The boys(And girls) are back in town: Day 3

.............And we're up. Day three in the big brother household and Mr. Blue needs an espresso.

Today we have no parties. No commitments. No schedules. I could stay in bed and not miss anythinga part from the girls last day, but I'm on auto pilot now and I'm up and raring to go. We decide to have a slow morning. We watch some DVD's and then it's off into town for a wander - we toy with the idea of going to a museum(The weather is pretty grotty), but instead decide that given the price and business of the Van Gogh museum and the closedness of the Rijksmuseum, we'll get as much out of looking round the shop.





Nina manages to buy some antique stamps for her postcards, and then we are off to find a canal boat tour.

Canal boat tours are one of the most touristy things available to do in Amsterdam, but like a bus tour, it;s a great way to see a lot of the city in a short time. It's also a good Sunday activity. Very Lazy:



All the canal boats take a similar route. They travel round part of the three ring canals until they get to central station and then go out in the harbour for a little while before going back into the canals. You get to see canal houses:



The harbour



Nemo Science Centre



The old replica ship at the Maritime(Scheepvaart) Museum:






The boat ride is good fun. In her effort to spread happiness around the world, Nina befriends a little girl who's on holiday with her dad. The girl's from Kentucky, so has a jen-yoo-ine southern accent. When we get off the canal boat they exchange photos and addresses.

We go off for a coffee and meet a few of my mates before we head back to the flat to catch our breath before dinner. When we get back to the flat, The Kiwi has returned from London. He's had a similar "weekend on the piss" as he calls it, so although the flat has become far more female in his absence, he fits into the pace perfectly.



This is the shortest beautifying session so far. Before the girls arrived Nina told me that her and Diddley often went for pampering weekends and that she very quickly undid all the girlie things straight after like a dog rolling in a puddle after it's bath. I told Diddley this story, so the girls have been arguing over who is the most high maintenance ever since. It would appear that Nina takes longest to get ready.

Tonight I want to show the girls something special for their last night, so I take them to a very good French Restaurant called Bistro Bonjour.

It's a French restaurant run by a Turkish family, and they do some of the most amazing steak's I've ever tasted. I't's one of those places that has such a nice Atmosphere and the food is so good that you can't help but laugh and joke and have great conversation. I always associate French food with good conversation. Tearing Good bread, quaffing good wine, gobbling down steak so tender you could eat it through a straw. The Kiwi and the girls fit well together. We laugh and joke together, and unsurprisingly end up rattling off Billy Connolly jokes. It's a such a great relaxing night - not a care in the world except good red wine, good steak and listening to good jokes. It's a great end to a great weekend.

There were many other paths the weekend could have taken, it was very spontaneous. We hardly stopped for breath, but managed to cover all the bases - from tourist pursuits, to local parties and restaurants which are a little off the beaten track. I hope to get to Prague before the end of the year to visit a mate and envision that I can get the same mix of seeing the tourist end of things while also getting off the beaten track to small local places.

I'm blown away by how wonderful the weekend was, and I look to similar in the future, the excitement of not knowing what will happen on those weekends.....

The weekend ain't over yet tho. We have an early night and are back at the flat for about 1am in order to get up early for the girls plane. The chosen DVD is.......... Star wars - what an end to a great weekend!!!!!!

The boys(And girls) are back in town: Day 2

You know one of those mornings where you wake up and you can smell the fresh air blowing through the trees as the sun chinks in the window and you are ready to start another day?.........

.........This wasn't one of those mornings, this was one of those, peel your tongue off the roof of your mouth and hobble to the toilet despite the fact that you have slept in a dodgy position for only about 4 hours and you wish that you wouldn't miss anything if you just barricaded the door and curled up for the whole day.

Unfortunately you're not allowed mornings like those with Niña around. Despite the fact that we ran out of expresso yesterday and Diddley has a look in her eyes that i remember from my sister(Who also doesn't like mornings), Niña appears to be dancing.

I suggest that we quickly get showers and head off to the supermarket for something for breakfast - but I am reminded that we are 24 hour party people and don't need to showers to go to the supermarket.

