By the way, this source is in fact much more definitive than that for the Thames itself, which has long been dry. The river Fleet just meters away from leaving the pond. It does rather look like a recent stream, rather than a river that ran well in mediaval times. The bridge ahead crosses the river Fleet. A viaduct is over the top of the hill see other photo. The river Fleet in "embryonic" stage.
Standing on the bridge referred to in the previous caption. A viaduct, built to allow horse drawn coaches to reach a villa. The latter was never built, since Parliament did not grant planning permission. Traipsing through the woods to avoid a particularly muddy path.
The middle of three ponds fed by the river Fleet.
An island can just be seen in the middle, where sit cormorants. This is the end of the visible river Fleet, about 1 km from its source! The grill at the bottom of the pond is the last sign of the river Fleet above ground.
From hence, it flows underground to the Thames. On the way back to Hamstead, via Keats's House. Garden of Keats House. More of Keat's House.
Is this ugly or what? We have just left King's Cross railway station, following the old course of the river Fleet.
A rather nice police station. The enscription on the plaque describes the site of the Bagnigge Wells, one of several spas along the course of the river Fleet.
The area is characterised by a diversity of unusual brick buildings. One of very many pubs in the area. Given the time, we had not sampled! What remains of the river's flow goes on to the Thames as another photo shows. Behind the brick wall is the Mount Pleasant sorting office. Mount Pleasant sorting office, the original there are now many such with the same name.
The name originates from the ironic description of a large rubbish dump, which being just outside the limits of the city, was not governed by its bylaws. Just south of Mount pleasant, looking at another viaduct, less famous than Holborn.
This road more or less lies along the course of the old river Fleet. Image courtesy Gini. Another of the Unlimited commissions got a public outing on Wednesday 27 June. Gini went to see what was going on her response to the day is below , along with several VIPs, lots of local school children who are providing a Morris Dance for the piece and many of the local people who live near the Fleet who have grown used to seeing Sue up to her antics on this part of the Dorset coast. Gini wasn't the only person reporting back about it all.
ITV had a film crew present and it made the news that evening! The pot-holed and squelchy carpark was reluctant to release my wheelchair, but a sense of anticipation and anxiety urged me out and up to a level pavement.
Red flags festooned the area, red-clad people were milling, chatting, keeping an eye on the water. I was greeted by name, welcomed, drawn in and embraced.
The gathering was spread below me on ground akin to the car-park: unsuitable for wheelborne, but ramping solidly into the racing water. And the sea disappeared into a mist that domed over us, holding the sounds low and separating us all from reality.
We waited and watched for the star of the show; we were friends and crew; we were guests and strangers, content to be near the action. The good-natured anticipation was unaffected by cold fingers of mist creeping under brollies and clinging to wet hair and skin. Out on the water the VIP boat turned with a touch of impatience; camera crews everywhere recorded, paused and polished lenses.
With one hand on the joy-stick and the other occupied by the brolly, I needed a third hand for my camera. I was determined to come away with pictures of this cluster of red faith balancing contained excitement, waiting in a dull, wet world. Suddenly the chair was there, like a throne, facing the grey water in a moment of solitary splendour and our attention closed in faster than the mist.
It was going to happen. And Sue was in the chair, the divers were adjusting gear, the diver with the red marker balloon was in the water. The Trump administration pulled America out of the deal in May.
The water has been replaced by a flow of cars and buses, while the river is carried in cavernous twin tunnels under Farringdon Street. After its flamboyant displays on Hampstead Heath, the Fleet vanishes into the storm sewer tunnels that carry it on the rest of its journey to the Thames. The Fleet can be smelled in the form of a drainy odour, heard rushing past, and seen as a surprisingly strong flow of water glinting away in the gloom. The latter was never built, since Parliament did not grant planning permission. And finally, could I start small enough, with just nineteen hundred square feet of space, and a tiny team of four people?
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