Study of the Thames, JMW Turner. Tate Museum. Photo: Jeffrey St. Clair.

A few weeks ago, the first thing I noticed was how uncannily still the red and white helicopter was against the blue sky.

It was hovering above the River Thames like a hawk. I couldn’t see the river—buildings blocked the view—but the sound was unmistakable: agitated rotor blades cutting through surprisingly warm air.

What was going on? If they were filming, why not use a drone?

On my way back, an hour later, the helicopter was still there—the same spot—but even more ominous. Was I overreacting?

Later I read the news. An 11-year-old girl had gone missing playing next to the river. A young boy tried to hold her hand against the tide—despite the presence of the Thames Barrier, the water that day was invasively high. The girl slipped away.

Unbearable. Unthinkable.

It always feels trite to say life is precious. Especially in a world where children are made to die daily—in Gaza, Ukraine, Yemen, Sudan. Four conflicts too many.

Life’s fragility everywhere. I came across news of a friend’s death by accident last week—a former teenage chum I’d only recently reconnected with. A bagpiper, he would drift through my chaotic Edinburgh flat from Glasgow on his way to busk around Europe. A joyful mind, always with a book—Timothy Leary, John Michell, Richard........

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