We head off - dancing and skipping as we go. Niña is like me - an iPod devotee. She has almost always got at least one ear phone in:



So we are hungover, but ignoring it and skipping through the streets of a very quiet area of Amsterdam on a Saturday morning with Niña singing Brabara Streisand at the top of her voice.(yes nine inch nails sit side by side with Barbara Streisand on this iShuffle)






The locals are giving us some bizarre looks. I have to explain to Niña that the strange thing about Amsterdam is that while complete nutterness such as naked roller blading is acceptable, mild nutterness such as singing Brabara Streisand at the top of you voice isn't acceptable.

We make it to the supermarket and go through ingredients for about four possible breakfast(Pancakes, fry up, smoothies etc), until we settle on something called "Country Breakfast". It is an invention of Niña and involves potatoes.

"Taters?? What is.... Taters??"



From looking at the ingredients it appears to be some kind of morning stodge.......

Did she see it on a cookery program? Did she have it in a fine restaurant? Did she assimilate it from a book of assorted breakfast stodges? No she used to eat it in a supermarket cafe, and they discontinued it. So to spite them, Niña is cooking it for us.

I could do a whole blog on a trip to a Dutch supermarket, but I'll try not to. Bizarrely, although, this is the cheap supermarket, they have more exotic ingredients than the expensive supermarket - i.e. Mature Cheddar Cheese. I'll know not to pay about 15 euros for a huge block from a specialist next time I'm having a dinner party.

We hop skip and jump back up the road, stopping along the way for a Turkish bread.



I can't tell you what a great invention Turkish bread is. They have Turkish bakers on every corner over here. the bread tastes so good and is designed in such a way that its perfect for tearing, which ties in so well with all the Scottish soups stodges etc. It's also a great bread for the park.

Anyway - we're back home, me and Diddley clearing up last nights carnage while Niña cooks breakfast. We watch a few DVD's and eat great breakfast - dipping bread, mushrooms fried in Lemon, garlic potatoes, bacon - no wonder we can party and drink so much - look what we have for breakfast!!!!

Before long we are freshened up and ready for the off. We skip out the door walking in unison to take the tram 13 to the end of the Prinsengracht to walk through the Melee of the Gay parade as it's just warming up. we get off the tram in the rain - I'm wearing shorts, as it was sunny three blocks away(Maybe I overdosed on Country Breakfast).

There is very loud music - Doris Day singing "Que Sera Sera":



Although we're an hour early, there really isn't anywhere else that is likely to play Doris Day through a PA other than the Gay Pride festival of Amsterdam.

The Gay Pride festival happens every year in Amsterdam. It centres around a boat parade where various themed boats(The theme usually being scantily clad buff men), cruise around the prinsengracht which is one of the canals which for a ring around the centre of Amsterdam. Everyone gets involved, and it's quite a lot of fun. I can't really imagine Glasgow being as liberal as this, but that's why we travel I suppose. Theres various street parties. It'ss very much like Konninginnedag except instead of wearing orange, they wear pink.

Basically it's a weekend when an influx of gays from other countries make the city just a little camper for the weekend:




SO we wander along the Prinsengracht with the girls ogling lots of naked men in the rain. I think it is terrible the way men are objectified as pieces of meat during the gay parade, but anyway - we continue along the Prinsengracht to a friends house which is a great vantage point for watching the parade:



The parade is pretty weak compared to previous years. It get's weaker for me every year, because I get more used to it, but this year was the first year I was at the parade when it'd been raining. The girls, however, sat at the window glued to every boat coming past. They clearly have a real interest in the different types of canal boats in use in Dutch canals:



After a few drinks and some boogying to gay summer hits(In the rain), we hit the streets again to lap up some of the atmosphere. We walked down to where the boats were congregating on the Amstel River. We decided that since it was about 5.30 we'd get the tram back to the flat where the girls could get showered and dolled up for a night of dancing and partying.



I start to get worried. Amsterdam has a different culture than Glasgow. In Glasgow women usually get dolled in min skirts and lots of make up for a night out that isn't that special. In Amsterdam, you can wear ripped jeans and converse trainers to some of the most prestigious events on the social calendar.

It takes about three hours for the girls to curl their hair and put on makeup and do various women's things. We have went very Scottish and are drinking vodka and red bull. We take advantage of my Polish Souvenirs:



While we are drinking away dancing to music and the girls are getting ready, as they take longer and longer, I worry that we they are going to be ridiculously out of place in the relaxed Amsterdam. Eventually they emerge from the bedroom. My fears were ridiculous - they look stunning, the have spent hours dressing down to some sort of Bo-Ho fashion. As we leave the flat, I am escorted to the tram stop by two beautiful women, making me feel very proud of being Scottish for some reason.

