Kathy, my friend from Highcliffe days, and I went for our customary long walk when I visited London this past summer.
This time we opted to stroll along the canal from Tower Hamlets to Bow. A few miles, not too challenging. We adopted a leisurely pace to give us plenty of breath for catching up.
As soon as we hit the tow path I saw the barges all lined up on the opposite bank. I discovered, by being cheeky and chatting to inhabitants who were busy washing their breakfast dishes, that people did live on these pretty houseboats, bobbing on the river, with trees and fields as their backdrop. They indicated with a nod of the head the water and power hook-ups and pointed to the extension cords running out of the cabin linking them to the grid.
There were a couple of rowers in training on the water, detailed instructions were being shouted to them from the bank and from my view point it looked like a gruelling yet effective way to build biceps and upper body strength. I’m no good in a one man boat, too wobbly; I spent years as a navigator to my friend’s captain in our jointly owned power boat in Guernsey and never managed to climb aboard without first taking an unplanned dunk in the frigid channel waters.
I’ll stick to my crunches and push ups on dry land thank you.
The trainee rowers put me in mind of the film, The Boys in the Boat, about the 1936 Washington rowing team training to compete in the summer Olympic Games in Berlin;
And the fabulous book, Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus, where the main character takes up competitive rowing after her husband dies.
Walking is much more up my alley.
Caution becomes the only life preserver I need as I get older.
There were lots of sights to gawp at along the water; this intricate abstract, mechanical conveyer belt piece caught my attention as it made its way, stealthily, upwards to the apex of the roof, brilliantly filling in a blank wall.
I wish I was adept at reading ‘bubble’.
Most of these more traditional graffiti messages were utterly lost on me.
At least they brightened up the blank bridge walls.
We saw no signs of Banksy.
Stretches of the canal waters were covered in algae which looks murky but is an organic producer of oxygen essential for life and a great antidote to pollution.
We stopped for lunch at a pub and coffee shop and took our pot of tea outside with promises we’d return it when we were finished. We ate our sandwiches and chocolate biscuits and took the opportunity to go to the loo while we were there so we could complete the second half of our walk in comfort.
This is the Mary Read boat and event space which is quite an amazing venue. There were string lights all along the patio which probably made it look really magical at night.
We left the tow path at Bow and there was the old Bow Church in the parish of St. Mary and Holy Trinity, Stratford, Bow.
It is set in the middle of a busy thoroughfare, called a central reservation.
There has been a church on this site for approximately 700 years. History everywhere you turn.
We caught a bus back to Euston through Whitechapel.
A large Arab community lives in this area and it looked like a street in bustling Beirut, Lebanon, minus the red buses of course!
As we trundled along the high street I was able to snap a picture of The East London Mosque which sits in the heart of Tower Hamlets and is home to the UK’s largest Muslim community.
Kathy told me she had been invited to a wedding there where she had to enter in the women only door, wear a scarf or pashmina and take off her shoes once inside. All my years in the Middle-East and I’d never set foot inside a mosque.
From Euston we made our way back to Beckenham.
Once again Kathy treated me to a lovely walk in our historic city which she calls home and although I’m quite settled in Texas there’s always that sense of,
“I’m home,” whenever I visit.
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
