So whilst still on Blighty Terra Firma we entered a parallel universe as soon as we queued up for the plane. The expectation and reality was that everyone was masked up. No ifs or buts but everyone for the 11 hour flight had to wear a mask. Apparently in other parts of the world people are still very cautious about COVID.

It was ok wearing it again and really – had no issue with it. However, the following announcement caused quite a high degree of anxiety. We needed to let the flight attendants know if we had a cough, a temperature or felt generally unwell you had to notify them. Problematic as my whole days have been punctuated by steady and relentless hacking coughs. Eyes are said to be the doorway to the soul, or some such thing. Well looking into some people’s soul on the flight uncovered the fact that my incessant racket was not well received and I was the devil incarnate. Trying not to cough was equally hard and just made my lungs hurt more.

By the time we reached Mexico City I felt very loppy. Undeniably this was partly due to the fact that what little I had managed to try to eat at Wagamamas had dropped onto my front as my mouth was numb with the chillies.

i felt dirty and incredibly stinky. So once at the airport I headed to the duty free shops while Pete had a coffee. Scanning the perfumes I settled on Sauvage – the Johnny Depp perfume. I needed something heady and not floral to counteract the stench.

Headed back to Pete feeling pleased with my DIY transformation. ‘,Oh my god’ said Pete and proceeded to say I smelt of the green stuff they put down loos in 1970s schools. Well why have one spray of it when I could have several. Perhaps I had over done it. Pete started to get queasy and probably started to take the colour of the said toilet cleaner. ‘Why do you want to want to smell like bleep Johnny Depp, for bleeps sake?’

So off popped to the loos to wash it off, struggling with the taps and drenching my front. Headed back to the shop and sprayed a floral perfume. But the other one lingered in the background so now I just smelt of Zoflora. Classy!

The airport is massive, the shops impressive and colourful artworks abound. Again everyone wearing masks in the airport and signs everywhere about social distancing and sanitising.

One strange thing was the wide array of Halls cough sweets in the shops. Odd to see these Lancastrian sweets venerated here. A bit like KitKat’s in Japan. I bought a pack, although they didn’t help – great flavour though.

The next leg of the trip to San Jose was relatively incident free until the end. An ear worm was persistent as I hummed ‘Do you know the way to San Jose….’ This flight was a paltry two and a half hours. Managed to fit in a film. Watched Old, an M.Night Shyamalan film. Ridiculous!!! Checked reviews out and the Guardian had given it five stars when it came out – so my trust in their reviews has significantly spiralled.

Started the descent into San Jose airport. Then starting ascending, then started what seemed like going round in circles. Buildings we had passed earlier looked familiar again. Eventually the pilot came on, muffle muffle muffle, nothing to be alarmed about, muffle muffle muffle and all perfectly normal. When someone points out something is normal it feels like it really isn’t. After a few more rounds of circling round he started the descent again and hit the runway with quite some force, felt very bumpy and decidedly not normal. A few half hearted claps reverberated through the plane.

Got everything ready to go through San Jose airport, proof of return flights. For some reason you have to say your job too. So up I went with Pete, showed passport and proof of flights. Then Pete but then he asked Pete his job. Obviously I look like a lady of leisure!

it was all very quick and we reached the exit speedily. There were throngs of men with notices emblazoned with tourist names. This may seem really sad but I have always thought this was the height of sophistication. The idea of being picked up and whisked away. Normally we trudge to this bit, bleary eyed and sleep deprived, figuring out what our next steps will be and how to navigate thins in a foreign country. Not today though, today we were greeted with a sign with our names and whisked off in a rather posh vehicle to the hotel. Phew!!

Before I decided to write a blog again many of you will have heard my over indulgent wails , questioning whether writing about my holidays is a bit self absorbed. They bring me joy when I reflect on what we have done. I guess as well there is the element of Bea reading it when she’s older. We shall for ever more be ‘old’ to her but she will know that at some point we had the spirit of adventure.

So our much waited for trip to Costa Rica has arrived. Unfortunately I will be travelling with more than just my rucksack but also a pair of ‘seen better days’ lungs and lingering pleurisy. Hopefully I won’t return with them!

Energy levels are low but a!so due to constant coughing sleep has evaded me. So following advice from ‘she who shall not be named’, Rachel Jackson. I decided to try out some herbal sleeping tablets. Took two to be on the safe side basing it on the fact that I’ equate to about three of her. At one point in the night found myself on the toilet, perplexed as to how I had got there and how long I had slept there. We were in a Travelodge, so that added to the confusion.

Stumbled back to bed, zonked out….only to be woken up at some ungodly hour by Pete repeating, ‘Theee mooseum is closed’ and sounding like a Spanish version of Allo Allo. This was interspersed with deafening church bells from nearby. Pete in typical ‘can do’ spirit had decided it was a good time to learn Spanish, after all he did have 24 hours.

I couldn’t be too grumpy as I woke up to find out I had won £65.00 on the Lottery. Plans were quickly made as to what to spend it on at Heathrow. Mostly a slap up meal.

We travelled to Heathrow from Worcester, as we had been to Chris’ party. I made it to 8.45. Bea was definitely more of a party animal than me!

What started off as a good idea soon unravelled as I had been blissfully unaware of how many changes we had to do. Many other layers of torture were added to this one after the other. A Sunday service, a lack of train drivers – so cancellations, as well as trains having to go slow, so as not to warp the tracks. So it was actually very serendipitous that we set off 12 hours early.

The queues were exhaustingly long, good spirits were definitely frayed and hassled airport staff were handing out cans of water. By the time we got through everything, we only had time for a meal and not the usual circuit of wandering round the duty free shops.

