Musings and marginalia from a freelance writer
In little corners of the old city you can still find places like this; a curl of the Thames filled with miscreant life. On the left is an Aitch – an Old English term deriving from ait, ygett, eyt, meaning small river islet. Once, I am reliably told it was home to a riverworker tavern, which you had to row to get a drink. Now though, it’s home to another sort of vagrant life – mornings are raucous with the cries of viridian-green parakeets spilling over from nearby Kew.