Cutting and running

I know I should have stayed to investigate or relax some more, and I know my rail ticket didn’t expire until August 28, but after a walk on the beach yesterday morning in Zandvoort I’d had enough. I’d go and spend a night in Amsterdam, pick up a pipe for a friend of mine and then head back to England. No, that was too much. I’d have lunch and spend a couple of hours of walking around. That’d do it.

As soon as I walked out of the station, though, and saw the throngs of tourists pushing and dashing around, my heart began to race and I panicked.

 “Screw this, I’m out of here,” I thought. (Actually, I thought something different but am trying not to use foul language and upset folks.) Amsterdam is close to England and I can visit another time (Caroline: get ready for me!).

I paused long enough to pick up some really tacky souvenirs (no pipe, I’m afraid) then headed straight back to the tracks and hopped the next train to Brussels. I’d no doubt have to wait for ages—maybe even stay the night—to get a seat on a train to London that would let me use my discounted Eurostar ticket (if you have an inter rail ticket you get 50% off the price).

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