We managed to get into Wagamamas. Both ordered two bowls of what we thought was vegan deliciousness. Pete was very, very happy with his. Time ticked by and mine arrived about 15 minutes later. Very, very rarely have I ever uttered the words ‘its too spicy’ . My addiction to chilli sauce is well documented. I couldn’t eat it. The manager came over and said she could tell just by looking at it. It was over spiced. So meal didn’t cost anything and winnings are still intact.

It was all very chaotic. The person next to us had been given the wrong dish but still blithely began to eat it. A waitress whisked it off her and proceeded to give it to the real recipient who was in a far flung corner of the restaurant, so was unaware the best bits had already been eaten.

Last night we decided to try our luck in the pub again. Added to that it is the only source of entertainment near the campsite. So off we trotted, stopping to take a photo.

There are literally no children on the campsite. It’s like a scene from Chatty Chitty Bang Bang. So as a result I get full dibs on things like this around the campsite.

The pub was empty albeit for three locals in a corner. Pete went to get the drinks. I could hear him asking if they had wifi in the pub. No, the landlady said, we haven’t got any. The WiFi here is rubbish as all the tourists take it, she proceeded to say. Having no filter that she was saying this to a bona fide tourist. Now, I’m not very scientific but I am not certain that’s how it works. Fully expect headline news in the local paper…’Tourist steals local WiFi.’ Anyway the landlady said all this with the broadest of Birmingham accents. Oh the irony!

Meanwhile the locals in the corner were getting louder and louder. A woman and two men, possibly a couple with their twenty something son. You see, the woman shrieked, you see, I haven’t got anything down there. Nothing, absolutely nothing, it’s basically a womb with a view. You know, she repeated, now for the third or fourth time, it’s a womb with a view! She then went on to ask the men when they stopped liking sex. It was all a bit too Vagina Monologues for me.

On reflection this morning over breakfast Pete pondered whether this had been a ploy to get rid of the WiFi stealing tourists. Think it worked. But maybe if that is the case they pick the most gynaecological topics to discuss when the WiFi stealing tourists are present and then when they are left they can get on with their normal conversations about the merits of Chekhov and the finer points of Nietzsche. Then if they spy a WiFi stealing tourist they can start chatting loudly about the finer points of genital herpes or the best place locally for colonic irrigation.

Not certain if the tables had been cleaned. When I tried to pick up my mug off the table it was so stuck on it that I nearly spilt my tea. Perhaps they are too busy keeping their WiFi safe from WiFi stealing tourists to take any notice of a global pandemic.

We had a nail biting game of Carcassonne. Pete whooped me so wish I hadn’t re explained the rules to him. I also blame the lady who has a womb with a view!

Anyway, it is now official we are the only campers here in a huge area. Although very strange, it is actually rather lovely. Had a bath/shower in the toilet tent, which was rather pleasant. Probably even more pleasant for anyone we come across.

Ilfracombe isn’t too far from the site, maybe a mile and a half. On the way I saw a few things that interested me.

We passed this too… Having problems with my tablet so the picture doesn’t directly follow.

Someone had scratched underneath ‘no water’ -which was obvious as there was none. The council hadn’t done a good job repairing or God may not be praising Hele anymore. Or maybe travellers don’t deserve water when they pass as they may have stolen some wifi. When we reached Ilfracombe and went to a cafe called Annie and the Flint. We opted for it because I reckoned if it was called Annie it would be good. Had a refreshing pot of herbal tea as I watched the world go by. At one point a woman walked past wearing a batman suit, high black boots and a batman mask. The place is tiny, so it seemed odd we didn’t bump into her again. Pete said he has also seen Wonder woman but I am not convinced.

We went to a couple of second hand shops. Which reminds me of one we went into in Barnstaple. It was open but you couldn’t go into the shop. You could stand by till and point out what you wanted. It was like a Where’s Wally version of a second shop. They should have lined up binoculars on the counter as I can’t believe anyone would have been able to make anything out!

The two we went into in Ilfracombe were equally interesting. At the first one Pete had to wait outside until a woman customer had left. So I went in fully expecting her to leave fairly quickly as she had been round it already. But round again she went. She was well dressed and tastefully so it seemed perverse that she decided to go round again and pick up lots of tat inspecting it closely. She didn’t seem the person who would want or need Welsh lady shit glasses or a or a Hello Kitty money box, but asses them carefully, intently, for an inordinate amount of time. All the while Pete was waiting and had to put up with a couple who had decided to stop next to him and have an almighty argument. Pete had said to look out for something that he would like so I got a metal fish with a gurning face.

The second shop let us both in. I spotted a coat and was trying it on when a man came in and asked how much the L’Oréal blonde hair dye was. £1.50 the shop assistant said. The man, who had long, dark hair and a really long, dark beard said, I really fancy a change and maybe blonde may suit me. Well says the shop assistant, you wouldn’t be able to do it as it wouldn’t go blonde. So he replies, well if I couldn’t do it I could get one of those whatsernames, hairdressers who come to the house, they could use it and it would go blonde. They continued explaining the finer points of dying your hair as we left.

We headed to the harbour as I had booked a boat trip. Before we boarded we had time to look at Damien Hirst’s 64,foot sculpture in the harbour, Verity. He lives or used to live in Combe Martin which is nearby. Hirst donated it to Ilfracombe to help with tourists, it divided opinion from the outset.

Verity represents Truth and Justice. It was interesting to comments people were making, lots of divided opinion. A little girl asked her mum, mummy why is the skin only falling off one leg? I slowed down as I wanted to know that but her mum distracted her by asking her to look at the boats.

I forgot about another shop we went into on the way down to the harbour. It was brilliant, Ilfracombe Arts shop, representing arts and crafts from the town. I took photos surreptitiously of the ones I liked. I am sure they must have been out up that morning as so precious were they that they couldn’t have been in the shop long.

No home should be without one of these knitted dolls, a reminder of times gone by, predominantly the 1970s.

