Mosquito Hunter

When I first moved into the new apartment my upstairs neighbours (Olivier and Solveen) sent me a message saying 'welcome to a little bit of Paradise in Amsterdam' and I can see what they mean. Good apartments in my price range are like gold dust in Amsterdam; unless you’re one of those lucky people who can afford to cough up a few thousand Euro a month for a swanky canal-side pad you normally have to make do with something in the ‘pokey’ range.

This place has ceilings so high that I feel like a goldfish who’s been living in a little bowl for months and has suddenly been let out into the ocean to swim. Peter doesn’t have to duck to get through the door frames. You can sit in the garden and listen to the birds singing as you enjoy a morning cup of tea and forget that you’re in the middle of Amsterdam, yet within five minute’s walk outside of the front door there’s a bustling market and all the cafes and shops you could ever wish for.

Before I start sounding like I’m selling the place, I might add that there is a downside to this place. The thing is, animals seem to love it as much as I do. Every night I become Mosquito Hunter. I perch on the window ledge in the bedroom armed with my special ‘mossie killer magazine’ (this thing is so disgusting – it’s covered with the squashed bodies of a few dozen of them already) whacking the ceiling as one of the little critters buzzes past. Of course, it doesn’t matter how many I kill before the light goes out, one always tries to go potholing into my ear as soon as I drop off to sleep. I can live with the spiders, flies, next door’s cat and even the occasional mouse, but I am on a one-woman mission to clear the place of damn mozzies.