I went for a very enjoyable drink or two down at the Anchor and Hope the other evening, but was too late to see this little incident, which would have been visible over at the railway arches on the Walthamstow side of the River Lea.

I should say that it is unusual to see the horses getting up to any kind of a lick on the marshes these days, as they generally hang out at the Riding Centre where the local Jocastas bring their fragile little children to walk round in circles and stay as fat and happy as the over-pampered stable cat. The rider did well, all things considered.

My own trip to the pub was a good one, though they had run out of fizzy lagers by the time I arrived and the London Pride ran out soon after that. Apparenty, this is the most Easterly of the Fuller's pubs and doesn't get its cellars filled till after the rest. We had to make do with the BSE from then on, with an alcoholic fruit-based drink for the ladies. White wine served in half pint glasses with ice is so classy, don't you think?

We sat outside watching the sunset until dark, but sadly, there was no sign of jodpur clad frolick or the excited little dog being put back on his leash after it was all over. We did, funnily enough have a bit of a chat about the arches you can see in the video clip.

We also got on to things Danish, because one of my friends is a Dane. Fascinating Danish factoids were therefore briefly exchanged. The River Lea was once an international boundary between King Alfred's Wessex and the Viking Danelaw. Springfield Park, according to the tactful barman, is full of dead Vikings who'd been trapped there and killed. Alternatively you can just sit and watch the swans, geese, herons and seagulls.

Every so often a train from St James's Street goes over the green railway bridge, noticeable for the squeal of the brakes as they slow down just before they cross. By some quirk of the timetable, the trains into Liverpool street are often replaced almost immediately they pass out of view by trains coming out of Clapton, going the other way. No trains for ages and then two come along at once.

The Anchor and Hope is not a bad spot therefore to spend a little bit of organised loafing, and in the event we stayed till it closed. That meant we also got to hear one of the barmen's tales about the UFOs over the marshes, a topic which I already knew about as a recurring local theme. Not so long ago I'd came across a reference to this, in Ken Campell’s obituary by Robert Hanks in the Independent of 3 September 2008:

My own slight acquaintance with Ken Campbell dated from around 1989, when I saw an early version of Furtive Nudist at a basement theatre in Camden: in the interval, he invited the audience over the road to the pub, where he showed off photographic evidence of some of the improbable claims he had made. I left convinced he was a genius.

Shortly afterwards, I got a postcard beginning, typically, with the word "SEEKER!", inviting me to attend a lecture by Gerry Webb of the British Interplanetary Society on colonisation of other worlds, organised by Campbell under a railway arch on Walthamstow Marshes. The spot was chosen for its proximity to the site where the aviator A.V. Roe became the first Englishman to fly successfully one of his own planes, and also because it was just over the River Lea from Campbell's own house.