Pissing With Stifler – a short story from The Netherlands.

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In June 2010 I arrived in The Netherlands with the notion of finally ‘settling down’. Young, in love and still just a little wet behind the ears, my girl and I had all the typical rat race dreams: Get the jobs so we could save money. Save money so we could get the house. Get the house so we could have kids. Have kids so we could be a happy family, a regular functioning cog in this big old machine we call society. What could possibly go wrong?

Those first few years in Amsterdam were a blast! I loved the city, had the job of my dreams and S and I were saving plenty of money as we looked to move out of our rented apartment and buy a place of our own.

Cheesy photo opportunity #456 – Ad’s stag weekend – January 2011.

In January 2011 a bunch of my old schoolmates flew over from London for My old friend Ad’s stag weekend. He was finally getting married and it was up to me to make sure he saw the best (and worst) of Amsterdam.  “How was Cameron Diaz?” enquired my mate Palmer as we exchanged hugs in Rembrandt Square’s Old Bell Pub, my favorite Amsterdam watering hole. “Delightful!” I grinned, “she complimented me on my shoes”.

It was a really fantastic weekend; one of the last times we were all together in one place. And we really made it count, devouring plate after plate of delicious Indian food at Tagore Restaurant on Utrechtsestraat before hitting the city bars. In between we toured The Heineken Brewery, wandered around Albert Cuyp Market and… inevitably… ended up in the Red Light District’s seemingly unavoidable Banana Bar. What happens in Amsterdam stays in Amsterdam.

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