This column is slowly just becoming a series of trying out very Dutch things. I went to the nude sauna. Then stepped it up and went to the hammam. I sold stuff on King’s Day. I bought plates with Albert Heijn zegels. I complained about Amsterdam cyclists on social media and annoyed everyone.

So, on the hottest day of the year, I jumped into the canal.

If the queen can do it, why shouldn’t I?

Máxima braved the grime and bacteria of the Netherlands waterways for charity. I just did it to cool off.

I had seen people swimming in the Schie — the waterway that connects Delft to Rotterdam — many times over the years. They are mostly university-aged students, who tend to lack foresight and an appreciation of danger.

The designated swimming area in Delft, where I live, is constantly infested with cyanobacteria, better known as blue-green algae. Not only is it scummy and gross but it can also actually make you sick. (Dogs and kids are especially susceptible.)

When the thermometer ticked over 30 degrees last week, I told my husband in no uncertain terms I was going swimming and I wasn’t going in the water that looked like a pretty toxic waste site.

He’s Dutch (and an engineer) so there’s nothing more on this earth he likes than a properly constructed regulation. He jumped into the research, keen to find a place where I could cool off that was properly administered.

After excessive internet research and several phone calls, he proposed we go to the “nature camping” aka the nude camping. It was 34°. I didn’t care. “Sure,” I agreed. Plus. as I’ve discussed, I’m a seasoned Dutchie at this point.

As an official Dutch person, the swimming idea at the nude lake got squashed after we discovered you had to pay a yearly membership fee of €70. The combined €140 was too steep. My husband was suddenly much more interested in flouting the rules.

My husband had also sensed an opportunity. He wasn’t keen on canal swimming at all, especially in a busy boat-filled waterway without a lifeguard or proper controls. “We could go canoeing first? Maybe we will find a spot where you can swim?”

I had no interest in sitting in the blazing sun on an unstable water vessel that I would have to exert effort to propel. He’s been bugging me to go canoeing for awhile and I knew as soon as the words came out of his mouth, I’d been negotiated into a corner.

“Fine. Think of how good it will feel to get into the water after we do that,” I smiled.

To his credit, we had a lovely afternoon. Turns out you can’t really use your phone while canoeing so neither of us was bothered by work or group chats or the descent into madness that is world politics. He wisely packed snacks and, in fairness, did more of the paddling work than I did.

Tired and sweaty, we headed for the Schie. I could tell he wasn’t into it and because, contrary to what people on Twitter believe, I am actually a nice person, I reassured him he didn’t have to get in.

“You went canoeing for me. I owe you,” he said, scanning the horizon for barges.

“Just watch for ships while I swim and we’ll call it even.”

I stuck my feet into the murky water and discovered, to my joy, it was the perfect cool temperature. In I went.

After watching my frolicking, my husband was finally tempted in and was forced to admit it was the perfect way to cool off.

In the evening, after we had showered off the canal, I asked if he’d go again.

“I think I’m going to get us a membership to the nude camping for your birthday,” he answered.