Hazy crazy days: with dad in Amsterdam's coffee shops

‘Listen, I don’t want to do any of that cultural stuff,” my dad, John, said, as we planned our trip to Amsterdam, “I just want to get baked.”

I’ll admit I was concerned. My father has a ridiculously high tolerance for THC, following many dedicated decades, but last time I went to Amsterdam, I pulled my first-ever whitey and had to sit reading a burger menu for 45 minutes. But I want to do this trip: we haven’t been abroad together since I was 12, and cannabis helps with the symptoms of his MS. I won’t pretend that’s the only reason we’re going, however. My dad really, really likes to get high.

When he turns up at the Eurostar terminal, he is wearing a Grateful Dead T-shirt, black Doc Martens, aviator sunglasses, and a pair of cargo shorts that he declares “extremely practical” but spends the whole holiday rummaging in,...

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