At the end of August, Z and I travelled to Amsterdam. Our two favourite tattooed ladies were there at the same time, which was the main reason that we went. The adventure we’d planned had had to be cancelled, so Amsterdam was a last-minute decision, one we only booked our flights for three weeks in advance.
There were bikes everywhere, and my being so scatterbrained and inobservant meant I was almost knocked over at least twenty times a day. The most surreal tourist attraction I’ve ever seen was the Kattenkabinett, a baroque former ballroom with chandeliers, rococo furniture, ornate furniture and cat-themed paintings, photos, ornaments and posters on every surface. There were real cats snoozing on the dining table, cabinets, and velvet-covered chairs. The bathroom looked like a mirrored confessional booth, and the toilet paper was printed with pictures of dogs. It was such a weird and whimsical concept, and I was completely besotted, and pestered Z about going back every time we were at a loose end.
I’ve never been anywhere like the red light district, and that alone was enough for it to intrigue me, despite the tourists and the students and the stag parties. It was an uncomfortable mix of voyeurism/horror/fascination, despite my love of neon and sluts in platform shoes. We stayed in the cheapest room we could find that didn’t have horrific reviews. It had a piano, two armchairs and a sofa, but no toilet or sink. We pushed our twin beds together and every day the maid moved them apart again.
The highlight of the entire trip was De Taart van m’n Tante, an amazing tea and cake parlour where I had amaretto apple crumble and Z ate cheesecake with blackcurrant sauce with glitter in it, and we shared a pot of peculiar green tea. The sun shone most of the time we were there, but by the time we landed at Gatwick it was 11pm and much too cold for my attire of bare legs, cardigan and no coat. The train from Gatwick airport into London had blood splattered all over the floor. The Londoners just sighed and ignored it, the other passengers gawped at it and shook their heads, competing for space on the luggage racks so that they wouldn’t have to wheel their expensive suitcases through it.
I want to go back to Amsterdam, but maybe not until the weather’s warmer. From what I’ve seen I bet it’s beautiful in spring.
(Sunset and cat museum photos by joiseyshowaa and ECOgarden)
Towards the end of this month, thousands of students will be trundling off to university for the first time. But, what about when they want to travel back for a few home comforts (y’know, like clean sheets and underwear, or an evening meal that doesn’t consist of pot noodle and pick’n’mix from the nearest newsagent)? According to news stories earlier this year, train travel in the UK is the most expensive in Europe. And to make matters worse, a recent report found that poor advice from staff at stations means passengers are often paying more than twice the cost of the cheapest available fares. It sounds like a headache, but there are ways to save. You just have to know where to look.
This, my dears, is my latest engagement; blogging for Kublax, an online banking aggregator. That might sound complicated (or at least it did to me), but Kublax's service is actually very simple and easy to use. And as a cheeky bonus, it's really useful too, because it lets you keep all your online bank accounts in one place, analyses your cash-splashing, and lets you set budgets for every category of spending you could possibly wish for. Perfect for these credit-crunched and troubled times, eh?
It was out of necessity that I ended up developing something of a talent for sniffing out and snaffling up cheap train tickets and other ways of getting across the UK for less than the small fortune usually required to travel any susbstantial distance. But now that I live in London, and no longer spend almost every single weekend hurtling along on the Virgin Pendolino service between Manchester and Euston, it's time my tips were shared. You can read the rest of the article here.
While they’re battling the waves, with the dinghy singing a jaunty ditty about their predicament, on dry land there’s a dollybird doing semaphore. Which would make a sort of tenuous sense, except for the fact that she’s flanked by bizarre green “monsters” attired in the kind of panto costumes that would make most school nativities look like they’d been kitted out by the wardrobe mistresses of a big-budget West End musical.
Look! It's me on the wondrous My Chemical Toilet, reviewing a rather bizarre and twee video by The Octopus Project.Go here to watch the video and read the rest.
In other news, Z and I went to Amsterdam last week, and this weekend I'm trundling back to Yorkshire for Eat Yr Make-Up. There'll be photos of both next week, but I can't promise they'll be pretty. I can, however, promise that they'll probably involve glitter,backcombing, drag-queen make-up and a vomit-inducing amount of gin.
