London Walks' pen & Daily Constitutional Special Correspondent David writes...
Felt a little bit like David Attenborough in a blind. Waiting. Just waiting.
(Which, if you think about it, made two of us.)
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 tomorrow. It is a tale
Told by a phersu,** full of wiles and whiles and (maybe) slight desperation,
*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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