The Road to the Pier at Wapping Wharf. .

 


The Road to the Pier at Wapping Wharf.



The vista thrusts up at one voluminously. Attacks and rapes your senses, until they are bereft of emotional and cultural sensibility. The pugish expanse, leans on ones thoughts, dulling them to mundane familiarity. The turgid tide, turns across the muddy divide, denying any early release of heaving sewage. The cacophony of hardened cement, roars in response to the thundering Leviathans, crawling through the grey mire. Old lags abound.

A forlorn barge lays tied, with a rotting rope by a quay. Rusty rather than rustic. Even the greatest imagination could not envisage Flatford Mill by John Constable.

A lonely bustop, with two furtive lovers, enjoying denied company. A true litmus test for genuine companionship. A derelict shop-front, with a vilainous fetid odour of nightly disgorged urine, giving offence to one's nostrils. Pavement Pizza with sluggard carrot. Evidence of excess alcohol.

Yet there, amongst this vulgarity, is an oasis. A place of peace and tranquillity, of meditation. 'Fred's Cafe', with its broken neon sign and littered table, where a cigarette has been stubbed in a ruptured half-eaten fried egg. Echoes to the sound of 'nahtt meeeen' from a recalcitrant lorry driver."

- from The Road to Wapping Wharf : A parody of Brian Sewell. Art critic, raconteur and many other things.

Intimate associate of Anthony Blunt - Surveyor of The Queens Pictures and notorious member of the Cambridge Soviet spy circle 'The Apostles'.







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