The River Beckons

This is a report of my visit to an intimate and very private chalkstream barely outside Greater London, in the county of Hertfordshire. So private that I was asked not to say very much else about its whereabouts.  I took the train, needing to travel through London at the peak of the morning commute. When my train eased beside the platform passengers were already occupying the vestibules. Standing room only for an hour from my distant southern shire.  The carriage lurched along in silence, the passengers preoccupied by their phone screens. Large electronic ear muffs are the new fashion, the ultimate 'do not disturb' accessory.   Wearing quick-drying khaki and carrying a large bag of fishing paraphernalia, I stood out from the monochrome sea of suits. There are times when I must join them, when I'm tired, when I know what is to come in the commercial boiler of London, when I too might want to be left alone to rest and prepare. But now I observed them as an ou...