Rowing over the North Circular

29 May: Southall to Ladbroke Grove; 6 miles

I didn't know I was under attack until I turned around and saw the swan coming for me. It started as a noise, but such a loud noise, I thought it came from one of the light-industry wharehouses that line the canal around here (Wembley). Compared with the old Victorian industrial complexes that line London's waterways, the new factories don't really look the part. Even if they are heavy industry, they manage to look, with their lightweight slabby buildings, as though they are merely assembling computers very vigorously. The noise was something like a helicopter's rotor blades starting up - whump, whumph, whumph, getting faster and faster. I looked back and saw a swan skimming along the water towards me, feet and wings thrashing the surface. It slowed to a halt, tired, a foot away from the side of the boat, starting malevolently at me. Being stared at malevolently is always more powerful when the starer is staring out of the side of its head. An ancient fear of battle with the beasts is awakened. The swan then puffed itself up big, like an angry cat and repeated the manoeuvre twice. The power of it was frightening, and I grabbed an oar in readiness to fend it off, praying, please, please, don't make me strike this amazing creature on its slender neck. I hate swans, but to have to do such a thing would have sickened me. Thankfully the swan eventually retreated, but I've experienced this since - it's hatching season and the birds are very protective. A second later, I was in the single most deserted spot I've ever seen in London; walls on each side of the canal, and a long island in the middle, tarnished by disuse, but still wearing some of the pride of its original purpose. Twenty feet below me, unaware of what was just above, the North Circular roared with cars, glistening and panting in a traffic jam as their drivers went to work. Finally, this was it. I'd rowed over the North Circular.