The Souvenir

Haven't visited The Souvenir for a while but was drawn there today for a bit of foraging - samphire!  Noticed some in an inaccessible place on this morning's walk on Two Tree.  Lucky with the tide as the mud approach to this wreck was bone dry.  Trimmed the succulent heads off many newly emerging shoots and so it will be fish for dinner tonight.  A well chilled bottle of Vouvray will go nicely with that and sauté potatoes with homemade Rhubarb Fool afterwards. I do love food for free!  Too early for my own potatoes at the moment.
The engraved writing on the side of the Souvenir? :- 
EPITAPHS OF THE COMMON MUD
(CARVED ON THE EXTERIOR RAILS OF THE SOUVENIR)
Here are the names of the disappeared that haunt the Thames Estuary, presented for those who know, and for others to wonder.
What those who live here tell us, we believe. We enjoy confusion between aesthetics and fact.
We have pursued unreliable memories in all their misalignments and fragmentations.
We have uncovered many ways to think about the estuary, and all of them are true.
We are humbled by reams of common sense grounded in a lifetime of toil on the mud, the marsh, and the foreshore, made possible by all the forgotten fishermen’s wives who live among us.
As “acceptable loss” fuels public amnesia on the road of “progress,” we recall the dead, the lost, and the annihilated, to reconstitute them as significant—not in any objective sense, but as we need them to be.
The sea is a place to dispose of things one never wishes to see again: a dead body, a rotting hulk, illicit goods, cadmium batteries, arsenic, diesel, exhausted gear box oil, shopping trolleys, chip rappers, tin cans, and shoes.
At the end of the land is the sea. It has no roads. Rules relax.
The estuary is indifferent to us, and to all that is done within its limits.
Refuse to come ashore (at least in your mind).