You'd have thought that given our track record of mocking the gods, Mark would have screwed up the hotel booking. Thankfully, after metting up with Alex and spending half an hour dragging our god damn luggage through the streets of Amsterdam, we arrived at the hotel.

The Hotel Hestia had a room with five beds, all seperate to prevent gayness. It was spacious, with a decent bathroom and a minibar. The staff were friendly and we were given a couple of sets of keys to come and go as we pleased. Eventually, Pablo turned up sporting his new image - long hair, leather jacket and jeans. Paul likes to dress uniquely to any other person on the planet.

Well, i'm proud to say that my friends held out for about five minutes before hitting the coffee shops. My memory isn't 100% accurate, but i believe we went to the Abraxas Coffee Shop first, and then on to a sex museum.

The Abraxas was a trendy little place, all wood and goa-esque oil paintings inside. As my friends were deciding on the finer nuances of the marijuana on offer (they even had a microscope there for the pickier client), i wandered over the drinks counter to see what they had on offer. Mark told me to order a "chocomel", the national chocolate drink, which i did. We went upstairs and got down to business.

Afterwards, we joined up with Paul and visited the sex museum. It cost €2.50 to get in, and never before has a museum admission price truly reflected the quality. It wasn't bad as such - it kept us amused for about half an hour - but aside from the interesting array of visual pornography and various carved erotica, the museum was little more than two floors of cheap manaquins doing various Ben Dover style things - dirty old men flashing, ugly prostitutes moving forwards and backwards mechanically, a pair of buttocks on the wall had a giant pair of eyes embedded in the cheeks and would open suddenly with a loud farting noise. It was like a cross between Total Recall and Chuck-E-Cheese.

The best part in my opinion was the collection of "private" photos from the Victorian era. The poses were pretty much the same as today, but the men all had these astonishing giant waxed moustaches. This was somewhat surreal, especially when some of the images were circa 1880 when cameras were still referred to as "machines for taking likenesses". God knows how long they had to stay still to avoid spoiling the exposure.

Later we trundled back to the hotel. I suggested get cleaned up and hit the town after a brief nap. Sadly, the weed had started to turn against me and i ended up crashing out while the others got ready. I think I left with Alex later, and we all agreed to rendezvous at this bar "with a huge Grolsch sign outside"