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nature-writing

Tamesis

Tamesis

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.

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Mother Ocean

Llangrannog Second Beach

I’ll let you into a secret: I can’t swim. Which is crazy considering that I live on an island, and that I grew up on an estuary (or Thames Delta, as it’s coming to be known). But here’s another secret: I love the water – or maybe I should say the sea, I love the sea.

Recently me and the angel of my better brain have taken to driving across to the Welsh coast as often as possible and diving in. She swims like a mermaid, you wont be surprised to find out. Me? Not so much. I flounder. I gasp. I bob with the waves and skip-float crablike with every crash of saline. But I still love it.

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