In the middle of the canal, submerged by the murky depths, I could see the scooter lying there, settling on the uneven bed. Swirls of oil began to appear on the surface of the water, shimmering as they caught the light, spiralling in the vortex created by the sinking scooter. My immediate thoughts turned to the coots, the Canada geese, and the swans. Then I began to think about the teenager with the mobile phone.
I wondered if he had filmed them attacking me?
As soon as the ripples abated, life began to return back to normal. Four yapping coots glided across the canal by the rusting iron bridge, circling above the exact spot where the scooter had entered the murky water. One of the coots dipped its head underneath a few times before diving down to investigate the new acquisition. The seeping swirls of oil and petrol on the water’s surface didn’t seem to bother the submerged coot at all. The remaining three entertained themselves with a random plastic milk carton. One of the coots pushed at it with its beak a couple of times before suddenly chasing it along, shrieking to itself in what I could only imagine was excitement. Then, as if orchestrated to coincide with some secret signal, each of the three coots dived down to join the first at the bottom of the murky water in unison. I watched as a tiny pattern of bubbles formed back up on the surface. They were down there for some time before, one by one, they popped up again as the large swan, its mate, and two Canada geese elegantlypaddled over to join the commotion. The four coots quickly moved on, over to the far side, beyond the rusting iron bridge. I watched the beautiful, elegant swan and its mate. He looked at me momentarily, and then looked away, heading towards the spot where the scooter lay. His long neck shot downwards, into the murky water above the scooter. The two Canada geese did the same. All three completing the investigation together. After twenty seconds or so of this they paddled away in the same direction they were originally headed, towards Hackney. I walked back over to the bench. She was there, sitting there, on her side of the bench. She was looking at me. She turned away quickly, back to the canal and the whitewashed office block.
Before I got to the canal that morning I had cooked myself a large breakfast of fried eggs, smoked bacon, fried bread, sausages, hash browns, black pudding, mushrooms, and fried tomatoes. I ate all this with four rounds of toast and a large pot of tea. I had been feeling intense pangs of hunger ever since the teenagers had attacked me. I walked to the canal that morning and I distinctly remember thinking about what I could eat for lunch. I was still digesting my breakfast but already I was thinking about lunch. I remember walking along the towpath towards the bench thinking about a huge plateful of lasagne and homemade, thin-cut chips. I couldn’t help myself. It’s all I could think about. Food had never really bothered me to such a degree as it did that day. I soon began to think about what I should have for dinner later that evening: I wanted duck fillets with red cabbage and cinnamon with a simple mash. I wanted to wash this dinner down with pints of Guinness—maybe four or five. Before I went to bed that evening I imagined I would have a hot steaming plate of crumpets with knobs of creamy butter, accompanied by a warm glass of milk and vanilla sugar. Then I would eventually go to bed, wake upafter midnight, creep into the kitchen and devour a leftover plate of cold meats from the refrigerator.
I remember thinking to myself, as I was walking over to my bench, that I should calm down a bit—that I should snap out of it.
- two -
She was wearing a navy blue Chinese-style workers’ blouse with matching three-quarter-length trousers and flat shoes. They looked like ballet shoes, although they weren’t. I distinctly remember thinking she looked good. Really good. Her hair was parted in the middle, bobbed and clipped
I wondered if he had filmed them attacking me?
As soon as the ripples abated, life began to return back to normal. Four yapping coots glided across the canal by the rusting iron bridge, circling above the exact spot where the scooter had entered the murky water. One of the coots dipped its head underneath a few times before diving down to investigate the new acquisition. The seeping swirls of oil and petrol on the water’s surface didn’t seem to bother the submerged coot at all. The remaining three entertained themselves with a random plastic milk carton. One of the coots pushed at it with its beak a couple of times before suddenly chasing it along, shrieking to itself in what I could only imagine was excitement. Then, as if orchestrated to coincide with some secret signal, each of the three coots dived down to join the first at the bottom of the murky water in unison. I watched as a tiny pattern of bubbles formed back up on the surface. They were down there for some time before, one by one, they popped up again as the large swan, its mate, and two Canada geese elegantlypaddled over to join the commotion. The four coots quickly moved on, over to the far side, beyond the rusting iron bridge. I watched the beautiful, elegant swan and its mate. He looked at me momentarily, and then looked away, heading towards the spot where the scooter lay. His long neck shot downwards, into the murky water above the scooter. The two Canada geese did the same. All three completing the investigation together. After twenty seconds or so of this they paddled away in the same direction they were originally headed, towards Hackney. I walked back over to the bench. She was there, sitting there, on her side of the bench. She was looking at me. She turned away quickly, back to the canal and the whitewashed office block.
Before I got to the canal that morning I had cooked myself a large breakfast of fried eggs, smoked bacon, fried bread, sausages, hash browns, black pudding, mushrooms, and fried tomatoes. I ate all this with four rounds of toast and a large pot of tea. I had been feeling intense pangs of hunger ever since the teenagers had attacked me. I walked to the canal that morning and I distinctly remember thinking about what I could eat for lunch. I was still digesting my breakfast but already I was thinking about lunch. I remember walking along the towpath towards the bench thinking about a huge plateful of lasagne and homemade, thin-cut chips. I couldn’t help myself. It’s all I could think about. Food had never really bothered me to such a degree as it did that day. I soon began to think about what I should have for dinner later that evening: I wanted duck fillets with red cabbage and cinnamon with a simple mash. I wanted to wash this dinner down with pints of Guinness—maybe four or five. Before I went to bed that evening I imagined I would have a hot steaming plate of crumpets with knobs of creamy butter, accompanied by a warm glass of milk and vanilla sugar. Then I would eventually go to bed, wake upafter midnight, creep into the kitchen and devour a leftover plate of cold meats from the refrigerator.
I remember thinking to myself, as I was walking over to my bench, that I should calm down a bit—that I should snap out of it.
- two -
She was wearing a navy blue Chinese-style workers’ blouse with matching three-quarter-length trousers and flat shoes. They looked like ballet shoes, although they weren’t. I distinctly remember thinking she looked good. Really good. Her hair was parted in the middle, bobbed and clipped
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