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We watched the ships sailing past. André checked whether there were any pretty women at the helm. He was talking about a TV series in which a mysterious water gypsy had arrived in her boat at a little village on the river. There, she had initiated a boy into the secrets of love. ‘Could happen here, too,’ he said. ‘She could moor here any day. And I’ll be at the head of the queue.’

I asked what that meant, being initiated into love.

‘Screwing for the first time.’

‘Yes, I get that. But what’s so secret about that?’

‘That’s a secret.’

David was throwing pebbles in the water. For my Dutch exam, I had just read a story about a moped going to sea, and I imagined one zooming over the water from the direction of Kampen, right under the old steel bridge, on the way to the Rhine.

‘Ridiculous,’ said André. He jumped off the wall to go home. At that moment, David pointed downstream. ‘Look at that!’ he shouted.

We saw a huge black shoebox coming our way. The monster towered high above the water, and was being pushed along by a small boat with a long chimney from which came puffs of smoke. It was as if a little yapping dog was snuffling at a black Dobermann with its snout.