There is something thoroughly disarming about finding yourself embroiled in someone else's fantasy. It happens all the time in London's Baker Street of course, where office workers and passers-by are apt to be accosted by tourists intent on finding out where Sherlock Holmes lived. The great detective's alleged residence at 221-B Baker Street has long been on the pilgrim trail for devotees of Conan Doyle's thrillers. And doubtless, somewhere in Brussels there is a postal address marked out as being the home of Hercule Poirot before the pedantic detective's career in Belgium was derailed when he was recruited to solve improbable crimes in Agatha Christie's novels.

So, there we were, just passing through the Swedish coastal town of Ystad with some time to spare, and we had a disconcerting encounter with fiction.