Three women, tie-dyed to their toes, sway in the Hackney Wick wind that creeps off the canal into the A12 underpass. Elton John’s ‘Rocket Man’ is blaring through car speakers, it’s a spiritual, celebration of freedom and our psychedelic-altered brains aren’t too sure how to take it. The space under the bridge engulfs with a sudden light, the car creeps down the slope onto the stage, each car door wide open, balancing on the bonnet is a man sporting MI5 shades, welcoming his guests with open arms, the king to his castle. The timing is impeccable. This is now Rocket Man’s bridge. Finally, we had a name for the 48 year old man who is responsible for the organised chaos we all know too well, under the bridge in Hackney Wick. This location has been a favorite of mine since I made the move to East London. Every day a new project was being constructed by multiple artists, concrete beams now canvases, washing machines now time machines, car-seat chariots and breeze-block sculptures m