We boarded the Sea Princess for a two hour trip, beguiled by the promise of plenty of views of seals and other wildlife. As it turned out we saw a couple of grey seals bobbing really far from the boat. A little boy shouted, I can see a lobster, I can see a whale. And another child said, I can see the sheep mummy. To which she witheringly replied, we are here to concentrate on the seals.

The captain of the boat floundered, how disappointing it all was, they were there this morning, he was baffled. So we treated to the captain on full throttle, as he went into full on details about every miniscule thing. No salty old sea dog stories for us, no, we were regaled about things like how car parks were in different places. It was all made worse by a strange speech impediment, after every sentence or two he would make an odd clicking notice.

Added to that he would say, that’s a lighthouse that is and it’s got a name. That’s an outcrop of rock and it’s got a name. That’s a cave there and it’s got a name. I started to feel soporific. Pete said he was like an energy vampire (you need to see What We Do In The Shadows) and he really was. Monotone albeit for the clicks. The scenery was beautiful.

On the way back we passed another place that has caused division in Ilfracombe. The theatre. The locals call it Madonna’s bra.

It has been an interesting day. The sea air is doing me good.

Last night we ventured into Hele Bay Hotel for a drink. Trepidation with each step. Would it be heaving? Would we be able to social distance? A big barn of a place, soulless and thin on the ground with any charm. Bartender wearing a surgical mask. It still all seems so surreal. I still quite expect them to say, here’s your drinks and let me know when you want your medical procedure.

The social distancing was spot on. So well was the social distancing in place that we were the only customers in the pub albeit a few locals huddled in a corner…..very far from us. Wherever people are thronging it certainly isn’t here!

We walked down to the beach and it looked so beautiful.

On the way back we saw bats swooping around in the dusk. All very quiet on the campsite but can’t imagine it normally is.

We had plans to watch a film when we got back but just went to sleep pretty quickly.

On the way to the pub we saw a bus stop and decided that we would travel to Barnstaple for the day. We haven’t been on any form of public transport since lockdown so the prospect did seem bizarrely exciting.

What a lovely bus driver…has the world gone mad? A woman got on the bus with two small children and asked if she could pay by card. She couldn’t so started to get off the bus but then the driver said that the next stop was near to an autobank so she could nip out and get some money. Which was really good as the buses are every hour. Then when we got off he was really helpful in explaining in detail where we needed to get the bus back. Maybe the lockdown has made bus drivers take stock in that the public aren’t that bad after all or it was a case that we hit lucky!

One of the first ‘sights’ we saw as we got off the bus was the Barnstaple Clock Tower, erected in memory of Prince Albert. It is also known as the ‘ four faced liar’ as every one of its four clock faces gives a different time.

Which makes me think of the town’s penchant for voting for Tory MPs. Their latest is Delaine Saxby and true to form has voted against measures to prevent climate change, voted for a stricter asylum system, voted against measures to avoid tax avoidance and the list goes on….

We then headed over to Barnstaple’s Pannier Market. On the Visit Devon site it is described as a ‘must see attraction for all visitors in the town’.

Trip Advisor described it as an ‘outstanding facility..the vibrant beating heart of Barnstaple’. It was a lovely building but if vibrancy is linked to selling a load of tat then it is vibrant in bucket loads!

Buoyed by so much outstanding vibrancy we decided to have a calming cup of tea at The Royal and Fortescue Hotel.

Always comforting to see mobility scooters in the foyer lined up, as their presence meant that Pete and I would probably look like bright new things.

When in Devon it would seem churlish not to partake in a cream and jam scone. Automatically putting cream first then jam and then pondering if this is the right way here. Some people get very hot under the collar about it all. For me it seems right and if you put it the other way I think there is more of a chance of the cream slipping off and that would be a catastrophe!

I had put it the right way for Devon and the wrong way for Cornwall which was good to know I hadn’t made a terrible faux pas, as if it really matters. Hearing that this is the preferred method of the Queen I felt like being anarchic with my other scone half. However, apparently the Science is in agreement with the Devon way. Dr Stuart Farrimond and baker Mich Turner after much research claim that the correct proportions for the scone is 4:3:3. That is 40g of scone with 30g of jam and cream respectively. They also conclude that the cream should be applied first as it facilitates the application of jam more easily. At a time when Science is being woefully ignored I am going to go with the Science!

Sometimes when I am with Pete I feel like a supermodel as he is always wanting to take snaps of me.

Like me here on the High Street with a fridge or could it be a work of art?, I think I am grimacing here wondering why I have to stand next to a fridge on Barnstaple High Street. I think possible there were more than a few passer bus wondering the exact same thing.

We walked by the river Taw and had a picnic.

After a walk down by River Taw and through Rock Park we then looked around the shops. Pete got 4 records, I was particularly pleased with the Supertramp album Breakfast in America. Whether I was ever cool or not I can now freely admit that I loved this album when I was younger. He also got a Madonna one, Killing Joke and Kate Bush, so a very mixed bag.

The River Taw was the inspiration for Henry Williamson’s book called Tarka the otter. I had noticed a few namesakes around Barnstaple but had thought it nothing of it. Although his claim that his book was inspired from a time when he rescued an otter pup this isn’t altogether true. However, he did do alot of research into the habitat and habits of otters. The book went apparently went a long way in changing people’s opinions of the otter that it wasn’t vermin as they previously thought. Despite this I was disappointed to find out that he had been friends with and supported Oswald Mosley.

