The ice age is coming, the sun is zooming in
Meltdown expected, the wheat is growin’ thin
Engines stop running, but I have no fear
‘Cause London is drowning, and I, I live by the river . London Calling/The Clash
I don’t as it goes (although anybody living in London is never too far away) but like the rush of the Thames and flow of the water my road,the road at the end of my road the A406 is a constant,even as I type this with my window open I can hear the rush of traffic,only on some days when the wind blows in the right direction is it audible but none the less it’s there,i’ve not paid it much heed in the past but it’s like a ever present being,quiet at times slumbering,quietly humming at others,never a noisy distraction more a gentle quite pleasant,reassuring hum.On occasion in the early hours of the morning I’ve heard powerful cars and motorcycles hurtle round around noisily presumably free from the usual traffic.I must photograph them.
I keep coming back to this idea of it as a modern day version of the river,but instead of a nautical highway around which man from Roman times onwards built a major city over 2 thousand years this is a river of tarmac slithering through neighbourhoods providing for the communities that have built around it who take what they need and pollute like a Victorian version of the Thames.Stretches of the road are amongst the most polluted in the UK.
Despite the fact the river flows through the middle of our city the road at no point meets it,ironically though during my research I have found evidence that by 2050 the river may actually come to the road,joining up roughly where the A406 at present ends.Nature taking over and reclaiming where the town planners have failed,if I survive that long I will in fact be living very much closer to the Thames.
One day on the banks much like the mudlarkers of today they will find the detritus that befalls the roadside,evidence of lorry drivers caught short,old mattresses that have fallen off the van on its way to the dump or flytipping site,odd shoes,cigarette packets and old soda cans,along side the fall out of teenagers who may well have spent many a night drinking cheap beer,sniffing nitrous from balloons whilst discussing the meaning of life or maybe just who they fancy and reciting Grime lyrics into their imaginary microphones,all whilst sat on dilapidated benches that have been placed facing the most boring parts of the road a mere 4 feet away from the rush of traffic.
DEAN BELCHER CRITICAL RESEARCH JOURNAL 