Walking The Edge: Friday, Walk #5 It is threatening rain. We ignore the clouds and start to walk, down amongst the green, the river held tight to its curves, the motorway never out of earshot. It starts, and we pull creased waterproofs from rucksacks as it accelerates, stippling the river, tapping at the leaves. It doesn’t last. Alone, we might not walk here. If we did, we would be on edge, alert. Our step and our heart beat hurrying through these unloved, shadowed spaces. There are boundaries we draw in our own minds: where we are safe and where we are not. Which is not to suggest we aren’t angry about it. We are very angry. Today, though, we are together, free to saunter; to pass these fishermen without lowering our gaze; to stop beneath this bridge and peer into the dark, graffitied corners where concrete meets sand. We speak of domestic space; of time; of sculpture; of thinking backwards; of a man who fell in love with a staircase; of what it means to map a place, to tell a story, to fail. We are done before we are ready – at the end; back to the beginning again – mid sentence. Thank you to Lynn Pilling for joining me on my walk today. We were so busy chatting I forgot to take a photo with her in it, but you can get a glimpse of her fabulous work as part of Tea on their website.