We return to the party which is now in full swing Salsa mode. Niña is straight onto the dancefloor with the Colombians while Diddley and I have a few drinks before settling into the atmosphere, within a few songs my shoes are off and I am salsa-ing and sweating with the best of them. This goes on for about 5 hours. Drink flows, songs flow, dancing carries on. The commonality to it all is that people keep on asking me "Are all Scottish women like this??" I of course reply in the affirmative. If all Scottish women are like this, then my memory is blurred, because I don't remember Scotland being this much fun. The salsa kings are now winding up for the night(i.e. Acoustic Shakira songs)




It's about 3am. The girls have decided that they want to go clubbing. They are looking for some R and B. I suspect the answer might be in my vinyl collection, but I keep quiet cos I'm not much of a clubbing person:



The most famous club in Amsterdam is Escape. That's all I know. When people ask for a club the answer is Escape. With this in mind, many people have recommended that the girls go to Escape:



From the word go, the neon lights bring back so many memories of my student days when the only place that anyone was going was these student clubs. I could never fit in to this world where you're only point of communication was your looks and you dress sense. Remove your ears, your voice, and make the lighting dark; it really puts me on edge. Maybe it's because I like music so much and this is one genre that I don't have a passion for, but I detest clubs.

Anyway - we pay whatever the charge is and go up the neon lit stairs to get the standard E'd up rave view. Repetitive music and people with no pupils in their eyes dancing manicly:



Luckily the girls detest it as much as I do - I knew they were classy burds, so we finish our Jack Daniels and go. My theory is that people are more interested in showing that they can name a club in Amsterdam so they name the big popular one. I would give the same answer. It's the centre of the clubbing scene. What you forget is that this is Europe so tastes are different. i.e. people like their bad Ned-like techno.

I'm now shattered, but the girls are determined to seek out Amsterdam's elusive R and B. After the advice of a bouncer we head off to Sinners:



This is better. It's at least marginally interesting in it's decor, music and people. It's still not R and B apparently. It's after 4am, and I am reallly starting to wane. the music doesn't pick me up the same James Brown and Colombian did an hour ago. Even the girls' Duracells are dulling in this environment. After a few drinks we take our goodie bags at the door and we're skipping into the street again with balloons tied to our wrists.

We get in a Taxi to go home, and the Taxi driver provides the last entertainment of the evening. He has a voice that sounds very like John Belushi's in the Restaurant scene of the Blues Brothers.("How much for zee veemin???):



We get in the car and he starts on the girls. His accent has me in Knots:

Taxi: So you have good night? See nice boys.
Girls: Lots of pretty boys - it was the gay parade - but they're not interested
Taxi: You try to change their mind
Girls: Yeah sometimes, they are so good looking you are convinced you can....
Taxi So... you like zee geerls?
Girls: ....Theres just no changing them tho.....
Taxi: You eever been weeth zee geerls?
Girls: .....You flirt, you make passes....
Taxi: Like - a - you love zee geerls together? You like zee weeemin?
Girls:.....nothing. They're not interested in your body....
Taxi: I have philosphy. You like zee men cos you can't have heem. You should go veef zee veeemin. Veemin together good.
Girls:.....Such a shame. loss of a good looking guy.......

And so on.

Finally I crawl into my bed after watching the first half hour of Men in Black II with Niña.

The boys(And girls) are back in town: Day 1

With not a moment to spare - or more precisely about 5 hours drunken sleep I'm up for a trip to the Airport to pick up two guests. The Kiwi is also up and off to the Airport for a trip to London. We are in similar states as he returned to Bar Gollem the previous evening. Looking back it was quite comical watching us both crawl around hungover at 7am.

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.

A Wedding

So - to the day of the weddingl.

I've not been to many weddings and any I have been to have been in the UK and in churches. So there's a lot of firsts for me. A registry office wedding(Or the Dutch Equivalent), a wedding between two men, my first Amsterdam wedding and my first wedding where the happy couple arrive and leave in a boat.

