Had I but known that urban lions had extended their range to my own neighbourhood of Larkhall, east of Bath...
Had I known, I might have saved myself the existential angst of my journeys accompanying Marlow down the Avon River in search of their territories deep within the darkness at the heart of this antediluvian land.
Dominated by an ancient coaching inn, Larkhall Square was once an important halt on the old eastward trade route to London. It retains its popularity as the heart of the local community. In common with other such civic focal points - one thinks of the great Squares of Trafalgar, Times and Tienanmen, Larkhall Square is normally thronged with industrious citizens hurrying about their business. Today it appears deserted. Homo Sulis is no longer King of his own Hall here; Panthera Sulis rules in his stead.
This is not Clarence the cross-roads lion but STREAMLION; a mountain lion captured by the hill tribes of Fairfield, bartered to the Larkhall Traders' Post for a quinquireme of organic tofu and a season ticket to the Rec, and trained in the esoteric discipline of freerunning by the artist Angela Goodman.
On closer inspection it is quickly apparent the good burghers of Larkhall need fear nought. In Hartlepool they may hang monkeys; here in Larkhall we suspend lions.
- Nikon D5000