This evening, on my way to my writers’ circle meeting, I saw something most extraordinary and also extremely frightening. It was in a narrow street with tall town houses behind the Place Fernand Coq in Ixelles. A first floor window was wide open and in it was a girl – about ten years old, I’d say – on a swing. As she swung back, into the room behind her, she was safe. But as she swung forward, out of the window, she was about ten metres above the street below. I did not imagine this. I was with a reliable witness, a colleague. We didn’t know what to do. If we had cried out she might have been startled or looked down and lost her balance. But who in their right minds could have set up such a swing in such a dangerous way, for it cannot have been the girl herself?