My Dutch friends have warned me, time and time again, that the police here are unforgiving.
I have had four separate encounters with the police, all of which went surprisingly well. On the other hand, my most recent meeting with them, well, it got physical.
Luckily though, I could control my bike enough to avoid killing any innocent bystanders. To try and calm the adrenalin rush, we decided to stop for a tea.
I headed home that night at 2:30 am. The icy rain hammering hard against my face, I tried to keep warm by slaloming from side to side in the bike lane. I sang from the top of my lungs, 'Elle me dit' by Mika but remixing it with the James Bond theme tune and some gunshot sound effects...
A pair of headlights started to follow me. Scared, I straightened up and pedaled like fury. With no other warning, a huge van came up onto the bike lane. I had enough time to read 'Politie' and try to stop, before I hit it, hard.
I fell to the ground with a loud thud, blood on my face and an aching shoulder. I wasn't really hurt, just stunned.
Two policemen got out of the van and pushed me hard up against the side of it. Once the language had been defined, the following conversation ensued.
'Bond.' They looked slightly perplexed. 'James Bond.'
'Have you been drinking, Bond?'
'No! Noshing. Ok, maybe a couple of Martini'shs, shaken not shtirred.' They didn't get the joke.
'Blow on this.' Obligingly I blew on the ethylotest and we waited in silence for the verdict.
'But you're sober!' one of them said, in genuine astonishment.
Apologetically they helped me wipe the mix of blood, mud and water off my face, before giving me a lift home. They turned out to be friendly guys and explained that I had looked suspicious and unbelievable, but nothing like James Bond.
As they dropped me home, I told them my real name was Holmes. They didn't believe that either and laughed as they drove off into the darkness.