Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Quelque Chose #13


Unlucky for some, #13 goes out to 19th century Irish courtesan/dancer/saloon owner/temporary ruler of Bavaria and all-round hussy Lola Montez, about whom I've written a guest post for The Anti Room.

"Her aforementioned temper has become the stuff of legend, stories abound of her carrying a whip everywhere she went, like a sexed-up, slightly unhinged Indiana Jones and using it to strike men across the face if they annoyed her. In essence, you didn’t fuck with Lola Montez."

Her name was Lola and she actually WAS a showgirl.

Monday, August 15, 2011

The Houseboat That Rocked

Well that little holiday was the fastest five days in the world ever. It's taken me forever to get around to this post because I've been too busy boring the arse off people by going on about how AMAZING our holiday was and how we didn't want to leave. I swear time speeds up in Amsterdam. As was to be expected we had a most enjoyable time, rife with tomfoolery.

SUCH AS:

* Staying on a houseboat. Let me just say that anybody going to Amsterdam NEEDS to stay on a houseboat. This one in particular was only brilliant. (And it was called Little Bear! How ridiculously perfect was that?)

Shazam, motherfuckers!

Like a little timber bungalow with beaded curtains and hippy cushions and a most delightful terrace on which we could sit out in the sunshine, eating cheese and grapes, waving at the passing boats manned by people eating cheese and grapes and watching little rows of ducks swim past in single file. They didn't have any cheese or grapes though.


* Staring in awe at the beautiful Tuschinski cinema, an explosion of Art Deco decadence and gorgeousness, inside and out. I actually whimpered "I want to live here" to the Bear. I could totally live in an Art Deco cinema, surviving on popcorn and ice cream. What? I COULD!

* Spending an entire brilliant day in the Efteling theme park. I have to be kicked out of bed to get up for work in the mornings, but tell me to rise at seven in order to catch a train to a place I can go on rollercoasters all day and I'll spring out of bed five minutes early, bright of eye and bushy-tailed as fuck.


Ca-caw!

Much like last year's trip to a Dutch theme park, we were being whirled upside down, screaming our faces off and whipping around breakneck corners all before breakfast again, running between thrill rides and taking care never to queue for more than half an hour for anything and totally succeeding. We manged a spin on one particular rollercoaster five times. Tremendous.


* Ambling along the canals and canal houses with their varied angles of leaning in search of lunch and mischief, stopping every minute and a half so I could take yet another Hipstamatic photo.


* Taking a wander around the dark wooden spiral staircases and chequerboard floor tiles of Rembrandt's house, despite the Bear's protestations that had no interest in it seeing as "there's an entire wing of paintings by Dutch masters in the museum at home that I could go to for free and I couldn't be arsed going to that". He was glad we went in the end though, as the Rembrandthuis is actually incredibly interesting. I for one learned that people in the 17th century were much smaller and slept half sitting up, which explained all the short little beds secreted around the house. The tiny eejits.


* Being woken up at all hours by the honking, squawking, giant flappy geese bastards that patrolled the canal, eyeballing houseboat residents for a potential mugging, or possibly bits of bread.



We're going to have to construct some manner of excuse to get ourselves back there quick smart. I even miss the geese.

 
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