Strange Tales from the Cookie Kitchen.

“When they kick at your front door, How you gonna come?  With your hands on your head or on the trigger of your gun?”  Guns of Brixton.  The Clash.  

This Tale takes place in the spring of 1990;  at our apartment in Amsterdam, just off of the Leidsestraat and but a two minute walk from the Leidseplein.   You couldn’t live more centrally.  It was my favourite apartment ever.

The apartment was on the first floor, and the flat door opened straight into one huge room.  There was a smaller room for storage and wardrobe, and a bathroom.  The stairs up from the main door were wooden and very narrow.


Our apartment was one of these seen here.


It was around ten thirty in the evening.  Chris and I were sat around watching TV with a huge, as in a brick, of Afghan hashish on the table,  the room full of the fragrant smoke.  There was suddenly a bang downstairs and the sound people running up the stairs, past our flat, and up the next two flights of stairs.  There was a bit of a party animal who lived above us and we wondered if there was a connection.   We were extremely stoned, and tuned to every single movement.


We could hear them coming back down the stairs, yelling and hammering on doors along the way.   We were totally stoned and everything was going in a kind of slow motion, our senses were on high alert.  As they reached our landing, Chris got up with the intention of  quietly opening our door to peek through it.

In what was precision timing, Chris cracked the door open at exactly the same moment as there was an almighty loud thump on it.

A guy in plain clothes, screaming “Police” came flying in through the door with his gun pointed straight at us, another with a weapon standing in the doorway, and several more backup outside.  He kicked open the door to the smaller room, and the door to the bathroom.  All the while with his gun at the ready.  This happened at extremely high speed.   I sat there staring.

As the cop started to leave, we asked them what they were doing.  He replied that they were looking for some people.  Chris continued by asking what they had done, to which the cop who had been standing at the door replied, “a lot.”   And they left.


A Smoking Gun. Roy Lichtenstein. 1968.


All the action, from coming in the door downstairs to leaving the building again, took less than ten minutes.  There were six guys and they were loud.  We found out the next day that there had been a robbery at the post office in one of the main markets in Amsterdam, not far from our place.   They had been told that the perpetrators were holed up in our building.

















Filed under Perfume Reviews

19 responses to “Strange Tales from the Cookie Kitchen.

  1. Ha. Sounds like exciting, frightening memories! Isn’t it great to have ‘lived’ and have fab tales to tell. 🙂 I always say i’m gonna write a book someday, but i would have to change the names to protect the guilty! LOL

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Great story and too see where you lived. Is this a street behind Leidseplein? You really lived in the centre!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Love these little glimpses into your former live.

    It must feel like you’ve lived more than one life.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Loved the story! You managed to perfectly convey two parallel time spans – the slow unwinding one through your “altered” perception at the time and the galloping one that corresponded to the reality (and your “sober” understanding of it looking back).

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Shisha!
    Wow, what a narrow squeak…and how scary. And yes, all stairs in Amsterdam are narrow and steep. Positively vertiginous, the houses.
    It is clear that life was never dull for you in that city. 😉

    Liked by 1 person

  6. cassieflower

    Just another day from back in the day😉
    Keep ‘em coming.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Tara C

    They were so focused on their manhunt they didn’t notice the smell in your flat or the block of hash? Or was it already legal then? You have so many interesting stories. :-!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Oh I’m sure they noticed but why would they care? No worries with smoke. We were glad they did not ask for any papers though. Not rolling papers, hahahahaha, but documents. It would be very different now. They were moving round at top speed and only cared about looking for the guy. xxx


  8. OMG! Thank everything you were so stoned. Did you all collapse afterwards in screaming fits of laughter?
    Hash. Heaven!
    Portia xx

    Liked by 1 person

  9. matty1649

    I love your stories. Sounds a bit like The Keystone Cops

    Liked by 1 person

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