Does it matter that our anchor couldn't even reach the bottom of a bathtub?

Quietly sitting trying to blag my way through a Masters thesis proposal on the computers at my Uni last week and eight Dutch folk legit surround me in order to have the most excessively loud and annoying conversation. My bad, forgot I'd put my invisibility cloak on that day. Sorry guys, but it's time to let it rip on Dutch people. The people of Amsterdam. Don't take it personally, in fact, refer back to the old Paris blog and see that in comparison to those losers, I freaking adore you all.

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• Let's start with the Dutch customers that come into the bar where I work. The rude, annoying customers. The ones that dine 'n' dash, or when they do pay, chose to do it separately and without a cent to spare. Also those inappropriate customers, the ones that on Australia Day seriously violated me. When what started as playfully putting dollar bills in my pocket quickly escalated to pulling my ponytail to hail my attention only to go on to make me the filling of some un-namely human sandwiches. ONGEZELLIG. 
• My Dutch lecturers enjoy penalising me for my use of language and grammar in my assignments. My assignments written in English. That language, the one which is my mother tongue. C'mon guys.
• They STILL can't spell my name.
• What Maddy dotingly coined as 'the prawn cocktail curl', the small flick of hair a Dutch man has behind each ear as a result of obsessively slicking it back is starting to weird me out.
• CHOOSE BETWEEN A HUG, ONE KISS, OR THREE KISSES. You can't have all three, it's greedy. And you can't interchange them, it stresses awkward English girls out.
• The Dutchies have no qualms about getting up in your personal space. Particularly in supermarket lines and elevators. Again, you're stressing out the inventor of the queue.
• Their stock of Indie music stops circa 'The Coral - Dreaming of You'.
• They are annoyingly in shape for all the deep fried foods they munch.
• Dutch people laugh at me when I tell them of my biking woes, or even worse give me that endearing-borderline-patronising look you give a child as you praise the illegible scribble they just handed you claiming it a story about you.
  Aww you're such a tourist, aren't you adorable.
• And finally, I'm excessively jealous of anyone who can naturally speak more than one language. If that's not reason enough to get antsy, I don't know what is.

However, ranting aside, I have also in recent weather came to feel sorry for Dutch folk as there is one thing they will never know the true joys of. Sledging. The rush of grabbing a dustbin lid, an old scrap of carpet, hell, even a carrier bag and throwing yourself down the side of a hill. The kids here are dragged in their sledges along the never-ending flatness by exhausted parents, or if they're lucky, a friends bike.
And for that, plus how delightfully short they all make me feel, I'll let them off.
Well, most of you.