All seating plans around the waters edge are anyone’s guess. A trio of octogenarians, a couple of codgers and a plethora of single islands sitting in the May sunshine. Some reading books, others lost in their own thoughts, yet the lure of the river sound pull all and sundry. The high brow, the waster, the lunchtime special and the thinker, all wooden slatted seats taken up by any amount of individuality. I sit here deep in my cups wondering how I’m going to make this day work for me. Watching our feathered friends endure the wrath of the pensioner while trying to bag a mate with their ritual dancing (the bird not the pensioner) with the ever present sound of the water flowing up (or down, I’m crap with direction)
Seagulls jostling for position nearer the aged crumb givers, boats being dragged back and forth by the rhythmic splash of the river. Clouds languidly rolling across the azure skies and still my thoughts are upon the worthiness of this day. To be honest, just getting myself off my arse and walking into town to fetch my bike would be a start, but the ever present phantom of illusive calm stays my wandering. Fuck it, I’ll stay a bit longer. I’m sure the day can wait for me to make my own move, if not I’m sure the moon will have something to say about it.
Oh bollocks, the local council employees have finished their doorstop sized sandwiches in their makeshift bate hut which is their van and have started to deploy a floor whacker! Freshly laid gravel in a squared out vestibule of the grassed area needs to be twatted into the ground. So now, along with the cacophony of life by a river, we have the drum and bass of petrol engined thwacking! (Obviously needs two employees to do one job here). The vote being lost on these punctual practitioners of pedestrianisation, they will probably still have jobs at the end of this day no matter who gains entry into Westminster. And on that political note, I bid you a fond farewell.