The Thames Flood Barrier had collected vast drifts of shite. Over the months, it looked like an entire flotilla of boats had become trapped, some upright, others capsized, and an unfathomable number of bloated bodies clogged the water between and around them, packing out the spaces. There were scavenging birds everywhere, swooping to peck at the plentiful supplies of flesh, feasting on the juicy scraps like a swarm of oversized locusts. The fouled waters on the other side of the barrier were slightly clearer. It felt like they’d crossed a significant threshold at last.
The wooden dancefloor on the top deck of the boat proved quite useful, the large open space lending itself to an impromptu townhall meeting. There was a small, raised stage at one end: a narrow performance space big enough
