A man in Amsterdam airport December 21st, in a Radisson hotel at Amsterdam’s Schiphol airport which I chose in a momentary panic of having nowhere to sleep after my transfer flight to Manchester was abruptly cancelled flat. I had milled around the terminal, contemplating if spending the night on a bench was really worth it. 45 minutes later I was on a bus to the hotel, alone. The ride was novel; in a mere 5 hours I’d picked up more Dutch than I ever learned French at school. Did you know that ‘Sauvignon Blanc’ in Dutch is ‘Sovignen Blank’? Or that ‘Telephone’ is ‘Telefoon’? At the hotel I had a bath, tried my best to clean myself until sparkling as I had only a single pair of socks and underwear to last me two days. I listened to some Frank Sinatra and took a few photographs, I danced around in my fresh white towel and lamented on how a hotel could provide facial lotion yet no toothpaste. A solemn faced reporter from BBC news informed me of a tragedy in Prague. At the ...