Picture the scene: a pedestrianised street in central Athens, lined with upmarket shops. (OK, some of them might have smashed windows from the recent riots, but they’re still open for business!).
A scooter weaves its way through the crowds: a twenty-something boy on the front, his cute girlfriend sitting behind happily hugging him around the waist. A muscular guy in a tight-fitting T-shirt steps out in front of the bike, forcing it to stop. Words are spoken – I’m guessing:
“What the hell are you doing? You nearly killed us.”
“Wondering why you’re riding the bike here.”
“What business is it of yours?”
At which point a gaggle of uniformed police officers appear, as if from nowhere, in support of their colleague.
The girl jumps from the back of the bike, and runs off. The policemen look at one another, and decide that scolding and fining her boyfriend is a far easier course of action on a hot afternoon than running through the streets in hot pursuit of their hotter prey.
So far, so good. Yet you can tell where the story would end in my mind. Evading arrest is a serious crime, and tracking down a boy’s girlfriend wouldn’t take that much detective work. There’d be a knock on her front door the following morning; she’d be hauled before the magistrates; the twenty strokes of the cane to which she’d been sentenced would be administered before the clock struck midday.
You know: we’re in Greece to see museums and archaeological sites: I really must concentrate on the tasks at hand…
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