Sean Condon is not an optimist by nature. His humour is wry. He has met his match with the Dutch, among whom he spent three years. They are way wryer.

For me, it was the perfect storm to unleash Sean's characteristic blend of subtle, self-deprecating humour and pain in the subtle humiliations of everyday life. Taut, witty, and in its own way, hopeful. I find it the most rewarding of Sean's books, and I give it five stars.

In fact, the author has moved happily back to Amsterdam with his family. Maybe it's time for a second edition, with a bold, joyous, unequivocally happy ending? ( )

Oh dear. Three times now I have read a Sean Condon book and three times I have been disappointed. This time I promise not to read another of his books. Although in my defence it seems that earlier reviewers on this site shared the frustrating experience I did.

So, Condon, who had previously written about his trip around Australia, and a later trip to North America, now reveals that he lives in the Netherlands with a long suffering wife and his attempts to remain gainfully employed. To stretch the book out, Condon starts shamefully name dropping and so we find that at Roger Moore and Francis Ford Coppola had to put up with him too. ( )

He’s not as funny as he thinks he is, but I was interested enough in his source material to battle through his schtick. ( )

Not funny and not well-written. I often felt he was adding text just to fill the pages. He wasted 3 years in Amsterdam and I wasted an unknown number of hours reading about it. Maybe I shouldn't be so stubborn about finishing books. ( )

Oh dear. I understand his other books were both readable and funny.

Three wasted years in a great city, culture and country, sponging off his wife or anyone else he could find with an area of gullibility, disliking and disparaging everything from food to landscape.

I dislike this kind of person, so, of course, disliked this book.