly as possible.(We have drinking and partying to do.)
The Red Light District of Amsterdam sits in the wallen district of Amsterdam. Its a really pretty area with picturesque canals winding away under little bridges. Walking North on Oudezijdsvoorburgwal you cross Damstraat and the quiet sleepy canal houses turn into a sea of seedy neon:
All the tourists love wandering around this. The girls are no exception. It's great fun just seeing the looks on their faces, Niña especially. We do the tour, wandering around the little back alleys, get a beer in a little tourist biker bar, and then it's off to find a way home in order to freshen up for the evening ahead.
My flat is fast looking less male. The girls wiped and cleaned when they arrived(I had tidied), but already there are womens magazines lying everywhere, can's of red bull, make up, hair products, mirrors, Oreo wrappers. I think it' similar to a cat, women like to mark their territory once they come in.
I have phoned round everyone I know, and the best offer we have is a Brazilian club night with one of Brazilian friends.(my brazlian friend of guitar playing fame). At first we aim to be out of the flat by 8, then 9 then 10, we have a few more drinks, listen to some more music, and other drink or two etc. and finally leave around 10.45pm.
We are reasonably merry and looking forward to a night of Brazlian music and dancing as we stand at the tram. Diddley is in a good mood so asks our fellow Tram-waiter where he's from. He explains that he iss pakistani but lived in Birmingham for a while so understand english. Whether he understands drunken scottish is another question. I hope he doesn't because Diddley managed to explain that we were going to a Brazilian party, and then explained to him what a "Brazilian" was if you went to a beauty parlour.
"Y'Know - totally naked. Waxed! Shaved! All Off!!!"
The poor little man looked perplexed.
We arrive at my brazlian friend's flat before heading out on the town. Diddley manages to abuse the cats for over eating, but I don't think they understood anything other than Brazilian with a smattering of Dutch, so they haven't turned bulimic.
We are soon off to the club night with my brazlian friend and his cousin. It costs 10 euros to get in. It's a long time since I've paid to get in somewhere(I'm a bit more of the bar culture type). The place looks quite fancy in the dark(Remind me to go and look in the daylight next time I'm in that neck of the woods), and I'm quite pleased that the girls aren't going to be disappointed. My lack of knowledge of club land in Amsterdam and their knowledge of club land in Glasgow meant that I wasn't sure what to expect. Once we get in, you can't help but dance to the beats. They are kind of Brazlian African dance beats. Niña like the good closet rocker she is goes straight to the bar and orders some JD and cokes. We then take to the dance floor. I am full of energy and everyone else seems to be the same.
Our fellow clubbers are a little perplexed when Niña decides that she can't samba in cowboy boots and takes them off. I stick them in the back of my belt so that they don't get nicked. This seems to perplex people further, including one woman who suggested that since Niña didn't want them, that she could take them. It took some persuasion to convince her that it was only a momentary dislike of cowboy boots and that she would indeed continue to wear them in the future.
After a few more JD and cokes and a lot more dancing, we are starting to think that we should get home and conserve some energy for the Gay pride festival tomorrow. We have ordered our last JD for the road when the music stops and some live drummers come out, they play the same music we've been listening to, but live - we have to go back into the dancing again.
Eventually, after an hour ago deciding it was about time for the off, we are in a Taxi heading home. It's been a great first day, and all thats left of it is to sit awake with Niña until about 4.30 am talking about our lifes, and our worries and our dreams. The last time we had this conversation, we were probably about 21. I'm pleased to say that neither of us have lost any of the spark we had then when we were sure we could remain true to ourselves and not let the world get us down.
We'll see - so much for the early night.
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