Summer in The City .... Part Three

 

An evening in Limehouse standing on a pub balcony watching the river while trying to shelter from the rain.  Another Anthony Gormley statue stands on a plinth watching the trip boats, ferries and police launches speed passed. I have seen so many of the naked replicas of Anthony Gormley, in Cambridge, St Ives and Liverpool that I must know his body better than my own. The inhabitants of Liverpool must have got fed-up of looking at his private parts as well because they painted underpants on him.

 

They don't respect art in Liverpool

The tour boats have been converted to Party Boats for the evening.  Sometimes the beat of the music drifts across to us sometimes the dancers just seem to be gyrating to their own silent rhythm.

Wake the following morning to the sound of a church clock striking, count the strikes to see if its time to get up. Six, seven, eight, nine ….. surely not that late…… thirteen, fourteen…….. a pause ….. then it starts again one, two.  There are obviously three unsynchronised church clocks in the vicinity.

We watch a narrowboat and a cruiser go out of Limehouse  Lock along The Thames.  The cruiser zooms off ahead, the narrowboat bobs after him, when he hits the wake left by one of the fast taxi boat he ploughs through the waves with his bow lifting.  He looks very small against the wide expanse of the river. Do I want to do this later in the month?  Of course I do.  Really I do. All experienced crew welcome bring your own lifejackets.

Leave the basin via the Limehouse Cut, need to be near an underground station to get back into Central London for a theatrical experience but don’t fancy paying twenty five pounds for the privilege of an extra night in Limehouse.

Limehouse Cut is packed with boats then interspersed with stretches where nobody moors.  If nobody moors there then there must be a reason so we won’t moor there either.  Three Mills looks interesting and there is a space but I encounter the usual problem that sixty foot won’t fit into a fifty five foot space.

Move on passed an endless variety of boats: smart: Dutch: painted: graffitied: on the point of sinking. Passed the canal entrance to the loop around the Olympic Park which is still closed to navigation.

 

 

 

 

A C&RT weed cutter passes by ‘What’s the mooring situation around here’ asks the crew member ‘Dire’ they reply.

Just as we’re about to accept that we will be travelling all day and getting a train in from somewhere in Hertfordshire a boat ahead leaves and we get a space. It turns out it is a very useful space, near to Hackney Wick station and a stones throw from Stratford so to get to Central London is easy.  To the Rose Theatre a strange small theatre under huge girders that hold up the high rise above and protect the archaeological remains of an Elizabethan theatre underneath. It sells drinks but has no toilets which makes the second half of the performance a bit uncomfortable. A friend of a friend is giving a one woman performance alongside another one woman performance.  The theatre holds fifty but is only half full.  Afterwards we all go to the local pub, cast and audience and spend another evening standing, with drink in hand, watching The Thames float passed.

We are moored alongside the Olympic Park so the following day I take the opportunity to go for a swim in the Olympic Pool.  It’s beautiful. I swim leisurely up and down the lanes were two years ago the swimmers of nations gave their all.  It’s busy in the pool so this time I refrain from diving in from the podium and doing racing turns, I’ll leave that for another time.

The flower beds around the stadiums are stunning, masses of wild flowers, holly hocks, red hot pokers and lots of flowers I should know the names of but don’t. Pity I didn’t bring my camera.  Next time I will.