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This was supposed to be the post where I wrote about my humorous activities on Koninginnedag (Queens Day). I even made the promise of a few photos to demonstrate the previously mentioned humorous activities. However, there are several very good reasons why I am unable to write about Koninginnedag this year and the humorous activities involved. Those reasons are as follows: Three Vodka and Cokes, several bottles of beer, one whiskey and some shots.
I had measured the Vodka and Cokes quite badly so they were probably equal to six Vodkas with a hint of Cola seasoning. The whisky I don’t remember drinking but apparently there were witnesses and the shots I can’t prove but I know what my friends are like. If you do the maths that list of alcohol equals about a five hour gap in my memory, some embarrassing stories and a very large hang over. This all took part on Koninginnenacht (Queens Night) at a friend’s house party which is why I was too ill and ouchy to do anything on Koninginnedag that involved more effort then breathing and laying down.
Past the first few hours I only know what I did due to eye witness reports and photographic evidence. If I wanted to uncover anymore of what happened that night I would need the help of a CSI team.
There are eye witness reports of my rather clumsy dancing and a photograph (which I wish did not exist) proves that I spent at least some time in the early hours of the morning walking around Amsterdam wearing a pink wig. This photographic evidence also shows me flicking my synthetic hair back in a very feminine way.
However, the biggest surprise came when I woke up the next morning. After the party a group of us had gone to The Absinth Bar (which I don’t remember). I woke up on Koninginnedag at 11am in the morning wearing a coat. It was not my coat. It was ‘a’ coat. I had no idea who it belonged to, nor did I remember acquiring it. Since the owner did not seem to be near by I could only guess that I had made a bit of a mistake some time during the night. Instead of picking up my own coat when we left the Absinth Bar I must have drunkenly picked up someone else’s. However, the coat mix-up was not the only mistake I had made. When I reached into the pockets looking for clues that might lead me to the identity of the previous wearer I found something that made the small mistake seem bigger. I had the person’s keys as well. I had either stopped some one from drunk driving or I had made their night very complicated. My hang over suddenly felt worse.
