Southside | Start: 14:11 | End: 15:28 | Duration: 1:17
Here the river changes colour. The blues and greens become clear water, the exposed shingles disappear. The walker overhears two things: She’s pretty and everything but when she talks, the way she talks is like a sewer and The Thames stops being tidal here, this is the highest point the tides flow.
The stroll today is lonely; no one else is walking alone. Walking a long length of path without knowing where it will end is testing, pressured. It is better to be the person who walks into a room where others are, than the person waiting in a room hoping to be walked in on.
Rubbish at my feet: tissue abandoned, white rosette scrunched, disposable paper, speckles of dirt, around a fist of damp. Partnered by a cigarette butt, by string. The daffodils lean their heads in to listen. By Swan Island, a person can walk alongside the water and test it with their toes. Two girls in shorts use two bicycle bells to make one song.