The sofa in the Regent's Canal ...

On the second day of the New Year, we walked to Limehouse, along the Regent's Canal, from Roman Road to the Thames - we were staying with Sophie and Paul - Kenzo had flown in from Tokyo the day before - 

When we left the canalside apartment block, we paused for a moment on the pavement, just before the bridge - I could just glimpse the leafless trees of Victoria Park - 

A young creative jumped onto his racing bike - the bike was like a sleek insect - a Bangladeshi grandad waited for the lights  to change - a bus went by with its pale cargo - 

As we made our way along the tow path, I stared shamelessly into the tiny windows of the narrow boats - I imagined myself living on board one of these louche craft, living a careless, disordered, life -

I'd listen to my friends telling stories of videoke bars in Cagayan de Oro, or of fell walking in Cumbria - I'd throw empty beer bottles into the water - a girl with a bronze bracelet around her wrist might play a guitar - 

Then we saw a sofa, floating almost submerged in the dark canal - there it was, drifting very slowly towards a lock - I wondered who'd thrown it in, and why - 

Perhaps it was the man we'd seen urinating and cursing at the same time into his fiery mobile - I need my money - now - I'm 59 years old - I'm not a fucking immigrant - he'd loped away, towards The Palm -

Or perhaps, like in Susan Hill's terrifying novella, we were inside a painting, but one painted by a surrealist, not a black magician - 

Vivid fruits would fall from strange trees - orchids would flower on the tower cranes - we would soon see a lounge lizard, lolling on the sofa, drinking green cocktails, bright fish darting around his pointy shoes -