This neighbour of mine was a retired engineer, a Norfolk boy, and a follower of both first team and academy, home and away. He was just one of thousands with a season ticket at the back of Carrow Road's lower Barclay stand: a Saturday afternoon companion, a stranger at the start of the last season who became a little less strange as the matches went by.
Water is a kind of archive, a kind of storehouse of memory that is, nevertheless, always in flux. Water has a clear chemical formula, but that is perhaps the only thing clear about this most fundamental of agents in the lives of people and societies.