After a scintillating trip round the shops we headed back to the bus station. On the bus back there a bit of a ‘soap’ opera that kicked off. Someone’s washing up liquid leaked all over the front of the bus. An American woman beside us asked the bus driver whether it was Fairy, to which he nodded safely. I thought that was very astute of her. Moments earlier she had been engrossed in taking a photo of clouds that she swore looked like two dogs kissing. The bus driver swung into action and cleaned it all up, then placed his newspaper on it to avoid accidents it was a Daily Star so that seemed the best use of it

We went back to the beach here. I braced myself and took the plunge. It felt colder than yesterday. Pete went swimming far out again and then round the headland. This made me very anxious. I went back and sunbathed and couldn’t help but listen to the conversations around me. Most of them inane. But then probably if anyone eavesdropped on me and Pete they would think we were incredibly boring. Two women behind me had let their children go into the sea without them. One of them was berating a man really loudly, yes that’s right, stand in my way so I can’t see my kids. I could feel the palpable indignation behind me. Maybe I am old fashioned but if she was so concerned she should have been in the sea with them.

Sorry that was a typose… I should have written to Hele Valley, Devon Having said that the journey was quite hellish. Feeling very organised we set off from Sheffield. Our ETA for Hele Valley Holiday Park was 1.30pm, including a break.

All was going really well and a tad of smugness set in. We had executed everything really well and were just commenting how lovely it was going to be to have an afternoon by the beach?

Nearing the M5 in good time the signs started flashing…..junction 19 to 21 had closed and wouldn’t reopen until at least 1pm. A pedestrian had been killed at 5 in the morning. You can’t really grumble that your holiday plans are delayed when someone has lost their life.

Pete wanted me to map read from the hard back Road Map Atlas but realistically I would have needed an industrial sized magnifier to read it. So relied on my phone, which took us around the suburbs of Bristol, St Paul’s, Bedminster etc. We seemed to have gone through a very circuitous route. But the best was yet to come when we left Bristol behind.

We had a choice of going on the main roads which would take an extra 40 minutes or take the back roads. Of course we did the latter, forgetting that the roads are narrow and we were driving a camper van. Added to that everyone’s SatNav seemed to be directing them in the same way. So a convoy of cars and vans snaked through the countryside on roads which were never intended for the volume or size of the traffic.

But it was all very quaint…that is until the motorway traffic ploughed their way through. I love the interesting names of places, like Goblin Combe, a valley we passed in North Somerset. We passed lots of places called Combe something, ‘combe’ means valley and has the same origins as ‘cwm’ in Welsh which means the same thing.

We finally arrived here at just after 4 – so it had taken much longer than we thought. The sun was still shining and it was still warm so all was not lost.

Despite the site being pretty empty we were given an awful plot so in time honoured fashion we asked if we could move. When we got the van 7 years ago they threw in a toilet tent too. As the van is 31 years old I had never looked at the toilet tent, we have never used it before and I had always been under the impression that it would also be an antiquity. I hadn’t realised what a bobby dazzler it is, it is enormous and it has a shelf inside. Such luxury…..

• 

We quickly unpacked and headed to Hele Bay which boasts a part shingle, part sand beach. It wasn’t heaving it was pleasantly busy, not too much but enough. Enough to people watch.

The water was quite clear but had lots of different types of seaweed, but not the type that is long and slippery, but multi-coloured feathery ones bobbing about. It’s always a bit worrying when everyone in the water is in wetsuits as it gives the impression that the water will be well below freezing. After a bit of a paddle I decided it was way too cold. But sitting on the beach I realised that unless I took the plunge that this could be the only opportunity this summer for me me to swim in the sea.

Gradually inching forwards in my brightly coloured swimsuit amongst a throng of black wetsuits. Perhaps fearless or bonkers. I think bonkers but I did get used to it and eventually it felt really good.

I am not a brave as Pete. I need to be able to touch the bottom. Pete was a dot on the horizon.

When we were in the sea a man approached us and the proceeding chat was odd. I can’t touch the bottom he said. Oh I said, I can touch it here. He replied by saying well I can’t touch it here. Mmm I said well I like to be able to touch the bottom. He replied by saying I can’t touch the bottom and then swam off. He seemed quite happy as he did the breaststroke towards the other side of the beach.

It does look very lush and verdant round here. in some ways lovely but the overgrown playground looks very sad. P

I was really worried before we got here as after I had booked I saw lots in the papers about ill feeling towards tourists.

Stories about tourists throwing sausage rolls at service station staff and emotions boiling over seemed rife. But actually everyone has been friendly and greeted us with a hi and a smile. Which is contrary to what I expected and the beach was clean to boot.

Pete got some leaflets from the Reception but everything is pretty much closed or partially closed. So sadly we won’t be able to sample the delights of the Gnome Reserve.

We have had a lovely homemade tea of butternut squash tea and strawberry tarts. Yum yum!

I think we shouk

So another lazy morning, basically because Pete still poorly and my arm/shoulder still hurting.

We went to the museum area with the intents of going to Stedelijk Museum – Museum of Modern Art but got sidetracked by a hipster looking cafe. So we had breakfast there, with the requisite sourdough toast and avocado. It would have been a lovely transcendental experience, lovely location, tasty food and tasteful decor. But our peace was pierced by a loud American couple who seemed intent on not only us knowing every detail of their lives but also everyone pretty much in a 3 metre vicinity.

He was something to do with voice overs. It was a really odd conversation because he gave a huge monologue, whether she was listening or not. Then she responded with her own monologue. He was saying things like, he was not paid to put commas in, that he had high standards and you had to draw a line somewhere, blah blah. Then she was really upset with a recent blood test that showed her cholesterol was up, but I’m vegan she wailed, I walk, I exercise. He pricked up his ears, suddenly channeling the soul of a dead doctor, it will be congenital. Tears averted, she agreed and carried on eating. I like to eavesdrop sometimes but only there are interesting tidbits.

The museum had headsets. So need to try to interpret the work, it was being done for me. Damien Hirst is concerned about waste, our perception of trash that me made this box with ‘rubbish’, but is it really rubbish? Look deeper into the box, it’s a metaphysical statement on life and the cosmos. No doubt the museum paid millions for the said pieces.

It was good and much better once I had taken the headphones off.

