Going down to the Thames shore is an uncanny experience. We are used to looking down on the river from bridges, mainly at speed from the safety of trains and buses. Standing beside it one is aware of its size and power.
A bright cold afternoon - I made my way down to Walbrook Wharf where the waves crash-in on the rusting hulls of the refuse barges with a dull dark thump, and splash up the concrete steps disconcertingly.
Armed with a bucket and a peice of string I capture as much water as I can carry, and bring it home to boil....the things one does for art!
London being London no one batts an eye...the blessing of invisible eccentricity.
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