Cogs can think.

Yesterday, at around 16:00, I arrived home after being in Antwerp for three days, with virtually the same group as the one I went to Belgium with. Everyone (except my fellow-graverobber, by the way) was there, and this time Martin was ’round too (there were no game awards to go to dubbelepuntpee).

‘T was the night ‘fore we left, that I already went to Amsterdam, where I joined Marco and Levi for a drink at the pub where Levi works. I got Kaballa’d there (or whatever it’s called) by I believe the sister of the owner, and she told me I was good at sex and that sorta stuff, and I was also persistent. For what it’s worth. We had a few drinks, wandered around Levi’s place, and went to sleep. I made some remark about a duck, they say, but I deny everything.

The following morning we hopped on the train, where we met up with the rest of the group. We first had a mandatory museum visit from university (we did?), but after that, we were on our own. We went out to dinner to a pretty fancy restaurant, with really good food and one cute-looking waitress. After the food, me and Marco went into chill-mode and ordered good after-dinner drinks. Marco a Cointreau, and I an Irish coffee– which was a perfect one, just the right amounts of the three ingredients (whiskey, coffee, cream).

After dinner we decided to watch Man United vs. Blackburn Rovers in a pub (that pub would play a central role the next evening). When the game was over, and already a few alcoholic beverages later, we decided, after some disagreements, to go to a karaoke club. There, me, Marco, Levi and Onno brutally raped and murdered Oasis’s Wonderwall (my sincere apologies to Liam Gallagher), and other people felt the urge to rape and murder other people’s songs. At that karaoke bar, Onno taught us a new way to fcuk with digital cameras: you shake your head real fast (dear lord that hurts after a few drinks), while someone takes a picca (something which turned out to be especially funny the next evening when Nadia tried it). On our way back to the hotel (or whatever it’s called in English), we raped and murdered even more songs (my sincere apologies to The Eagles, Robbie Williams, Dire Straits, and James Blunt). We fell asleep pretty quickly.

The next morning, the group split up, because half of the group didn’t really feel like ’semi-treehugger-bio-food’ (according to Levi). I obviously was part of that group (I don’t vote for the green party and I have too little hair to be a hippie), and we ate at a much more Starbucks-like-place (but then for breakfasts instead of just coffees). It was de-li-ci-ous, allbeit a bit pricey (EUR 2.55 for a fresh juice). After wandering around town for a short while, playing pool at the Irish pub, we went to the cinema, to see Jarhead. What a redicilously good movie. Seriously. It’s good. Cinematography was excellent, the acting outstanding, and the music extraordinary. If this doesn’t get an Oscar, I don’t know what will (then again, American History X didn’t get an Oscar either, so I’m not sure if Oscars are good indicators for film quality anyway).

When the movie was over, there were some struggles as to where we’d eat. I was all for the McDonalds, but the ladies wanted something a bit more fancy. I did a Charles Darwin, and adapted, and as such we went to a decent Italian restaurant. Really good food, and when we were done, me and Marco again went into chill-mode with an Irish coffee and a Cointreau, respectively. This one wasn’t as good as the other one, but it was still good enough (it’d better be good enough, seeing the price).

Dinner was over, we went to the hotel, bought us some alcohol, and started preparing for the evening. This time ’round, as I already mentioned, it was Nadia’s turn to shake her head in front of the camera– but she couldn’t stop laughing so I ended up with 4 pictures of her laughing and smiling. In the end I did succeed– wonderfully.

Anyway, I was drinking Martini at my usual rate, so I got loose, so did others. We then left, to go out, and one group wanted to go to some club to dance, while some of us (including yours truly) was more interested in the relaxed atmosphere of a pub. So, Marco, Nancy, Marloes, Martin, and me went to the Irish pub again, where we got kicked out at 12 because they were closing down. Then, we decided to move our asses back to that pub where we watched football the night before. They were about to close– but as I peered through the windows, I saw someone walking to the door. He opened it, and with a clear Australian accent told us we could come in. From that point on, we had our own private pub– with a big-ass beamer with 900 TV channels, and self-service at the bar. And, of course, we had this crazy Australian guy with an incredibely good sense of humour. From that point onwards things start to get a tad bit blurry. I do remember having a discussion with the Australian guy, Ben, about which album by The Streets is better (Original Pirate Material or A Grand Don’t Come For Free).

When we got back at the hotel, I still had some Martini left in the bottle I bought earlier. I started drinking that too. I got pretty far away. A really cool thing that happened was this; I was sitting in the hallway of the hotel, with my head against the wall. I banged my head against it slightly, and at exactly that point, Nancy coughed in her bed. In my drunken mind, I had found a causal relationship, and I felt the world needed to know. I ran to the room where Nancy was trying to sleep, stormed in, and told her.

Next thing I remember, is waking up, Martin completely sick in his bed, telling me I’d already been asleep for 2 hours. I looked at my watch, and fcuk, he was right.

Next thing, I woke up. We packed, had breakfast, sung English songs in Dutch (’Laat het zijn, laat het zijn, laat het zijn, laat het zijn/woorden van wijsheid/laat het zijn’). I got home.

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Yup. It was worth it. Thanks guys and girls for yet another wonderfull trip. CIW DE GEKSTEEE!!