I saw a young lass jogging, proper jogging, with all the proper jogging clothes on, heading upstream from Islington.
I got a cheery wave from a fella bedding down for the night in the small triangle of grass formed between the junction of the Styx and the drain and fuel depot.
I bumped into Isaac, who’d just watched a goshawk seeing off a brown falcon.
And then I met Richard and Rebecca and the girls, out for an evening stroll.
The drain: it’s better than the park, better than the dog beach, better than the jogging track.
Get into it!
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