I live right on the river Thames, so one of my favourite activities first thing in the morning, when it’s still really quiet, is having a cuppa tea on the tiny outside extension my landlord calls a balcony. Ok, and a ciggarette. But it’s the combination of just having woken up, the taste of the first cup of tea and the quietness of the river that is really nice.
Between my balcony – on the ground floor – and the river there is a public walkway, well used by a steady stream of regular strollers, joggers and so on.
Soon after I moved in here, I started to recognize regular strollers who come by each morning. There are the two ladies with their three dogs, with one of the dogs always very agigated that his owner is throwing bread at the ducks and he can’t see what’s happening on the other side of the wall. There is the very smartly dressed gentleman (he looks Spanish) that walks his very well groomed dog, mumbling as he comes by.
Most of the regulars now slightly nod in my direction when they see me, and get their nods returned. (That seems to be the extend of public exchanges in Brittain. A nod. If this was the US, it would have been a stream of “How ya doing” each morning. Thank goodness it ain’t.)
Then there is the captain and his dog. It’s an elderly, clearly retired man with a face that speaks of many long winters, hardship and eventual retirement. He is in good shape for his age and walks a brisk pace, with a sheepdog at his side, every so often daring to go ahead a bit, only to be called back with the slighest of whistles from his owner.
I call him the captain since the mentioned two ladies one morning greeted him with a unison “Morning Captain!”, and I could swear even exchanging one of those “what a nice man” looks.
Whenever I see the captain, and the way he stares out across the river (sometimes scanning it with binoculours) I wonder firstly if he gets up that early just because he’s been doing it for so many years he can’t sleep in (scary thought) and then I wonder what he is thinking about when he looks out at the water. And I have to sustain a smile when he stops outside my flat to look at the overly expensive motoryacht moored at the jetty, but never used, with an expression of “what does the owner know about navigating the open seas” etc.
Maybe he is not a captain after all, or maybe he is not reminiscent about his marine career when he stares out over the water, but I like to think that. But that is what the river brings to me each morning, and it’s almost re-assuring to see the familiar faces come by every morning.
– Riaan
London