Stopped at coffeshops and pottered about the rest of the day, getting a handle of the trams. The trams are great as each one has someone in a little open office type thing, so you can’t go wrong.

I needed a toilet break, again so went to the top floor of Primark. My happy Post pee pee look, sitting by a window in the shop with Amsterdam skyline in the background. As Pete pointed out it is made more pleasant with the lack of high rise blocks.

I feel like a super model when I am with Pete, albeit a super model who is very old and down on their luck. The reason is Pete wants to take my photograph all the time. Sometimes I don’t think his intentions are entirely honourable.

Later that day we went to the Melkweg, meaning Milky Way, housed in an old milk factory. This like the Paridiso is part of the music folklore in Amsterdam. So it is pretty amazing that we managed to get tickets to both places. This time round we went to see Hot 8 Brass Band.

The Hot 8 Brass Band is a New Orleans based brass band that blends hip-hop, jazz and funk styles with traditional New Orleans brass sounds. But not only that they incorporated bits of New Order etc.

They were really big on audience participation. One thing I have noticed about both gigs is that the audience’s seem much more livelier.

In the above picture they got the audience to Bob down. I didn’t. Given my current medical predicaments I probably wouldn’t get up again. Pete helpfully pointed out that even when he bobbed down he was still taller than me.

A great last night in Amsterdam. Reflecting on the bad reviews of the hotel they seem really harsh. We found it clean, friendly and really easy to walk to places from. Although despite the fact the Melkweg was supposed to be 3 minutes walk away it took us over 20 minutes. I do wonder about Pete’s map reading skills sometimes……

Pete is ill. Pete is never ill, but now he is ill. Pete can’t possibly have a cold, no, it has to be much worse than that, it has to be coronavirus. So we decide to ‘take it easy’ and amble to the nearby Albert Cuyp Market. Saw some flowery bikes on the way, but no idea if they meant anything. All the way along Pete was repeating that he was sure it was coronavirus.

Didn’t buy anything at the market. I think I may be ill as I don’t buy nearly as much tat as I used to. To be honest more concerned about this than Pete’s possible fatal illness. There was a huge amount of tat to choose from.

Pete was flagging, as coronavirus really does take it out of you. We went for coffee and I ordered poffertjes ( a sweet Dutch treat, served with icing sugar and butter).

They were really yummy but they couldn’t make Pete any better. This was a shocker as normally food does the trick for Pete.

We passed a shop that looked like Home Bargains, but obviously not as good as Home Bargains. Bought a cheap bottle of lemon and honey something or other, god knows what it was and a bag of Maoam fruity chews. It was like a miracle, Pete started to come round a bit. Perhaps they can tackle this virus with cheap Dutch throat linctus and fruit chews or perhaps Pete just has a cold.

Keeping things easy and less frantic we decided to do a canal cruise. Most of them are about 20 euro for an hour but we found one that was 19 euros for two hours.

While we were waiting Pete, who was now a bit better because he had eaten all the sweets and had a few swigs of the linctus, had the energy to pose in his new shoes.

Getting on board the canal boat the man said all the headphones were broken but it was OK he would do a running commentary along the way. He seemed nice so thought it would be OK. Added to that we had already got on to the boat when he’d said all this and overall we were very taken by how warm and cosy it felt on board.

I wouldn’t say it was a startling. We found out that most of the canals are 3 metres in depth and that boats have to be built with a smaller underneath bit (can’t remember the name for the bit – the heat and content of the running commentary had left me a bit soporific.) He said that house boats were pretty much given away after the 2nd World War and that nowadays about 65% of them are Air B and B. We passed a dredger and he explained that mostly they dredged up bikes.

He was pleasant but humourless. Did give facts but didn’t really roll with them to make them sound even a little bit interesting. He could have told us that there are nearly two million bikes in Amsterdam, that annually 15000 end up in the canals, which sounds a lot but is only around 0.07 of the overall number. But he didn’t say things like this.

It’s great that everyone cycles in Amsterdam. It’s so green but also feels really scary for pedestrians. I am sure it’s become more hair raising since I last visited. Pete is a great cyclist but not such a good pedestrian here as there have been a number of near misses.

The voice over man did get animated at one point when he realised some lads at the back of the boat were smoking weed. But then quickly he returned to talking about the fact that the wooden bridge we were passing under was wood, who would have thought!

I hate going to the loo on aeroplanes etc but bursting I walked down to the loo at the end of the boat. Never seen a toilet like it. It looked like a metal kitchen stool/bar stool. Placed on top was the toilet seat above the tiniest bowl. Trying to get on top of the kitchen stool toilet in a cramped space on a moving boat is not a pleasant sight. Finally on the contraption after a few manic movements, I noticed that I could hook my feet into some sort of stirrup. Pondered whether this whole thing was supposed to be kinky but my thoughts were it seemed more gynaecology.

Toilets in other countries are always interesting. In the hotel we have a toilet with a shelf. Apparently shelf toilets are becoming less and less. So we have a bit of an antique. It’s a disconcerting having it all laid out for you after you have done your business. To make it a more positive experience, just because you can see it, would be to have a poop colour and shape chart. You could track your poops, even make a daily journal.

One really good aspect of the cruise was that we could stay put in the warmth and get to see Amsterdam the easy way.

Having had a few hours break we were up and out to try to get tickets for a gig. How very cosmopolitan and hipster! The Paridiso, a place that is part of Amsterdam’s folklore. Taken over by squatters in 1967 it morphed into a music venue. So many famous bands have played there over the years, The Sex Pistols, Rolling Stones etc.

We were buying tickets at the door. A man came up to us offering a ticket. My first thoughts were he was dodgy but he was doing it in front of the bouncer. I couldn’t work out if he wanted money but explained that I only had a credit card. Pete said he had 2 Euros-the man seemed resigned to that and give us one ticket. It was the real deal, so we got a 20 Euro ticket for 2 Euros. Which means we probably diddled him.

