A grey green smear of filth and algae on the concrete bridge showed the river’s natural level. For years it acted as a marker, a barrier the water wouldn’t cross.
Then it began to rain and we were told why and how it was happening but all we knew was that the fields were underwater and the drains spewed back what we had pumped in.
We watched as neighbourhoods drowned, homes were lost, people displaced. We tutted, shook sad heads before something new distracted us.
Until it was out turn.
And there was something fitting about watching the deluge from the shelter of that bridge, the strip of water shielded a little from the barrage of rain, the sounds around me not softer but more defined, individual.
The grey green marks were submerged, the river lapped the towpath and I finally remembered the architectural style of that bridge – Brutalist.
Bristol and the entire UK has had weeks – and weeks – of storms and seemingly endless rain and today is no exception. We have the dubious pleasure of welcoming Storm Jorge over the weekend.
Today – right at this moment – Greta Thunberg is in the city on a march against climate change.