It's an unseasonably warm January evening, and Lyn and I are sat once again in one of our favourite spots. It feels like summer, looking across the river listening to the gulls. I love it here; the Thames is littered with the debris of centuries of industry; old wooden structures jut out from the water, a reminder that this was once the engine room of a now long-dead empire. There is an aura about this place. Behind us there is the sound of laughter and music from a pub, but we'll not go in. Instead, we'll turn our chairs and head for home, me following the woman I love away from this peaceful place back up into the city. Another day, another week is at an end. Time, like the river behind us, flows ever on - it too is littered with the debris of the past, yet hopefully winds it's way towards a brighter future. After all, winter will now soon give way to spring.
Sitting by the river