Monday, 14 September 2009


I`m looking at the green scum on top of the pond which is broken up in places so that the wind unsettles that water and the scum rearanges into different parcels that merge and break because it is influenced though always with a slight delay. I`m wondering about the sense of putting a wooden fence all the way around this man-made pond at the edge of the now dried up and out-of-use filter beds. At the far end of the pond there is a slab of concrete wall that carries on for a bit and then turns into scrub and the ragged and withered ends of blackberry bushes. The fence might as well have ended there but it doesn't . It carries on all the way around, barely two meters breadth away from that concrete slab. I think, "That could only happen in a city".
I am standing on the small dipping platform that has a wooden barrier that presses from my solar plexus to my floating ribs when I lean against it. I see a figure in the far distance moving towards me. I spot that figure at a long way off by the luminous yellow jacket that stands out in all that green. As he gets closer I glance sideways. He rolls his eyes backwards. Even when he has gone I keep staring on past the point where he had just been on into the scenery. There is a wet slightly chilled humidity to the day. I have cleaning products in the front of my bike; two mop-heads, a general disinfectant and a bathroom de-scaler. In the back of my bike I have dried noodles. I get back on my bike. Crossing the red bridge with metal flaps like wings to either side which effectively block off the view to the river and are the perfect surface for graffitti, I glimpse a heron standing on one leg on a grey water pipe which is exactly the same colour as the heron. Before that I went past the rows and rows of metal goal posts which stretch out over the vast playing fields and line up this way and that progressively, as I free wheel the bike. A massive truck filled with rubble thunders along the dirt track in front of me, than veers off just past the bridge and disapears behind foliage that sets apart the river from the field. Far off on the horizen the spokes of many seperately working cranes bow up and down on the raised mound so that at that distance they are each set at a different phase in their working lives upon which the Olympic games will one day open. I disapear along the bridge.  A girl sits on top of the bank round at the other side just past the underpass. She looks up the track at a group of three sitting at the bottom of a ridge by the path, then gives out a sound which is part laughter and part lament. As I pass the group further up one of the boys says "I'm going to go and piss next to her". Further up there are horses in the distance.  Behind them a bread  factory rumbles. There are pilons up above; wire cord strung out between splayed out metal legs rivetted to the ground that rise into a triangle.

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