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About Amsterdam

Me fave bit? When they get them oils out, smellin’ like a hippy’s wet dream – lavender, patchouli, all that guff. Slippery as a politician’s promise! Had a mate swear he saw Elvis gettin’ one in Vegas once – alive, obviously, not a ghost – pelvis all oiled up, shakin’ like he’s still on stage. Total bollocks, but I’d pay to see it! Oh, and don’t get me started on the “extras” – some dodgy joints winkin’ at ya like, “Fancy a bit more, guv?” Makes me wanna scream, “You’re not a masseuse, you’re a tart with a towel!”

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After I finally get the machine working, I head out for a break. I stroll down the Hoofdstraat, and it’s buzzing. People everywhere, grabbing their morning coffee, chatting. I stop by this little café, De Zwarte Ruiter. Best coffee in town, no joke! I grab a cappuccino, and it’s like heaven in a cup. I’m feeling good, but then I see this guy drop his croissant. I can’t help but laugh. Like, dude, how do you drop a croissant?

Freddy Heineken overleden