Posted by: nativeiowan | August 3, 2018

2018 v8.2underWaterloobridge

145pm on a sunny Friday. I am sitting on the south bank of the Thames, under the Waterloo bridge.

Thousands of peoples share the space.

Aircraft, motor vehicles, exhaust fans from a nearby cookery, boats upon the water, voices in numerous languages and dialects, the pigeons, the primitive drumming of a busker, the rustle of the dry leaves on the pavement and the leaves in the trees, the wail of a far off siren contribute to the audial picture.

The olfactory picture is rich; foods from around the world, burning grease, frying meat, perspiration, colognes n perfumes, the river and its deep earthy rotting vapours, spices and decay and life fill my nostrils.

Visually; all is a confused cacophony of colour and movement, peoples of all shades and textures, young and old, large and small, dressed brightly, gaily, in flourescent summertime hues, green and yellow and orange, all in movement, all going someplace.

Did I mention that London is my favourite city?

Gracie has gone off on her own. She feels confident enough to cross the river, to go shopping and exploring on her own.

So I sit. Anticipating her return. My one-meal-per-day time is getting near. Not sure if I’m up for ale n fush n chips again. Tho good I might opt for a coffee and a sandwich. But Gracie had been enjoying the fish so time will tell.

And all is good, all is great, all is grand in my world.


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