We woke up in the most expensive room of the holiday, and though with good facilities, not the nicest. Breakfast sounded good though, and continued until 10.30am, so we decided to lie in and go late. We had the luxury of nice showers and breakfast TV, before sauntering down. The buffet is rather nice, and I'm tempted to pinch enough food to see us through the week, but Iain restrains me. Lots of gay couples, and we're almost the only heterosexuals in the room. It's a nice atmosphere, quite peaceful and everyone seems relaxed, but we feel a little uncomfortable. On the lift returning to the room, Iain notices that the push buttons had been replaced by a swipe card overnight. Apparently. He swears it's the same lift, etc., and we're both confused...

We try to book the room for the rest of the week, deciding that whilst it isn't brilliant for the price, it'll do, and save us the hassle of finding elsewhere. Apparently we can stay tonight but then they're full. They mention us not paying full price, and we wonder if they're trying to get rid of us, but it seems true. At midday we go for a walk to find the NewMetropolis Museum, which has been described by a guidebook as "addictive". We wander along canal sides, deciding that Amsterdam isn't only quite nice, it doesn't look or feel like a capital city - even with 200 000 extra bods, which is how many we later find out are at the games.

[The NewMetropolis Museum in the harbour.]

The museum, as the book states, resembles the stern of a sinking Titanic. It's brand new, and supposedly top rate. And it is indeed. Possibly the most fun day of our holiday to date (well, I'd put the beach high up too, but I don't think Iain would) and certainly the most childish. The first exhibit we come across is badly placed if the designers want anyone to see much else. It's a huge "ball factory" where children based in different areas of the "factory" perform different tasks, ostensibly to work together. Sadly as an adult we can see that in reality they're unperforming each others' work, but let's not rationalise and take the fun away. There are far too many children to let us play, so we watch for a while and resolve to return later.

[The Ball Factory in the NewMetropolis Science Museum.]

Six hours later we make it. Via the "Don't Spill a Drop!" oil tanker game (including model boats to steer around an "ocean"); the Transport Manager's Game, where you outbid your friends to take orders for your business to survive; the solar powered model aircraft, which Iain loves, but are allegedly "broken" (poor excuse for failure); the "lab" where kids blow each other up; the maze with light sensitive noise panels on the floor; the giant bubble machine; the lie detector (both of us use our imaginations to avoid detection); the IQ tester, where you can also test the type of lover you are (interestingly differing results between the pair of us); internet terminals (we can finally mail home); and dozens of games that captivate our imaginations. Thoroughly recommended, but go when the kids are at school.

Exhausted by our creativity, we walk back and return to the restaurant from the night before. We have a long dinner, accompanied by too much wine for me to cope with, and the drunkenness tally for the holiday is equalled at one all, after Iain's Munich Beer Crisis.