the brilliantly leaping gazelle

I am presently in Amsterdam, but the computer on which I write these posts is in London, but thanks to WordPress having a facility whereby one can write a post and schedule it to be published at a later date, that’s exactly what I’m doing.

Or did, on June 20th, so therefore what follows may well be an accurate narrative of what is going on, but equally, it may not be.

Anyway, I’m here in Amsterdam with Marge, my former house-mate, cycling around Amsterdam and its surrounding area on an electric version of the adult tricycle I used to own. Electric it may be, but it still has the same fundamental problem that my one had. That of having three wheels, two control freaks but only one set of controls. It’s not so much that I need to be in control, but more that I’m so much better at it it than anyone else. The problem is that she almost certainly thinks the same way too. She used to joke that the only reason she hadn’t killed me yet was because if she did, she’d have nothing left to look forward to. This holiday may prove otherwise.

So, the train journey on Eurostar was either ease from start to finish, with everyone being as helpful as possible or a complete nightmare, where everything that could go wrong, did. Equally, the accommodation she, she, booked on airbnb is is both handily located for our needs and utterly delightful in every way, or it may be in Amsterdam the way London Stanstead airport is in London and makes one think of the shithole Withail lived in. Navigating our way to the bike hire shop from where we are may be simplicity itself, with helpful and plentiful signs, understanding locals and patient car drivers or it may be a tabloid headline in the making, warning those Dammed Amsters of the foolishness of tourists.

That’s before we get to the cycling component of the holiday.

Whilst there have been numerous warnings about unusually hot weather in Amsterdam we may well have heeded such and brought sensible clothes – hats, linen shirts, shorts etc – sun cream and water bottles or we may have thought it all was a lot of fuss over nothing and brought totally unsuitable clothes. We may have learnt from our previous jaunts, and chosen to bring on our bike rides only what can be safely stored about our person, possibly utilising a backpack to make things easier, or else we will be like a modern day Hansel and Gretel, leaving a trail of odds and ends that have fallen out of our pockets littering Amsterdams countryside. The cycle routes themselves will wend and weave us through some breathtaking scenery, on cycle-lanes that are as easy to navigate as they are well maintained, or we’ll be beset by routes that take us through deserted industrial parks, and in one one of which, late at night and at the furthest possible point from our accommodation, we’ll get a puncture.

The travel insurance I bought may have been in hindsight totally superfluous, or a prudent move, especially when she reads this post and with some force, repeatedly introduces her feet and fists to my man bits, deciding that its high time that that she put me out of her misery. It might happen.