Leaning over a fence looking at the river for half an hour, eventually throw in a 20p coin and make a wish. Next thought is, What if a child sees it and drowns? After the ripples settle, I have trouble seeing it myself, but it's there, a faint gleam in the shallows half-covered by weed. A man wades into midstream and casts off, I'd heard fish were back. Two loud English women with three dogs walk past, the dogs jump fence and splash in the river, a small labrador looks up at me but I'm not into mugging today. I try to tire the motion sensors in my brain by staring at the directed water, and it sort of works.
I toss a zloty into the currents, just for the pleasure of the sound it makes as enters the water. This form of message is rapidly replacing the old-fashioned, tedious hand massage. Upon the bridge a tour of prospective undergrads is being given the suicide talk, yes, yes, once in a while, but on the whole we have no problem with jumping.
Water-waving is more difficult to explain than it is to do. The writer has finished a perfect water wave over the entire head repeatedly in fifteen minutes. No matter, despite any short-lived joy at this accomplishment, the syphilitic fisher photocopied the fertile thief. I love it! So much for me. Float to flattery. Solitaire. Flubbadub.
Hold your breath as long as you like. You'll never pass out in the bath to your own satisfaction. Nor can you ever truly satisfy a tub with your own asphyxiation.