Now bend over and place your hands on the wall..

The British Embassy in the Netherlands and its stringent security speak volumes for the age we live in. In a threatening time of global terrorism, I feel as though we will never go back to the days of relaxation. Those good old days of trustworthiness, when one could go pick up their passport without having to go through metal detectors, and leaving one's electronic equipment with a midget security guard for fear of having a bomb.

It's another lovely day in Amsterdam. The sun is shining and I'm perched quietly on the riverbank. For the last week or so, we've been witness to a string of days where the sun is shining, the skies have been clear, and there has been no threat of a downpour.

Sitting in the Vondelpark, on this riverbank, a familiar odour crowds my senses. I look to my left, and notice, sitting right next to me, a pile (of reasonble size) of dog shit. No more than a few hours old, it has the crusted look of a dry autumn afternoon. I look over and see the friend I'm meeting pull up on his omafiets. He locks the wheel and stands motionless. He runs his fingers through a non-existent head of hair and waits outside the Filmmuseum impatiently. I call to him and he makes his way over with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step.