It was very hot. So most of Basel had swarmed to the banks of the Rhine for something cool. They were all walking in the same direction. Backsides, young and old, mottled with creative bulges and dimples that made faces at you, were all heading upstream in their bathing costumes, with bright orange watertight designer bags slung over their shoulders. In the river itself, just as many bulges and dimples were holding onto their orange watertight designer bags packed with sandals, t-shirts, suntan oil and the car keys, as the strong current dragged them effortlessly back downstream.
Cyclists and the odd fully-dressed pedestrian watched the human specks bobbing up and down in the Rhine below, as they lazy-peddled on the road or sauntered aimlessly along the pavement. Three distracted cyclists had taken up the width of one street to themselves, discussing what it is you discuss on a Sunday afternoon. They hadn't noticed the police van behind them, which had been politely waiting for the cyclist taking up the middle of the street, to surrender and let them through. But the Sunday afternoon discussion was far too absorbing, so one policeman reached for the microphone and announced very gently over the van's loudspeaker that he didn't wish to spoil a Sunday afternoon stroll and was glad the cyclists were enjoying it so much but could they please let the police through?
