I have often remarked to friends that the River Thames is a hidden, long, thin county of England, with its own customs, rules and celebrations which only boat dwellers, river users, lock keepers and island dwellers know. But there is a longer, thinner complete country, more vast and yet less visible even than the stretched shire that is the Isis. Tidelandia. Today I know that it is the rock of this liminal country that I feel in my bones, the stone that gives me a sense of belonging, strength to carry on, and provides for me the ballast of my joy. It is those myriad innumerable pebbles that make up the fractally endless shores of the tidal riverbanks and coastline of the British Isles that are my home rock. At last, it makes complete sense to me, as someone occasionally irritatingly multifarious, that my heart-stone would be any small stone that can be found in the intertidal zone and is cyclically covered and revealed by water, according to the interaction of time of tide, rainfall and season.
If it can fit in the palm of my hand. If it contrasts with its mate that lies beside it. If it only hints at its true colours, being covered with the modesty of silt, requiring dousing and scraping to reveal itself. Or equally, if it shouts its vibrancy in hue and cry. If it sits among five hundred of its fellows. If it is the only one of its kind for miles around. I cannot adequately describe the humming power and immediately raised spirits which come from squatting on my haunches in half an inch of water - sweet or salty - where pebbles jostle for my attention, all of them somehow bursting with stories without a word spoken.
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This podcast was first published here on Substack on 27th November 2025 with full transcript, footnotes, links and images.
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