I am regularly being asked if I am going to learn Dutch (I have bought a course book but am currently struggling even to remember the pronunciation of people’s names) and what am I going to do here in Amsterdam.

It has already taken a week just to get online and get a travel card (the top-up machine swallowed up my new bank card so I have to wait a further three to five days to get a new one), and I still don’t have a phone (Vodafone has put a block on my Blackberry so I can’t swap to a local Sim card). Plus, my nails are broken and knees are bruised from cleaning and DIY so I’m not quite the candidate for a glamorous new job just yet.

The first few nights were spent on one of two single beds squashed together – a choice of one mattress falling off the bed or one with a sheet that was too small for it. Sex went the way of the cardboard boxes – out of the window.

By Wednesday I exploded and told Hot Danish I just wanted a suitcase and a ticket home. Unfortunately his friend witnessed the street row. Fortunately my relationship with HD has improved in sync with the flat renovation. I have finally got used to the sound of church bells ringing every hour of the night, but I still have a large red spot on my right cheek from the mosquitoes which plague the canals.

HD has given me his English work mobile until I sort out my own phone. He has to check it occasionally. I’d forgotten to delete its history before he spotted my text to Natasha. ‘Loads of good looking guys, hey?’ he teased.
‘I need to entice my friends over,’ I replied. It seems to have worked. Natasha has booked her flight.