We were here to see Sleater-Kinney who are an American band originating from the riot grrrrl movement. They were very energetic.

What I liked about the gig was it was a very much diverse crowd and I didn’t feel the oldest there.

On the way back to the hotel we passed The Bulldog and heard a really good jazz band. So ended up there for a while.

We didn’t finish with the diamond visit, we decided to go to 4 museums in a day. The last was the Dutch Resistance Museum and the one I had been looking forward to visiting. It didn’t disappoint to the point that we were the last out.

We were given headsets which meant not only was there a lot to look at, there was also a lot to listen to as well.

Unless you read History books most of what we tend to know about things like the Second World War comes from school. But it’s so narrow and plans seem to be afoot again regards the History Curriculum. The bare facts are known but not always the whole picture. Well maybe I am talking about myself, maybe I am ignorant. It’s made me realise I should read more. Once I start dropping days at work I can start picking up more books and hopefully getting more enlightened about lots of things.

The museum shed light on a whole area which I had a very patchy knowledge of. What happened when the Germans invaded Holland. The level of resistance was something I hadn’t been aware of. In the autumn of 1944 300,000 people were hidden by the resistance.

When you go into the museum there are three questions asked. In a situation like this, do you resist? Do you collude? Or do you hide? And those were the questions that people had to answer all those years ago. Put into the context the museum does, it was more apparent to me how hard those decisions were. I can’t see I would have colluded but hiding or resisting held a high price.

We heard stories of people who were hid, of people who did the hiding, those who went on strike – from farmers to tram drivers and seamstresses, those who returned and those who didn’t. The February strike in 1941 was as a result of 400 Jews being deported. Where is the solidarity with the Windrush ‘deportees’.

Underground networks producing news was an elaborate process and one which was vital to counteract the Nazi propaganda. Interesting parallels with the present. The Nazis would kill those who would try to rise up and vindicate themselves in the press with stories that those killed were trouble makers etc.

Many men and women alike who could see what was happening to their neighbours, their friends, their boss’s and their colleagues, thought nothing of putting their lives on the line. They didn’t buy into the lies and subterfuge of the Nazis when they first invaded and their fears were quickly realised. If only people nowadays could have their eyes a bit wider and realise the role of the media nowadays, in the way reality and truth are manipulated. I would like to think I would fight.

There were stories of what happened when people came back to Amsterdam. One young Jewish girl was told when she returned not to moan about what had happened in the camps as those who had been left behind had experienced hardships! Many church members were part of the resistance movement and one young man described a similar reception. Again and again stories indicated that dealing with the survivors hadn’t been thought through and the end of the war wasn’t the end to their troubles straightaway.

Consequently, when the war ended Jewish survivors had no papers and no passport. They were in essence people of no nationality, with no official name, no home and no country to return to.

Those survivors who did begin to return home to search for relatives were often treated with hostility from the non-Jewish population. Many of the locals feared that the Jews would demand that their property and belongings be returned

A bit of lightness in the shape of an exhibition about clothes during the war. Jumpers made of dog hair, dresses made of parachute silk, and many other ingenious ways of remaining ‘chic’ during the war years. Although why there were wigs that you could put on was something I couldn’t quite figure out.

That was the end of our first day pretty much – really interesting but very tiring.

Next morning we had a very lazy lie in. No signs of any rats. Our peace was interrupted now and then with the bang of the numerous fire doors in the hotel.

We decided not to be quite as ambitious on our second day. We were not training in the Olympics for museum visits.

We decided to visit the nearby Rijksmuseum. Last time I came with Annie it was closed for renovation, a project which cost € 375 million.

The museum has on display 8,000 objects of art and history , having spent well over three hours there and accumulated quite a step count, I think we must have seen the cast majority of them.

I like going to galleries etc but I haven’t a clue about what it’s all about. I either like it or not. I know that some things that are painted will have a symbolic meaning but oftentimes I wonder whether the artist meant all the things that art historians say. It makes me think of an English teacher, Mr Hoyle, who taught me at 6th form. We were studying Hamlet and there is one line, something along the lines of ‘I am too close to the sun.’ I was told that this line could be interpreted in about 9 different ways. So I asked that when Shakespeare wrote was his intention to write things with this number of interpretations. Mr Hoyle said of course he did. But how I persisted, to which he replied ‘unconscious genius’. To which I probably said something like bollocks, for at 17 years old I knew everything. But looking back I still agree, maybe artists just paint a few things into their paintings for a reason but not all the time surely?

Vermeer’s Milkmaid is the museums biggest draw. It’s been likened to the Mona Lisa because you can’t tell what she is thinking, is she just concentrating or daydreaming. In a museum with paintings that stretch for metres this did look very small by comparison, much like the Mona Lisa.

There were so many paintings I liked but ones like The Threatened Swan painted by Jan Asselijn in the 1600s really caught my imagination. The movement of the Swan as if it could leap out of the canvas gives it an immediacy that really drew me in.

I remember seeing this picture for the first time when I was about 10. Hendrick Avercamp’s Winter landscape with Iceskaters painted in the 1600s. As was in the fourth year in Granny Granville’s class. We had to study the picture and then write a story about it. We so much going on it was hard to pick but the picture did make a lasting impression one me.

There were a lot of icy scenic paintings in the museum around from around this time because there had been a little ice age between 1450 and 1850 and the final quarter of the 16th century proved particularly cold. There are people skating, others playing a 17th century variety of ice hockey known as ‘kolf’ and some sledging. If you look closely. On the left you can see a man’s bare bottom by an upturned old boat.

I saw examples of Dutch vases there. They probably have a different name for them. I have sent the image to my neighbour to see if he fancies trying to make me one. They look completely brilliant.

It was quite a mammoth art session and so we decided not to go to the Modern Art museum. It would have been too much!

Instead we went to the Filmtheater De Uitkijk which was round the corner from us. A tiny 1920s cinema.

