London Walks' pen & Daily Constitutional Special Correspondent David writes…
In Trafalgar Square.
Felt a little bit like David Attenborough in a blind.
Waiting. Just waiting.
The point being this is a sequence you don’t normally see.
Unless you wait it out. Hang around until the prey breaks cover.
Or, I suppose, just happen to be coming back through there
at exactly the right time to catch the metamorphosis.
Put me in mind of Macbeth’s great lines. I’ve subbed them a
fair old bit.
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor
stuffed manikin,
That hustles and drudges his hours upon
his perch,*
And then is heard no more. Til tomorrow and tomorrow
And then is heard no more. Til tomorrow and tomorrow
And tomorrow. It is a tale
Told by a phersu,** full of wiles and whiles and (maybe) slight desperation,
Told by a phersu,** full of wiles and whiles and (maybe) slight desperation,
Signifying nothing.
*Or, if you prefer, pitch
**phersu is an Etruscan word. It’s the
main root of our word person. It
means mask.
Ok, here’s the sequence.
And what I most wanted to know – apart
from his backstory, where’s he from, does he have a family, what were his
aspirations when he was a kid, how did he get into this line of work, etc. –
where’s he keep the orange trolley during his hours upon his perch?
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