Aside the Thames

Sometimes an urban walk is not that dissimilar from a rural walk. The map may have said Kew Bridge to Chelsea Wharf  but this 16 kilometres of so was far from urban.

I walked past riverside villages, through tree-lined paths which offered only a view of water, down single-lane tracks lined with summer heavy hedgerow and no pavements. Walkers were out, some ramblers and a groups of wonderful, older, ladies out to stretch their legs and have a good laugh. They posed happily for a photo.

Strand on the Green

Cracking day out

Along another stretch of hedgerow line path a met an American guy foraging for blackberries. He was on the water side of the bushes. His blackberries were monsters, wonderfully ripe and quite mouth watering to look at. He loaded the berries into the bag on the front of his bike. He was off to make a crumble or a blackberry tart.

Urban forager

Crossing Barnes Bridge I was stunned to here a cry from beneath me of ‘where the fuck does he think he’s going’. I looked around to se a pleasure cruiser in the middle of the river. Suddenly — and at great speed — three single skulls raced from under the bridge, taking evasive action to avoid the cruiser. The cruiser approached. The man on the PA system was describing Barnes and the celebrities that lived there. “You might remember Annika Rice” he said. His passengers all seemed to be Chinese or Japanese. I doubt they understood a word he said, let alone could remember the girl from the helicopter.

Evasive action

Crossing Barnes footbridge Barnes revealed itself as the kind of village that one might stroll into after a day on the North Downs Way. Or maybe the wrought iron work in the street’s balconies reminded me of a small seaside town, perhaps on the Thames estuary. Before the street’s rock world opulence was able to wash the dreams away I was back on a treelined path, this time a broad path that could have been in the middle on any forestry commission walk. There were no views of urban development, just the gentle flowing river and its banks revealed by the low tide. Groups of walkers were out for the day. Mountain bikers genteelly sauntered by. Joggers bounced past, some simply stretching the muscles and others working up a sweat as if their lives depended on it. A gorgeous looking young French woman was seemingly being put through her paces by a personal trainer. Several families out for a stroll checked directions to the nature reserves.

At several points I was able to climb down to the shore and quietly watch a wonderful display from herons and other water birds while cox-paced rowers glided by.

Every now and then a break in the trees and hedgerows revealed a gentle urban scene or rather was it one of a by-goine village? the most dominating buildings remained the churches and spires that must have guarded these banks for centuries. The sun was now out and shone through the shady green canopy, creating magical patterns that would have graced my precious South Shropshire hills.

Putney gradually revealed itself as yet another seaside town. I walked in past a cluster of boat houses and marine stores. The first buildings had that seaside feel about them. Pubs were opened up to the river frontage — settings that would have graced many a river or coastal setting.

But now it was time to indulge myself in urban life. I turned inland to the Lower Richmond Road and made my way to the best music pub in the UK, the Half Moon. With a pint of fine ale and a distinctively retro cheese ploughmans I settled down to read the newspapers. There is no doubt that the Half Moon is a music pub. every inch of wall space is taken up with signed photos of some musician hero of other. I sat in what used to be my favourite corner when I lived here many years ago. I munched my lunch in the company of Richard Thompson, T Bone Burnett, Mary Black, John Prine, Dennis Locorriere (from Dr. Hook), Georgie Fame, John Mayall and Maddy Prior Prior. I felt quite at home.

Inside the hallowed walls of the Half Moon

Crossing back over Putney Bridge the pace of life picked up a little and the air was slightly more edgy. Now I was walking alongside social housing rather than pads of millionaires. The new Imperial wharf developed moved things up market again. This is an extraordinary development which will probably suck up much local demand for a while yet. I’m not sure what to make of the design but the landscape. gardens and wild habitat along the path were welcome. There is still a lot of empty space here, fenced off spaces animated only by dramatic growth of buddleia. A mini Battersea power station. stood as ignored as its big brother across the water. the developers still have much to play with along this stretch of river.

There was no rural indulgence to be had now. On the other side of the river the old churches were still prominent but now they were cosseted with all manner of glass and steel constructions, the kind that would not find favour with a certain Prince.

Community picnic

Chelsea Harbour and Wharf are not what they once were and there was little to capture my photographic imagination. I turned North towards Gloucester Road tube. On Fulham Road I was almost kmocked over by a racing supercar with the number L 2. On the Old Brompton Road I was almost bagged by a Maseratti with no number plate at all, just a K — diplomatic corps I guess. It was time to get out quickly.

A great day of may unexpected experiences and encounters. The city retains its ability not only to surprise but to thrill in ways that are almost unimaginable.