The afternoon melts in the sunshine and we sink back to the station and prise our gear out of the lockers, including our van gogh posters packed neatly in their bright blue toblerone packets, and struggle to the train. It's hot now, summer-hot despite the earliness of the year, and even the novelty of windmill-spotting from the top of a double-decker train is hardly keeping our eyes open. When we get to Schipol I get off the train but my poster doesn't, and though I run back down the luggage slope I know I'm too late and it's gone. I wave it bye and let it go, orbiting Amsterdam on the stoptrein.
It'll find a home.
the poster I lost