The mysterious Mr Sven

I'm not sure this tale will stand up to retelling, but bear with me - because a sequel is in the making. A long time ago, in a canal system far far away, Birdy and I went out among the bars of Amsterdam. I can't remember why (and knowing us it's entirely possible there was no good reason) but we really did do quite the grand tour. Actually, "grand" is the wrong word.

We went to the tackiest of the tacky (pretty much any bar around Leidseplein, that is). Birdy had just sharply told the leader of a bunch of out-of-towners that the reason we were the most interesting people in the bar (his words, not ours) was because "this wasn't our annual trip to the big city to get drunk" (miaow!), and we were contemplating the fact that this may be the end of the road for our girls' night out, when we met two Swedish guys, Sven and Dan.

The word Sven would induce a fit of giggles every time we said his name... there used to be an ad in Australia for massage sandals. The ad featured a miniature ultra-blonde muscle-bound masseur named, of course, Sven, strapped to the feet of some anonymous legs. "Hel-lo!" Sven would wave, with his dazzling white smile and glowing with Scandinavian health, in the worst possible approximation of a Swedish accent. Sven would then be superceded by a pair of terribly German-looking sandals. (Physical Challenge: I have scoured Google and can't find his photo - special mention to anyone who manages it. UPDATE: Someone anonymous has found him!! Although the ad has been updated, and Sven has an even worse haircut, at least he still says Hel-lo! Check it out. And anonymous, reveal your identity to receive the appropriate attention and glory.)

Anyway, Mr ("So, how about a massage?") Sven and Dan seemed by far the most interesting people at the bar, so we lent them one of our bikes to double on and headed off to another of Amsterdam's entertainment gems. Sven rode my bike, changing it forever ... in a bent-metal kind of way. At one point, in his smart grey suit with his knees around his ears, he asked in his Arnold-Swchawzenegger, strangely mezmerising robotic voice, "How am I doing?" Unfortunately we had to inform him that he had lost his friend Dan about 3 blocks back (before enquiring about the status of our massage.)

After this night, Sven became a strange recurring force in our lives. One day I was recounting this very story to a friend in a Thai restaurant, when the man himself glided Terminator-like past the window (luckily I was with Australians who were all keen to hear whether or not he had worked his magic on my shoulders). Then a few months later, Birdy and I were reading magazines in the huge expanse of Vondelpark, when Birdy instructed me suddenly to put my magazine over my face. "Now, " she said. "Look over your magazine to that next blanket. Is that ..." We were reduced to tears as Sven, seemingly still wearing the smart grey suit (on a Sunday?) with the legs rolled up, came over and offered us a punnet of strawberries. (It reminded me of that android secret agent in Get Smart.. a little too perfect.)

Fast forward a year and a half. Last night I. and I were bored, and trying to think of relatively inexpensive activities for Birdy when she comes to Stockholm. Suddenly, I knew. Luckily, I. has a hidden talent - she's quite the internet stalker (just an hour ago when I was pondering who I had missed a call from on my phone, she asked "Is it a mobile or land line?" Landline. "Fine, we can use reverse look-up on the internet," she said, before looking guilty at revealing yet more of her own secret agent history, and heading for the bathroom). Under her expert guidance, I. and I managed to track down the results of the London marathon, leading to a finance web-page, leading to her secret method of approximating company email addresses until finally this morning I arrived at work to find an email from ... Sven himself. He replied without blinking an eyelid (or so I imagine), and even recalled our previous coneversation from his memory banks.

So...Birdy and I are excitedly now scheduled for a date with destiny - and Dan - next Thursday. I have (cheerily) suggested strawberry cocktails. Birdy (affectionately) suggests we wear grey. Both of us refrained from mentioning massages. We are not sure if he gets it. Yet.