The alarm rudely shakes me from my slumber: 2.30am. I groan and roll over, noticing the bed is empty. Andy’s not only up, he’s showered, dressed and sitting by the front door next to his suitcase. Someone’s excited for our Amsterdam<\/a> city break….An hour later and we’re on the road, hurtling towards Gatwick and a three-day break in the buzzing (in all senses of the word) city: it’s time for a spot of Amsterdamage.This weekend has been a no-brainer: Andy is a ‘Dam virgin and having secured the August bank holiday Monday off work, a quick search of flights threw up returns with Easyjet<\/a> for \u00a3200 each. Pricier than at other times, but not bad for a peak weekend in the height of summer, when the rugrats are off school and pushing the prices skywards. Next, over to my trusty Booking.com<\/a> app to locate a top-rated hotel. When choosing a hotel I tend to go with customer reviews rather than star ratings necessarily, and it’s always served me well. You don’t need to go 5-star to get an amazing experience; often it’s the less obvious places with lower stars but brilliant reviews that I like the best. Which is just as well seeing as I’m Sam Walsh, not P Diddy.<\/p>\n Volkshotel<\/a>, in the East district of the city, looks interesting and is ticking lots of boxes : a cool lobby bar\/cafe, classy rooftop restaurant and nightclub with panoramic views of the city, plus a secret basement cocktail bar and club. Chuck in a sauna and hot tubs on the roof and this little gem is sounding right up our Straat. A quick check with the hotel’s own site tells me it’s cheaper to book directly, so I do that and a few clicks later we’re all set: 2 nights at \u00a390 a night. So for under \u00a3300 each we’ve got ourselves a cheeky lil jaunt organised – sweet!<\/p>\n <\/p>\n After the compulsory rip-off breakfast at Gatwick which sets us back almost as much as the trip itself, it’s a short hop across to the Dam, and we arrive in less than an hour. At Schipol airport<\/a> we purchase a 3-day travelcard for \u20ac25<\/a> each and then it’s a short journey by train and tube to our hotel. The underground in Amsterdam is immaculate – I dread to think what tourists make of our bio-hazardous carriages in London – and there are little LEDs on the tube map which show you which station you’re at as you travel – genius! We could use these back home, to avoid the mass pile-ups at the bottom of the stairs as clueless tourists squint at the tangled spaghetti of tube lines.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n We jump off at Wilbautstraat<\/a> and the hotel is directly opposite, so we check in, check out the hotel facilities and chill out for a bit before heading to the lobby bar<\/a>. The sun is shining, the lobby is trendy and the Sauvignon is cold – what more can we ask?<\/p>\n We relax and take in our surroundings: there’s an industrial, warehouse feel – all concrete walls, exposed pipes and quirky soft furnishings. The staff are all good-looking hipsters, and there are arty types lolling on sofas tapping away into Macs and generally being creative. The East of Amsterdam is the cool, creative district of the city – much like East London, I guess. The building itself used to be the headquarters of a newspaper and there are little touches that hark back to this: the hotel has it’s own free newspaper, Volksnews, for example.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n After our liquid refreshments, we jump the tube for the few short stops into the centre of town to explore the city – almost being mown down by the hundreds of cyclists whizzing past our noses in the process. We squint in the bright sunshine to check the coast is clear to cross, our nostrils twitching like Bisto Kids due to the fragrant aroma of cannabis being carried on the breeze.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n It may only be an hour from London, but the atmosphere and laid-back culture of the city is a world away: coffee shops<\/a> abound with plumes of blue smoke billowing from the entrance, prostitutes pose in the doorways of the Red Light District<\/a> casually proffering their wares. I must say, the girls look a lot more buff than the last time I visited; this lot have been working out by the looks of it! The last time I was here most of the women looked a bit…dare I say….jaded<\/i>. These hookers are no strangers to a spot of BodyPump and regular HIIT workouts judging by the muscle definition (not that I ever go to a gym myself, y’understand – I just follow fitness bloggers in the hope of getting in shape by proxy). Or perhaps it’s a case of needs must – they look like they won’t be taking any grief from lairy punters, that’s for sure…<\/p>\n I roll Andy’s tongue back up (which is currently lolling on the cobbles like a faulty roller blind) and we continue on to Dam Square<\/a>, stopping occasionally for various refreshments. A typical Dutch platter<\/a> of Bitterballen<\/a>, various meats, cheeses, breads and pickles keeps us going on our rambles around town. We admire the multitude of flowers, rickety buildings, canals and houseboats, before topping up our sugar levels with tea and cake before heading back to the hotel to prepare for the evening’s festivities…<\/p>\n <\/p>\n We dress up for our Saturday night shenanigans and head up to Canvas bar<\/a> on the 7th floor of our hotel for a cheeky cocktail before heading into the city centre. Its a balmy evening; the cocktails are delicious, the crowd is made up of model material locals and we sit out on the comfy terrace which is lit with string lights, has stunning 360 degree views of the city and is – in a word – stunning.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n It’s tempting to stay here as the hotel club <\/a>will be kicking off in an hour or so, but we tear ourselves away and make tracks to Nieuwmarkt<\/a> for a delicious Thai meal at Chao Phraya<\/a>. We meander around the Red Light District again, stopping occasionally for a drink, before heading to Supper Club<\/a> for the nightclub element of the establishment, Upper Club<\/a>. Being one of the top haunts of the city, I wrongly assume it’ll be playing house music (the website lists Tech House) but to our disappointment discover it’s actually exclusively R&B, my least favourite genre. The club is jumping, but it’s just not our scene, so we stay for a while (having paid \u20ac15 each to get in) before heading back to our hotel at 2am to check out Doka<\/a>, the basement club. A colourful peacock of a drag queen toilet attendant shows us the secret entrance (hidden behind some vintage lockers) and we are delighted to discover a super-cool hidden gem of \u00a0a club, the DJ spinning funky house and dirty disco beats to an achingly hip yet friendly crowd. Now that’s<\/i> more like it!<\/p>\n <\/p>\n By 4.30am it’s time for bed and we take the lift to our room to catch some zeds…Zzzzzzzz<\/p>\n The next day we decide to do the obligatory cultural stuff, after a traditional Dutch breakfast in Waterlooplein<\/a>, alongside the flea markets<\/a>. I don’t know if it’s partly due to the mild hangover I’m experiencing, but I find Anne Frank’s house <\/a>particularly traumatic today (my second visit) and am in bits by the time we get out of there. I feel so sad, reading excerpts of her diaries<\/a>, her burning desire to be a journalist or author and being able to relate to that ambition, as well as angry that she died at such a young age (16) without being able to realise her dreams.<\/p>\n