What a mudlark!

I am baffled. Last week I spent a morning picking rubbish out of the Thames mud and found a whopping 22 single shoes – alas no pairs and not a single Louboutin.

How on earth did they get there, and why have they been so callously abandoned? Where are the owners of these sad and lonely moccasins? Are there hordes of Londoners hopping around the capital?

In fact, the mystery is even more bewildering, because that morning I wasn’t collecting shoes on my own, there were 50 of us squelching along the river in Battersea, clutching bin-liners handed out by Thames21, a charity that ropes in volunteers to help dredge London’s many waterways. My cleaning companions and I were there for Thames21’s annual ‘Deep Clean’ event, which takes advantage of the lowest tides of the year to clean normally hidden parts of the riverbank. If even half the volunteers had my run of footwear ‘luck’, and I sincerely hope that they did, then the 800m stretch of the riverside we were clearing must have held approximately 550 single shoes.

Shoe-wearers of London: what on earth is going on? Have we recently celebrated national ‘Throw a single shoe off a bridge day’? Is there some bizarre shoe-flinging ritual designed to bring health and happiness that I’m unaware of?

It wasn’t quite the loot I was expecting, or hoping for. Over the years I’ve been led to believe that our beloved river holds all manner of treasure, from diamond rings hurled over bridge railings in fits of pique and moments of heartbreak, to priceless ancient pots buried deep under the silt. Instead, the spoils in my ten bulging black sacks included the following: two coconuts (whole); one blue lace thong (size XL); one worryingly convincing toy gun; three hats; five knives (plastic); one tricycle (broken); two swimming costumes; one coat; assorted broken glass, plastic and tin (lots of); four leather belts; more sanitary items that I care to remember handling, even with thick rubber gloves… and those 22 lonely shoes.

It was arduous, back-breaking work. The mud – I really hope it was mud – was thick, black and oozing. But even so, it was enjoyable to spend a morning doing something worthwhile, and from down on the banks of the river I saw a different side of London. Afterwards I stood on the bridge and looked down over the stretch I had just cleared, my inner eco-warrior glowing with smug self-satisfaction. But I’ll always be puzzled: why all the shoes?