In which our heroine returns home.

3:44pm

Gare de Nord, Grignotin Bar

I've come up with a theory about the Dutch and tolerance - it's all in the training. When you buy a beer, it's got a thick head of foam filling most of the top. At first, you think this is a rip-off, but then you realise the measure is way below the top and in fact, if they're poured badly (a head of only one finger, for example), you get bonus beer.

BUT - sometimes the beers aren't poured evenly, and one will have a noticeably bigger head (rather like me and Rachel) and it's just luck if you get the bigger beer.

This takes a while to get used to, cos if your family was anything like mine (though I can assume that in general it wasn't), any treats had to be shared exactly evenly between the kids, and this included exactly leve glasses of softdrink or WWIII would erupt, often resulting in tears before bedtime.

But the Dutch just cope with this inequality, and move on with their lives, taking this lesson with them, and there you have it - the root of the famed Dutch tolerance.

8:50pm

I think we're finally getting into Amsterdam.

Big fuss on the train - fighting woman, who smelt noticeably musty. Very odd relationship with husband, he seemed to bear it, but what a price. I think she had had a cast removed from her leg so maybe she's not always like that. But remind me never to fight with Fraser again. At least over petty stuff, anyway.

Everyone laughed at the French announcer's bad Dutch, and another announcer said "Ladies and Gentleman, goede middag" and we all cracked up. After that all the Dutch people laughed at the French guys's Dutch cos it was so bad.

I'm really dreading going back to work tomorrow, what a terrible state of affairs.

But I'm so excited to be coming home!

But what the hell does 'Pays-Bas' mean literally? Stocking country? Do the Dutch know the French are talking about them like that?