Over the last 150 years, most of the tributaries of the Thames have been buried under concrete and brick. Now Tim Bradford takes us on a series of walks along the routes of these forgotten rivers and shows us the oddities and delights that can be found along the way. With hundreds of cartoons, drawings, and maps, The Groundwater Diaries is a vastly entertaining (and sometimes frankly odd) tour through not-so-familiar terrain.
When Tim Bradford writes, like, properly writes, he's really good. Unfortunately, at some point in his life, he must've stopped a bully beating him up by making jokes, so that's what he thinks he's good at, although he's not really. His ongoing fantasy about inventing Danish punk is a bit laboured, some of his jokes err on the wacky side and others are just boring and old fashioned (“lesbian arts 'n' crafts” section of the library, “ladyboys”, “shagging birds” otherwise known as “giving her one” NB: if you ever meet Tim Bradford in real life, he will look at your chest and decide if you have “big tits” or “small tits” and judge your personality accordingly).
Nonetheless this is an actual diary of walking 24 of London’s hidden rivers, covering all four seasons, starting in Winter 2000 and finishing Autumn 2001, covering east, north, west and south London, moving widdershins presumably as some kind of pagan ritual. It's a diary complete with illustrations, hand drawn maps, haiku, pub crawl guides, poems, squiggles, dream analysis, emails to random strangers, historical bits, pagan bits (river goddesses), attempts at dowsing, and descriptions of modern day London and its various tribes.
Rather agree with other reviewers, while he writes some interesting stuff about London's rivers, he kind've digresses and starts giving his opinions on life, the universe and everything, and his opinions are particularly dated and sometimes misogynistic. This book was recommended in the FB group I set up to share information and maps about abandoned rivers, sewers and stinkpipes otherwise I probably wouldn't have persevered past the first couple of jokey, lad-about-town comments.
The first couple of chapters of sort-of river exploration, aided by 70s football anecdotes and super-strength lager were quite mirthsome, beyond that it was quite dull with each chapter being, essentially, the same only with a different underground river.