The demands of these three festive things have weighed heavily on my shoulders. These three unwise Kings, as I call them, have featured strongly over the past few days and their merry consequences of hangovers and yuletide trips to the tjoilet, have prevented me from blogging. Yes, the traditional Britsish method of celebrating the birth of the baby Jesus by going to the pub and "wetting the baby's head" is alive and well out here, in snowy Amsterdam.
So snowy I'm wondering if I'll be able to get home for Xmas at all. Or will I be eating turkey in Schipol airport? The answer's probably no because in this town you can't buy any food you actually want.
Can't help thinking that the protective features of this brolly are outweighed by its bloody massive wind resistance.
Unless he's using it as a sail. A sort of airbike. Wouldn't put anything past the Dutch.
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