We saw Little Joe. Reviews have described it as horror, science fiction etc. Not certain it was any of them but it did have a touch of Day of the Triffids.

We were pleasantly surprised with how great the room looked. We had expected a shoe box, but it was big, very big which lifted our spirits.

Had a tasty pizza round the corner from the hotel. Everything 5€ – a real bargain. Pretty much any flavour of pizza your heart would desire although mine would definitely not desire the pizza con frutta – cheese, tomato sauce, banana, peach and pineapple.

Settled down for the night exhausted glad that wherever we slept there would be no rocking.

The cover had fallen down from the bed in the night. Pulling it up I found it was soaking wet, as was the floor around the sink. So busy had we been admiring the ceiling in our room we hadn’t noticed the sinks faulty plumbing. Perhaps this is why the owner was banging on about the ceiling in the first place, so we wouldn’t notice the small matter of a mini flood in our room. Keep your eyes upwards and you’ll be OK.

Pete got up to tell the owner. The deputy manager came up. Pete discussed the issue in hand earnestly, giving several theories as to where the leak could come from. I need to point out that during all of this carry on I was propped up in bed, wearing an inside out nightie, hair up in the air and a molten cherry tomato burn on my chin.

She left, bringing up the manager quickly afterwards, the owners husband, who I imagined was called Jenson last night. Jenson did tell us his real name but it’s hard concentrate when you’re still in bed. Jenson said he’d had a bad heart attack last June and he wasn’t going to get stressed about anything. At the foot of my bed Pete and Jenson exchanged their theories as to what it was. Jenson like his wife had an unbelievable amount of hair on his head. Whatever it did turn out to be it was fixed when we got back later in the day.

After all of that we decided to have a morning drink at the American Bar, highly swanky place. The sort of place that makes me feel incredibly ‘humble’. It is the oldest grand café in the Netherlands, dating back to 1902. The beautiful art nouveau interior was breathtaking, with leaded-glass windows, enormous antique chandeliers, a collection of precious art and impressive murals.

We headed to the Amsterdam Torture Museum to see the 40 instruments of torture they have accumulated from across Europe. Uncertain why this was the first stop of our holiday but maybe having survived the torture of the journey over we were up for anything.

One of the first objects we saw was literally an instrument of torture.

This contraption was used to torture bad musicians. It was shackled to the musician’s neck, their fingers were then clamped to the keys, to give the impression they were playing the instrument. Finally, just to further their humiliation, they were forced to wear the flute while being paraded around town, so the public could throw rotten food and vegetables at them. Imagine using it now, I would have a huge list of ‘musicians’, including Pete at times.

The museum was particularly pokey. Small dark corridors and low lighting to increase the feeling of doom and gloom.

We were the only visitors apart from someone we thought was French or Italian. Standing by a particularly gruesome metal contraption the French/Italian man turned to us and said he was disappointed with the whole experience. Look, look at this, he said. The place needs to be more interactive, imagine how much fun it would be for a child to walk into this.

I looked at him and then looked at the instrument of torture dubiously. I don’t think he saw the look on my face. The man continued, you see he said if you want a more interactive experience in this museum you need to have headsets. You must go to the Red Light Secret Museum. He enthused, it’s so authentic, you get to hear from actual, real prostitutes and their lives. I thought this sounded grimmer than the Torture Museum. With over 75% of prostitutes coming from Africa, Eastern Europe and Asia, I can’t imagine their stories made for happy listening.

So I said, what about listening to stories of people who have been tortured using these things?No, the man said firmly,no point they are dead. You need lots of screaming to give it a bit more atmosphere. Interesting slant on things I thought….

From here we went past Waterlooplein, the site of Amsterdam’s oldest flea market. Must have got a bad day as it seemed really lacklustre. Having been previously on many occasions I was underwhelmed.

Walking round you get a sense of how many canals there are in Amsterdam. Although we are hardly unlikely to see all 165 of them while we are here. Pete always says very random things when we are away, making connections where I don’t think there are any. Looking round Pete exclaimed that he thinks Amsterdam is really like Whitby. I can’t see it myself.

Our next stop was the Hash, Marijuana &Hemp Museum which is a tribute to the history of hemp and cannabis. It was very slick, we were given devices that we could aim at marijuana leaves and we got a running commentary in English. It was odd because the person doing the audio description sounded so posh she sounded like she had been born with a canteen of silver cutlery – let alone a spoon. It seemed an odd juxtaposition with the subject matter.

The first thing we got to do in the museum was have our photo taken.

It was really interesting and I especially liked the old posters.

I hadn’t realised how versatile hemp is and how for many it’s considered the most important plant on the planet. We found out that for thousands of years, humans have used parts of the hemp plant for food, textiles, paper, fabric, and fuel oil. We also found out that with modern processing technologies it’s possible to create alternatives to petrol , plastic, and other petroleum products that can help us lessen our reliance on polluting and expensive fossil fuels.

Pete had booked a free tour of the Gassan diamond works. Another informative session. It was all quite swish, but we are easily pleased. They had a shop where we got free coffees so we had a couple while we waited for our slot.

We started on the second floor of the building, where a young woman went through the process of cutting the diamond etc. There were people working away, I am not certain how they could do it day in and day out.

The blurb said ‘You will be escorted by one of our guides to the cutting and polishing area. Here you will be able to see skilled diamond polishers at work while our guides will explain the process of transforming a rough diamond, into a dazzling brilliant cut, or our own exclusive cut the ‘GASSAN 121’ world patent of GASSAN Diamonds’ basically Gassan an cut a diamond 121 times, so that they look really sparkly.

We could then wander round some side rooms where the display cabinets were full of all things diamond. None of the things had a price tag. I think the place is for people who don’t need to know about how much things cost.

