I was born in Oslo, Norway, but now live in the suburbs of Southwest London, right near the River Thames. It's a lovely part of the world.
I am honoured to be taking part in the Diamond Jubilee flotilla along the Thames in my 20-foot rowing boat. The energy levels will be high, partly because I'm planning to ply the crew with thermos flasks filled with Typhoo!
The difference between a misfortune and a calamity is this: If Gladstone fell into the Thames, it would be a misfortune. But if someone dragged him out again, that would be a calamity.
But if people want to swim in the Thames, if they want to take their lives into their own hands, then they should be able to do so with all the freedom and exhilaration of our woad-painted ancestors.
I long ago suggested the hypothesis, that in the basin of the Thames there are indications of a meeting in the Pleistocene period of a northern and southern fauna.
I've just swum the length of the Thames. I feel quite tired.
I've been doing a little project with my 11-year-old son, Charlie: we're canoeing from the source of the Thames to the Houses of Parliament. It's taken us three years so far, and we're only half way.
Someday when peace has returned to this odd world I want to come to London again and stand on a certain balcony on a moonlit night and look down upon the peaceful silver curve of the Thames with its dark bridges.
Below us the Thames grew lighter, and all around below were the shadows - the dark shadows of buildings and bridges that formed the base of this dreadful masterpiece.
When I was 11 I was scouted by the Thames Valley under-21s. It was really daunting. I was scared for my life when I went in to bat. The first ball hit me on the leg, the second ball got me out, so it wasn't great but it made me stronger.
