24 FEBRUARY 1990, Page 28

Games

A rat with his head in a tin enjoys low tide. The river has exposed its flanks of mud and shingle: tusks of wood at the water's edge speak of mammoths or great amphibians but here on the path we pick our way through artefacts — expanded polystyrene chunky as peppermint toffee; string elaborately knotted; an old bald broom. Joggers thud past miming all degrees of anguish; but the gulls have landed in a drift on the water and are rocking in a trance up and down, up and down, on the wash from the pleasure steamer.

Connie Bensley