I am walking with Sarah and some other people by the side of a river / canal. I have not seen Sarah since I left Brighton. I am eager to tell her that I do not miss the place ata ll.
I suddenly realise that I do not recognise this stretch of river. We are crossing a high footbridge, and I lookl down and see a fast rushing river in an orange bed of mud. I look upstream and see small channels and rivulets, little pools, all within this landscape of dangerous looking mud. The look of it fascinates me. I must remember to come here when I'm on my own, I think.
We continue walking. I ask Sarah for news of Brighton. She says that everyone was down the beach last night and - Too late! I slip on the muddy embankment, and save myself from plunging into the water, by pushing myself up on my elbow - though there is no real sense of danger of me falling in - I reach out a hand hoping, hoping to be pulled back to the footpath. An image of some people walkin away. Other people do not seem to know what to do.
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