To Edam

Another fine day and off on the well trodden, I mean cycled, route to Hoorn. Once there, we allow ourselves 30 minutes time to mosey about, which I profitably employ by reading and enjoying a leffe blonde. Just as I pay up, on the half hour mark, MrT arrives with a thirsty look. I’ve got time, haven’t I, he asks beseechingly. I have to take a hard line, in the hope he’ll learn next time. I know he won’t.
Onward to Edam! The jovial campsite owner points out a corner of a small field we can have, but the boys are hot and worried about getting sunburn so we end up under the trees on his front lawn.
Into town. Attractive, but small scale, we manage to track down the essentials without too much difficulty - though as everywhere, navigating around kaas on the menu is a nightmare; it’s as ubiquitous as mayo.
Today’s thought - how lax bar staff are with their measures of beer - and the allowable huge variation on the size of the foamy head. Poor MrM was particularly diddled on the first round. The barmaid then handed me a beer with a tiny head - and apologised to me for that! We guffawed and I winked at MrM. I’m not that bothered he said. And of course, you may very well believe that. If you didn’t know him.