All was still. Around one hundred people had settled in the rest room for the overnight ferry crossing from Hull to Holland. It was pitch black and the only sounds were the faint humming of the engines and the odd snorer.
All the seats had been snapped up so I found myself lying in a vacant space on the floor with a couple of mates trying to get comfortable. About five minutes had passed and I could feel myself about to drop off.
You could hear a pin drop. Then my mate farted. It began as a kind of muffled snort and developed into a full crescendo. The whole process must have taken at least five seconds. I struggled for a moment, trying to contain my laughter. Eventually I had to leave the room, quickly followed by my two mates.
After docking in Holland we were ushered onto a waiting coach for the one-hour drive to Amsterdam. The landscape was full of all the quintessential things that make Holland so unique.
Windmills were liberally scattered throughout the land. Wonderful white structures whose arms spun endlessly in the wind. The undramatic flat countryside seemed to stretch forever. In fact, over a third of Holland lies below sea...
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