A sweet and hazy cloud floated out onto the street, daring us to creep closer. Carefully peeking around the open doorway, I sussed out the surroundings. Anxious not to end up in some local stoner central, it was important the atmosphere felt right.
The cafe was more jazzed down than up. A mashed up mix of bright colours tatooed the darkened walls. Graffiti was scrawled on the chairs, scribbled on the tables; it decorated the flooring, and livened up the ceiling. How it got up there, one can only imagine.
A young woman lazily swayed along to the Bob Marley beat. Adjusting her funky purple bandana, she rapidly (with both skill and style) threw together a strange assortment of ingredients which happened to create the most amazing Mint Choc Mocca known to man.
“Lets get some of that chocolate cake…Im bloody starving”
“We’ll get the banana one as well…that looks tasty”
As we munched our way through the delicious goodies, the sweet scent of chocolate lingered faintly in the air…
2 hours later
Tucking into the most mouth-wateringly delicious cheesy pizza at a prestigious restaurant down the nice side of town, the strangest sensation invaded my thoughts. Fizzy bubbles from my innocent coca cola flew through my nose and zoomed off down each one of my hair follicles; causing a mass growth of illuminous green grass on the top of my head. Trying to remain calm proved impossible. Somebody sneezed.
If you have never laughed at a sneeze, you cant have been listening properly.
I bit my lip. Hard. But it was too late. A huge grin exploded across my face. Followed by a spluttering attack of the giggles. And i wasnt the only one. I tried desperately not to look at his face. But it was just too tempting. As I caught his eye, Don burst into the girliest fit of giggles I have ever heard. This did nothing to dull my laughter. I then somehow managed to bang my head on the side of my plate of pizza. Smooth.
Upon retrieving the stray pepperoni from my fringe, we sensed an attitude shift in our fellow diners. It was perhaps time to leave. Is this where we went wrong? Events were about to take a terrible turn for the worse.
“OH my god! Why do you keep disappearing?!” shrieked Don in despair as he clutched frantically at my arm that had most definately not disappeared.
We were now wandering aimlessly through the streets of Amsterdam. Lost, not only because we didnt know where we were, but because our minds had kindly decided to up and leave for a while. So what do you do in a situation like that? Well I can tell you what you dont do.
You do NOT:
a) freak out and say your lip has fallen off
b) freak out and claim that you are paralysed
c) freak out and decide you may possibly be dying. Or already dead.
I really had my hands full with Mr Un-Hardcore. And the fact that they were fizzing like sherbert lemons in an icy-cool glass of champagne was not helping matters.
Amazingly we somehow made it back onto the bus, through passport control and onto the ferry complete with sexy bloodshot eyes. We passed out in the room. Phew! We’d made it. Lesson learnt. Never again. Thank God it was over!
But it wasnt over. 2 hours later, I woke up with the most incredible thirst that even the juciest orange in the world couldnt quench. I desperately needed a hot chocolate. Nothing else would work. Nothing else could compare. After sitting and consuming an entire bag of minstrels, two bananas, a bunch of sandwiches as well as a giant orange, I was convinced this was the only thing that would work. Just one little hot chocolate. Just down one little flight of stairs. I just knew I couldnt do it alone.
“Don!” I whispered loudly, “Don…wake up!”
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” he grunted as he saw me sat cross legged on the floor with the tell tale signs from my secret feast littering the carpet. “How can you possibly have eaten all that?!”
“I need a hot chocolate!” I whined “I have to have one or I’ll have a heart attack!”
Knowing I wasnt going to give up, Don reluctantly got out of bed and began putting on his high top trainers. WITH PYJAMA SHORTS!
“You cant wear them with shorts, you look like an absolute idiot!”
As out of it as I was, even I knew this would be a fatal fashion error. We settled for just socks and pyjamas and floated down to Costa Coffee with BedHead hair and eyes like zombies. The world was staring at us as we desperately attempted to hurry the whole sharade. Why was noone else in their pyjamas? Why did no-one else look like they had consumed an entire batch of brownies? Oh god how did we not realise Don’s PJs were on backwards?!
Despite our frantic attempts to hurry up, Don decided to order a pie, which we sneaked upstairs with us back to the room. Immediately, he threw the butter knife and spoon into the bin.
“What did you do that for?” I protested.
“Its too dangerous” he replied, as though it were the most normal thing to do in the world.
Great. So I was about to have a heart attack. My arms and legs were fizzing. Grass was growing out of the top of my head. And now Mr Un-Hardcore had decided that eating a pie would be far too dangerous in our situation. Take me back to Hull!