All in all I get to be a tourist with a new adventure in Amsterdam which I used to think was a rare thing, but I've come to realise it's a question of frame of mind. Despite the weather report, it's a lovely day. The view over the Amstel is beautiful and reminds you how nice the city can be.



The wedding takes place in the City Hall - which is commonly called the "Stopera":



I make the mistake of entering through the wrong door, so have to wander all the way through the various functions of the building. It's slightly bigger than the small registry office in my home town. I see a few people I know and realise that I am moving in the right direction. I arrive in time to see the couple come out of a very decorated boat which has arrived from their home a few canals away. Most of the people who are here, are people who I know from bar's and party's around my friend's home, so for a good while, I spend time looking at these cleaned up and dressed up versions of the people I know. The people are looking the same way at me - my preparation yesterday must have been time well spent.

Eventually the ceremony starts. I am surprised at how friendly and relaxed the registrar is. He is very good at making everyone feel relaxed and happy. The room is packed with about 60 people.

The ceremony is roughly the same legally as it is in the UK. There's a poem reading by a Scottish woman who is a friend of the couple. The registrar commends her on her "sexy" accent. I can't imagine this ad-libbing in a UK ceremony, but what would I know. Before long the proceedings are over and we have a married couple:



The couple then leave so that they can eb greeted by all the guests - a surprise awaits outside. Someone has organised a piper to be outside.



He plays all the standards(Scots way hey, Flower of Scotland, Mairie's Wedding etc.) I'm pretty shocked to discover that the piper is Dutch. It's a pretty strange profession for a Scotsman - there are far more interesting instruments in my opinion - but for a Dutch man???

We are soon back at the marital home. There is Champagne and some wonderful food:



The dancing then begins. 4.45pm may be the earliest I've ever salsa danced. I eventually head home around midnight, as I want to conserve my energy for the weekend, but not before getting a photo of the happy couple on top of the cake.

Getting togged up.

Today is the one day of the week I have to prepare for the impending wedding on Thursday and the arrival of two very energetic friends from Scotland. I have a mild throbbing in my head following the red wine last night, but it just serves to remind me what a good night it was.

I need to sort out some bikes for the girls coming, tog myself out for my first Amsterdam wedding, tidy my flat in preparation for a female level of cleanliness.

I'm really apprehensive about the wedding, cos it's a gay wedding, so I feel I have to be as well dressed as possible. I'm convinced I worry more about the opinions of my gay friends than I do about the opnions of females I'm wooing. If this was any city other than Amsterdam I'd worry about this last sentance.

It's smart - casual which makes it worse - i.e. more effort. Normally the kilt would serve the purpose of avoiding decisions, but the Groom(Or one of them) is Scottish so that's his propoerty tomorrow. So while 2 days ago I was apprehensive about looking rough and scruffy enough in a Pool hall. Tonight I have to spend time wondering if I prefer the Black or the White shirt with my newly purchased Hugo Boss Jacket for going to a Gay wedding.

I'm very proud of my Jacket - I bought it at lunch time today, It's smart enough(And expensive enough) for a wedding and grunge enough(Turquoise thread and denim inside pockets) for me to be comfortable in it. It provides me with just enough kick to mean that I can walk with confidence to the wedding tomorrow.

Amsterdam has this problem - everything is so casual that it can be a little difficult to look as if you made an effort to dress up.

Anyway - home for a night of ironing, tidying and resting before what will be one of my busiest weekends in Amsterdam(Or anywhere) in a while(If not ever).

Back in the Dam: And back in the Kitchen

Tonight I wanted to do something a little different as some friends were coming round for dinner, and to see my travel photos. We had one German, one Argentinean and The Kiwi would be joining later. Both Argentina and Germany have had Haggis before, so while I wanted to do something Scottish, I couldn't rely on Haggis. Nick Nairn to the rescue:



I decided to opt for a fish dish. I never cook fish and anything with a non exotic fish can be considered Scottish. I settle on a dish which has Hake on a bed of Celariac Puree topped with deep fried parma ham and a red wine fish sauce. It's surprisingly easy, but the white fish, deep red sauce and parma ham make it look good.

At lunch time I have to go out and get the fish, on the way I run into a friend who is out getting food for his wedding on Thursday, so I end up coming to help do some lifting and ending up with a higher quality and quantity of fish than I had envisioned.

