Going canalside

Talad Phlu pier, above and top

My local pier doubles as the local teen hang-out, at least during the school break.

Usually it is a quiet place, and I can sit there uninterrupted for an hour or more a day, watching the river.

During the school break - we are in the middle of one now - young ones turn up on motorbikes. Sometimes they bring beer, as they did last night. They always have cigarettes.

Yesterday at lunchtime, I found a lesbian girl with her girlfriend sitting on the pier's benchseat. I had seen one of the girls before: a long, lanky thing, she was evidently the manly half of the relationship.

She had put her arm around her girlfriend's shoulders in a vice-like grip. The younger, fem half was wearing her jeans half way down her backside, no doubt waiting for the butch one to pull them up for her.

When she saw me, the older one took her fem mate away to a more private part of the canalside area.

When I turned to look, the butch girl still had her fem girlfriend grasped around the shoulders in a firm embrace.

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My side of the market has two small piers, one on each side of a recreational area under a bridge, which youngsters use for playing football.

When they are not there, oldies run laps. One woman who comes dressed in Lycra gear throws what looks like a discus against the chain link fence. Yet another local practises his golf swing.

The pier which I visit most often is next to an eatery. It has better seating space.

On the other side of the court, a new pier has been built, after the old one rusted away. It looks far too smart for the local school-age population. They would rather sit on the grotty, dilapidated pier with me.

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Last night I visited again. The eatery next to me was full of customers. A man in his 30s sat on the pier, fishing. Ten minutes later, I heard the sound of motorbikes pulling up. The local teen population had arrived.

Within five minutes, I was sharing the small pier space with 15 youngsters, of varying ages. The oldest ones have left school, but some as young as 11 also come.

Sometimes we chat. The young ones who have talked to me before like to sit next to me on the benchseat for a minute or so. Maybe they feel safe next to someone they know, or maybe they think I look lonely.

Then they rejoin their friends, chatting and smoking away on the rickety boards of the pier.

I did not want to disturb them. The river looked still under a moon-lit night. Once I had taken in my fill of the night-time canalside scene, I left to rejoin my boyfriend at home.