Amsterdam Notebook

When my husband and I arrived in our adored Amsterdam on a sun-drenched schoolday afternoon — less than an hour in the air, first row on the plane, merry but not messy — we seemed all set for a brilliant time. We’re both Brexiteers and ever since Freedom Day we’ve been especially keen on European city breaks, such visits now having the pleasing feeling of a romance whose days are numbered, and from which one would be wise to squeeze the sweetness while one may. After checking in to the hallucinogenically gorgeous W Hotel, I was struck by one of the most enchanting of emotions the non-needy can experience; of strolling out on a summer evening in a place where no one knows you. Including, as it turned out, myself.

Something which adds to the dreamlike feeling of Amsterdam is how similar in some ways it is to England — the language with its ‘Hallo’ and ‘Dank U’ — which gives it the oddness of Philip Pullman’s alternative Oxford.