We were the ushered into another room and the door closed behind us. We sat round a large desk and the woman proceeded to give us each a card. A quick guide to work out how valuable diamonds are and why. So it’s basically to do with the 4 Cs: carat, colour, clarity and cut.

She then proceeded to unwrap small packages of diamonds. Starting with small ones, worth approximately 250 euros and ending with the big finale of one worth 52,000 euros. Then we had the opportunity of a question and answer session.

So an English woman starts by asking lots and lots and lots. Then she finished off by asking whether if you wore a ring with a 52,000 euro diamond in it, would it get damaged. I couldn’t stop myself, it was like Tourette’s bursting to get out, ‘Well,’ I said, ‘if you can afford to wear a ring that expensive, the chances are that you will probably have a cleaner.’ Pete then asked if Gassan sourced diamonds ethically which seemed the perplex the young woman. She said she didn’t know, this led to a small discussion with some of the group. I looked it up later and the owner has stated they are sourced from’ non conflict’ zones but I don’t think this gives much peace of mind.

What I hadn’t fully realised was that this whole experience was in some ways like a glorified Tupperware or Ann Summers party. We were pretty much held captive and trays of jewellery and Rolexes were brought out, so that we could peruse and buy. I tried various rings on to show willing.

I really didn’t think anyone would buy anything. But I was wrong… A loud American woman bustled to the front. She exclaimed that she loved diamonds, absolutely loved them. Now I had had my crash course on the 4 Cs I think I could pretty much tell that her fingers were dripping in cut glass if anything. She had to have a watch with one diamond in it’s face, but then she saw from the side of her eye ones with 12 diamonds. She had to have it. She whipped her cards out, stopped and thought she should run it past her corpulent looking husband. I hadn’t even realised he was part of the group, he was crouched over his phone texting all the while. Grunted when his wife spoke to him, which she must have interpreted as an enthusiastic approval. The deal was done.

We were released and had to exit through another shop, full of Rolexes!

Nearing Rotterdam and the thought of being on terra firma made me brave the elements and go out on the deck. Only the most hardened smokers were huddled in the corner. The deck on the other side was closed off. Doors had smashed during the night. Piles of tortilla chips spewed across the floor, half digested by someone who must have thought a midnight feast in a force 10 gale was a good idea.

Hair being whipped about my face, I went to quickly grab my hat out of my bag. As I did so a pearlised blue sequinned purse catapulted out of my hand and into the sea. Two cormorants looked askance at my Hello Kitty purse bobbing along beside them.

Notices on the side stated boldly not to throw things overboard because of the environment. The irony wasn’t lost on me. We’d travelled by ferry to reduce our carbon footprint rather than flying. We had endured a journey which although wasn’t hell it came very close to it. Only to near the harbour and dump a piece of plastic frippery into the sea. which will be there 600 years from now or realistically longer.

The colour drained from Pete’s face. He thought the euros were in it. I had actually thought about transferring them into but decided at the last minute not to. Phew!

The smokers roused, ‘Was it something expensive?’ No, no I assured him, just something I won from the 2p slots in Blackpool. As the words came out of my mouth I realised that what I had said was quite the oxymoron. Of course it was expensive. I had shoved pounds and pounds of 2p into the slots so I could get the ‘hallowed’ Hello Kitty purse. The look of realisation on my face prompted the man to say, ‘Looks like you’ ll have to go back to Blackpool.’ Now there’s a thought….

Going through customs was straightforward, although the passport control man seemed to fix his gaze overlong onto the molten cherry tomato burn on my chin.

Buses lined up outside to whisk us away. The rain lashing down vertically wasn’t quite the reception I was wanting but pretty much expecting. Got the front seats on the coach. Fantastic! Why hadn’t anyone else sat at the front? More leg room and the best view. Oh and also as the door was left open as more people piled in rain lashed in and hit us first!

Give a bus driver a microphone, a captive audience thrown in for good measure and you get someone who thinks their on stage at the Palladium. Hey guys! If you have come for the vegetables remember that it’s weed, don’t eat too much cake with it. Actually he was more surreal than funny.

Having both been to Amsterdam quite a few times between us I thought we would find where we’re staying quite easily. But feeling disorientated after the journey, tired and very wet, what should have taken 20 minutes top to find the hotel took considerably longer. There were indicators that all was going pretty badly when we passed the National Costume Museum for the third time!

On a positive, my step count for the day ended in stratospheric numbers.

We eventually found the Hotel Kooyk. Before we booked we’d found really good reviews. People had applauded it’s central location, the friendliness of the owners etc etc. As soon as we paid and looked at more reviews later the reviews sounded like we were destined to a flea ridden hovel. One particular one caught my eye, ‘Do not book rats in the room manager is rude about the problem was told if you book cheap it’s what’s to be expected breakfast was dry and looked mouldy please try to avoid the manger just shouts at everyone.’ (grammar and spelling are all Rebecca’s on TripAdvisor).

So although I was mightily relieved that we had finally found the Hotel I felt quite a bit of trepidation. I was expecting to open the door only for streams of rats to rush out.

Met the owner. Abrupt and to the point but not rude. She likes to keep the hotel shipshape, has run it for 42 years and insists on keeping to the rules. She spoke with a strange accent, a mixture of Irish and Dutch or maybe it was Dutch with a bit of Irish thrown in. Waiting while she went to photocopy our passports I created her personal story. She had saved her savings from her job at Woolworths on Donegal High Street and decided to backpack round Europe. She got no further than than Amsterdam, meeting and falling in love with Jansen.

She had an inordinate amount of peroxide blond hair. She proudly stated that we had a standard bedroom, not an ordinary standard bedroom but 180 years old with very high ceilings.

I’ve put you there she said because you British like those sorts of ceilings. I never thought of Britain as a nation of ceiling lovers. When we leave I am tempted to write in the Comments book, ‘great place’ love Sheffield Ceiling Appreciation Society.