Behind the roads. Under the shadows of houses and offices throughout London, there run some canals.
As well as hosting a lot of fish and moorhens, the canals contain several hundred boats, which are inhabited by the 0.0001% of Londoners who choose to make their homes upon the water.
The streams are slow-flowing and full of algae. Flies buzz around the water’s edge. Birds sunbathe on the decks and the summer sun slowly bakes the outside paint until it fades and starts to flake.
All manner of people live on the boats. From investment bankers, to poets and painters. Some boats are new and vast, with more space inside than an apartment. Others have been bobbing up and down on the water since the 1970s and are cheerfully decorated, or overgrown with plants.
There’s even a converted orange submarine. It’s particularly small and has only one thick window, some vents and a door.
I first noticed the canals when I walked to the Post Office last year to fetch a package from a friend in Brazil. Now and then I go back and walk along the same route. To see the boats. To get out of the city, without leaving it.
One morning, I noticed a boat I hadn’t seen before. It was black and scruffy, with old junk and appliances littered about the place as though the owner never saw the point in tidying anything up.
Then I saw him, at the front. He was standing completely naked, shaving his face in a mirror.
The rest of his body was completely bald. His skin, deeply tanned a rich shade of brown like a conker, pulled taught over his muscles. He was facing away from me but for a second I caught his gaze in the mirror. Two bright blue eyes stared at me, with a look I’d only ever seen on wild animals in the forest.
I wanted desperately to stop and continue staring through the windows into his life but being aware that this would have been intruding, I carried on and even took a longer route back home, for fear of disturbing it. Disturbing a scene in which I truly didn’t belong.
14 comments
Wow, love it, Dan.
Me too. You've taken my intellect added my poetic prowess and produced something greater than the 2 parts! (You could guess I just read your take on your parents - again!)
Dad
Where can I read your writing, Jonathan?
Dad normally shares his poetic prowess only with those closest to him although I've passed your question on to him :)
Do you think Australia is close enough? ;)
I'm totally intrigued now and LOLd that he looked like a conker!
Sounds like the start of brilliant book Dan. He could be anything from a time travelling Stig Of The Dump to a Moorside Murderer!
Fab pics too.
You could be right there, maybe he's a criminal... not a very successful one judging by the state of his accommodation but you know, as long as he enjoys it :)
Aren't we in a cheeky mood today! :)
Maybe it was laundry day and he came back from the laundromat like that.
Send me some of his poetry.
Good point.
What does this look like, a billboard?
No it isn't! You're getting spammed!
I must say though, your drawing of the eyes reminded me of the billboard of the eyes with the glasses in The Great Gatsby. :)
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