A Slice of the Seventies: First book of The Mug Trilogy by Joy Mutter

Author:Joy Mutter [Mutter, Joy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joy Mutter
Published: 2015-07-22T23:00:00+00:00

Amsterdam Delights

Seven months later, Mug found herself sitting on a plane next to David, sipping the contents of a miniature rum mixed with Coke. Liverpool Pete and his housemate, Ronnie, Jersey Alan, Craig who had recently split up with Alison, plus constantly doped Irish Mike, all sat dotted around the plane, laughing boisterously, all over-excited about the revelries which doubtless lay ahead.

They eventually managed to find the youth hostel they had booked into. Everywhere they looked there seemed to be all ages and types of folk riding bicycles. The delicious, thrilling smell of foreign food tingled their senses, urging them to eat it without delay. The sunlit architecture was charming, with a romantic canal running in front of the hostel.

They booked in, Mug being allocated a bed in the women’s section, while all the men herded into the men’s section. She realised this would sadly be a week where sex with David would be impossible, unless they took risks. She’d become accustomed to drifting off to sleep with his sinewy arms wrapped protectively around her.

After shoving their suitcases under their respective utilitarian, iron-framed beds, they gathered in the lobby to discuss where to find food, as the hostel only supplied bed and breakfast. Lunch time had passed, so they were all famished, wandering aimlessly until settling on a small café serving cheap but tasty food.

Refreshed, they explored the nearby attractions. It was too late in the day to wander too far afield, but the Vondelpark was within walking distance. They lounged besides its huge lake, people-watching through the cannabis haze. The businessmen on bicycles amused them, but the flat terrain made riding bicycles an obvious transport option. The friends vowed to hire bikes on a day when they were less travel fatigued.

They spent a chilled afternoon in the park, feeling slightly guilty not to be doing more industrious, educational pursuits, then headed back to the hostel for the night. To keep the cost down, they opted not to have a meal out, but settled for a snack of pickled herring, served up through the window of a thankfully hygienic-looking van.

‘Well, that tastes…. unusual. A bit of an acquired taste,’ Mug said, eyes watering from the sharp taste of vinegar.

‘You’d better get used to it, there’s heaps of pickled fish for sale around here by the looks of things,’ Pete teased.

They sat in a smoky local bar that evening, planning out their next day’s excursion, sipping their drinks while puffing on roll-ups. On the way back, the drunk, stoned friends still laughed and joked, with Mike almost coming to grief in the canal with his raucous antics.

Once inside the youth hostel, Mug kissed David goodnight, peeled off from the group to wend her way to the girl’s dormitory. It was a soulless place, functional but adequate. She slept the sleep of a woman under the influence, awoke refreshed, ready to tackle their planned excursion to the Van Gogh Museum. The continental breakfast consisted of sweaty cheese, rubbery, unidentifiable meats, white bread, washed down with coffee.

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