Well I made it back ! It went something like this. Breakfast time, coffee and Dutch brandy at Rembrandsplein. Slow walk into the red lights, then a tour of the bars there. Finish up in the "Old Sailor" around lunch time and am suprised to notice that I am now drinking large beers followed by Geneva gin chasers.

Set off to find a bar I half remember from my last visit, take a few wrong turnings and as a result hypothermia sets in. Now become convinced that I can speak and understand Dutch, so I greet anyone who passes by in fluent gibberish. A strange wizened little prostitute looms into my line of vision and offers me a good time back at her place. I tell her to fack off, in gibberish. As luck would have it she understands gibberish, and takes offence. She spits at me, but that's really an understatement. She spends about 3 minutes draining all the aids ridden mucous from her nasal cavities. This is accompanied by horrible sound affects like a facking sludgegulper draining a city sewer. There's a sort of wet popping sound as she propels this hepatitis ridden missile from her misshapen mouth and Thwack, it hits me full in the face. All warm and green and steaming.

I take off out of there double quick and seek refuge in the nearest bar. All I can think of is how many illnesses can I catch from a gob full of lung juice that's come out an Amsterdam whore who's got every disease going. I order a large brandy, in gibberish. This gets me nowhere. I point at the bottle and gesticulate wildly. I throw all my money on the counter. This gets me a large brandy and a lot of stares. All this time I am being careful not to swallow or breath, as I'm pretty sure that a big porridgy lump of whore mucous is nestled between my lips. I need the antiseptic qualities of the brandy. I tip the whole lot in my mouth. I roll my head from side to side. I tip my head back and gargle loudly. I find that if I do something strange with my throat I can sort of snort the brandy out through my nose. I do this a few times, noisily. Finally I'm finished.

Then I realise that the bar is silent, and that everyone is looking at me. I swear at them, in gibberish. Then I leave, tripping over the step and slamming the door behind me. Then I went out for the night. I'm sure your brother would recall me if we bumped into each other, Jaz. No Rab I didn't become a pimp, but I did meet a plump little black lady who bore a striking resemblance to a gorrilla. She asked after you fondly.

Riddler
Jimmy Breadner