Once home, it's a case of running around to get everything done, but in the nick of time, my guests arrive and I serve up everything. We start with some oatcakes and cheese, which get snaffled pretty quickly - people are hungry and always underestimate how good cheddar cheese, arran mustard and oatcakes tastes:







A light summery Pea and mint soup followed this - hunks of fresh bread dipped into the soup and the conversation.

The red wine is flowing, the food is appreciated and I am showing off my photos of Scotland, Poland, Italy etc. It feels good to be back in Amsterdam - especially if I can keep getting people to join in on nights like this.

Now I deep fry the parma ham(New trick for me), and serve the main meal. I should have taken a photo, but with the cooking and the lack of time, I'd forgotten about the blogging. It just means I'll have to cook it again. At this point The Kiwi arrives and gets given a plateful. He's an asset to the conversation, as he has experience of both Japan and New Zealand and my German friend is about to go travelling there.

Washed down with a good bottle of red, it goes down a treat. I am the only one who has space to polish off a glass cranachan afterwards:



We don't really have that many deserts in Scotland, but Cranachan is one of them - layers of cream, berries and oats topped off with Whisky and honey makes it a pretty heavy dish - but it is very tasty. Ironically, it took me longer to prepare than anything else and no one eats it. Next time I'll give them an Irn Bru and bring the cheese board out again.

Back in the Dam: Out on the Pool

I had a really interesting night. I went, with The Kiwi, to a pool hall with some of his English work mates.

In Scotland, we waste much of our teenage and pub years playing pool. We have two scale's of "Ladness", how much you can drink, and how good a pool player you are. They aren't extremely valid currencies, and don't turn up that many CV's but they can come in pretty handy.

I enjoy a game of pool - we had a pool table in my high school, so we played quite a lot and I used to play a little bit of snooker(maximum break not much more than 8). Pool is not really that widespread in Amsterdam outside of tourist sports bars, so I was quite pleased to get invited to a pool hall to knock some balls around with the lads.

I was a little apprehensive, no matter how liberal and accepting Amsterdam is, pool is still something that's played in dodgy bars where you want to look good in front of people in order to avoid getting beaten up.

I'm pleased when I turn up and we are the only ones in the hall - this way if my pool playing has deteriorated beyond belief I put up with it for a while and then leave. Fortunately on my first shot i clear 6 of the 7 balls, and my positioning play is absolutely perfect.

The lads are suitably impressed, I'm suitably relieved and I can relax back into drinking a few quiet beers, enjoying some conversation and enjoying the luxury of not having to concentrate too much on my playing.

Drinks with British lads(And a kiwi) reminded me of the cultural differences. I felt like I was closer to home for the evening - same bad jokes, few beers, bad pool and relaxation. Couldn't hack it every night - but tonight was fun.

Back in the Dam: Drummer cloning technologies

I've been back at work in Amsterdam for about 3 days now, and the feet are already itchy. It's pretty tough being back at work. I actually have to do large jobs with direction. I'm still unpacking all the contacts and networks that I made when away at conferences, so I'm still a little scattered.

Maybe in an attempt to achieve some sort of rhythm, I seem to have been choosing a lot of soundgarden on my iPod of late. After seeing Audioslave at T in the Park - I think I've been sub-consciously revisiting Chris Cornell.

I wanted to make up a tour T-Shirt which listed the Audioslave dates and at the top said "Soundgarden and Rage Against the Machine Tour 2005", but I've realised this is frivolous.



What would make more difference to the world as a whole is the new campaign that I'm considering.

I forgot how good Matt Cameron is. While Pearl Jam are my favourite band, and they deserve to have the best drummer in the world, Soundgarden was such wonderfully rhythmic music that I think they should still exist. So my line of thinking was that Matt Cameron should be cloned for the good of music as a whole.



Then I realised. Why settle with a mere two Matt Cameron's. His drumming style is almost perfect to do as close a job as possible to filling John Bonham's drum stool. So Led Zeppelin should be re-formed with Matt Cameron taking drumming duties. I suspect from listening to Matt Cameron's drumming style that Led Zep have been a big influence on him at some point in his life, so he shouldn't mind, and probably realises it's for the best.

Is it possible that my brain is running away from itself as a result of being back in an empty office(Everyone is on holiday), either that or I have solved all transients in musical style and progression through the technology of drummer cloning - who knows.