South Bank and the Senses

When I feel the need to relax I always head for the South Bank, to sit on the benches underneath the London Eye. For reasons unknown to me I have always found it to be the most calming spot in London, despite the noisy buskers and ever present icy wind.

That's where I headed yesterday while my innards were contracting with anger and the slam of the door was still echoing in my head. With burning skin and, I am certain, a formidable brow, I thumped across the bridge whilst imagining it were his head. It was spitting, and each raindrop that landed on my scalp irritated a little more, like an intermittent sniff in a silent library. The soles of my feet stung, but with each thump the muscles in my face did unclench a little. After snarling at a bouncing charity worker who had the misjudgement to ask for a moment of my time, I settled on my usual seat.

After a few minutes, my ears began to sting, but the cold relieved my blazing face. I watched the boats plough through the water, their engines sounding far away as if we were separated by double glazing. The chilly weather hadn't stopped the tourists donning brightly coloured raincoats and waving manically from the open decks of the river cruisers. The combination of florescent colours and hyperactivity made me think of children in a sweetshop, their bloodstreams throbbing with sugar.

Behind me, a lone saxophonist began to play some jazz. I'm not a fan of jazz, and it wasn't a tune I recognised, but the loud notes helped to drown out some of the indignant ranting in my head. I stared straight ahead, and felt my muscles slowly relax. The yoga effect.

I remained in this meditative state for some time, until an old man walked by smoking a cigarette. The sweet, pungent stench at first filled my nose, and a second later I could taste it in my mouth. The combination had me thinking of him again in an instant. In fact, for a second I could have sworn he was there beside me.

I was distracted by a tour group marching past. I caught snippets of conversations - 'and then I told her that there was no way on this earth that I was going to... David went to that the last time he was here, he said it... only pays three hundred a month, like, so I said...'

I wondered what the three hundred pounds a month was for. Rent, perhaps? An exclusive club membership? I watched them leave, wondering where they came from, and what they would return to.

At some point I became aware that the thin planks of wood beneath me were uncomfortably digging into my thighs. I stood, enjoying the stretch in my legs, and began the slow walk back towards the bridge, home and him.

I still don't know how an hour at Embankment can transform me from a walking fireball into a lamb. Perhaps it's just the cold making everything numb. Or perhaps it is the result of being surrounded by strangers, all heading in different directions, and simply staying still for a while.