Norway has been named the most peaceful land in a recent study. Now you would think in such a country, crime rate would be next to zero. And it is. But this isn't what people need to be afraid of. No no. It's the town council itself, turning our sense of what is normal and usual right around, inside out and on it's head.

Now you see, I had ridden my bicyle in to town. My chunky, beefy, indestructable black bike lock was sitting in my bag on my back, ready to serve its job in protecting my bike from Norway's mean, nasty non-existant theives. So I reach town, the main street. I found a nice, thick and strong white pole sticking out of the ground and thought, "Oh perfect, a nice, thick and strong white pole is sticking out of the ground and I can lock my bike to it". So that's what I did. My faithful chunky, beefy and indestructable black bike lock purred in the pleasure it felt serving its noble bike-protecting duties.

So i left my dear bike, content in the thought of its safeness, and skipped through the shops, not a care in the world. At the end of my great shopping spree (in which i bought nothing - it's all too expensive), in my carefree state of mind, I managed to forget that I had cycled my bike in to town. So I walked home instead. My subconcious was content that my bike was still be protected from the non-risk of stealing in the centre of not-unsafe Bergen. So I left my bike there for a few days.

A few days later, I walked down to our cellar where I normally keep my bike. It wasn't there! But of course!, it's locked up being protected by its faithful lock in the city centre. So in to the centre I strolled. I couldn't quite remember where I had locked my bike up, but the centre of bergen is not a big place, so it couldn't be far. I wandered the few central streets, spiraling away from the main street, looking for my bike on every pole. I must admit I began to worry a little. The further I got from the main street, the more certain I became that I had locked it up IN the main street. So back I went. Up and down the main street looking for my bike. There were lots of bikes their, old and new, big and small, locked and unlocked. But my poor little yellow bike wasn't among them! The panic and fear for my bike rising up in my throat, I tried to calm myself, and remind myself that this IS Norway, the most peaceful land on earth. I stepped back and viewed the main street. Where could my bike be, there were so many possible thick, strong poles to lock a bike to. Then a thought hit me, like something hitting me...

there were lots of thick, strong poles, but there were no thick, strong, white poles

The thick, strong, white poles, flag poles, that had lined both sides of the main street, were gone without a trace, and my poor bicycle gone with them!

Oh how I cried for my bike, the tears soaking through my clothes, running in rivers down my cheeks, filling up the streets, gushing in torrents into the harbour to mingle with the tears of the others who had lost their bicycles to the same sneaky town councilers who had taken down the flag poles, and removed the bicycles securely locked to them.

A thick, strong, white pole is a pillar of safety, a foundation to lay your trust in, something to hold on to in cyclones, to hide behind from feral dogs, to hug and recieve comfort from after a rough relationship breakup. In other countries you can count on them to be there in times of need, never falling, never swaying, never rotting, never hiding. Never being taken down for storage!