Saturday, 2nd April, 2005

Good Intentions

It's been a while since I dressed myself up and plonked myself in front of the tripod hasn't it?

I was all set to do so last night — got it into my head that it was the perfect opportunity, after all the day's callers to my door had safely departed, to get the razor and the eyeliner out and have Fun™

But, well, I dunno.

It's really odd — three years ago, I was doing it every night. In fact, it got to the point where I didn't feel like I could put on a dress without going the whole hog and plastering my face with Dermablend.

But now?

Hmm.

Maybe it's got something to do with the hair. You see, there used to be a specific point in the whole dress-up process where I felt I'd changed into Siobhan. The point where I tossed my head back after putting on the wig. It was like there was a specific moment of transition. But now that's not there.

It's also, perhaps, got something to do with feeling comfortable with the way I look in that inbetweeny-stage. It used to be the case that I couldn't bear to look at myself when I was half-way dressed — in fact, one of the entries in the Guestbook (from a certain Big Hippy) mentions that "freaky" half-way stage. I dunno — it just didn't seem right.

But I don't mind it now. In fact, most of the time the inbetweeny-stage is the one I occupy the most. For some reason, I can either see past, or ignore, the obvious indicators on my face.

Ack, usual story — Siobhan fails to express her thoughts clearly.

What I mean is that normally, I've got considerable beard-shadow — stuff that takes fifteen layers of slap to hide. And it's that which is the most giving-away part of the way that I look. But for some reason I don't seem to mid it at the moment. I can look past it and see the girl.

Either (a) I'm reaching a point where I'm comfortable with things, or (b) I've entered a whole new world of self-delusion.

I'm rather hoping it's not the latter

There is, of course (as Kath will verify) a third option. I'm still finding that I'm very very sleepy in the late afternoons just now. Yesterday, I washed my hair and went round to hers for tea — and by the time I left, I was so tired. Any thought of spending a good hour shaving, face-painting, dressing, photographing, and Photoshopping had been replace by the urge to just lie on the sofa with a glass of wine and the dancing pixies.

It's like I can describe every single emotion I have at the moment in one word:

"Meh"

Sorry — I hate when I go all introspective and self-absorbed. It's just that I'm an impatient little sod sometimes, and I know that if I come off the drugs too soon then all the things they're helping me get my head round will come crashing down on me like a ton of bricks.

But at the same time, I just wish I could get the pleasure out of all the things I love that I used to.

...

Ack.

Maybe, rather than feeling sorry for myself, I should spend a little time this morning sending out a couple of emails to kick start some things that I should really be doing.

Sorry for such a crap post — sometimes I just need to get things off my chest

Dammit!

Always, always take your own advice...

I've talked in the past about the old Mediaeval bridge that used to cross the river Lune down where the new Millenium Bridge is. See, for ages I tried to work out where it was — tourist literature said that on very very low tides you could still see the remains of it sticking out of the water.

I'd assumed, firstly, that it went from where there's a bit of a pier on the Quay side of the river over to Skerton, but studying the old maps that wasn't the case. Secondly, I thought maybe it followed where the new bridge is now — but again, not on the maps.

So, a while ago, on a particularly low tide, I spotted this:

...and got quite excited. By that stage I'd worked out where the old bridge should be — continuing in a straight line from the end of Lune Street in Skerton over to just left of the pier — but I hadn't been able to spot any evidence of it. Those lines though, looked to me like they were part of some kind of support — maybe marks in the river bed that showed where they put the scaffolding to support the bridge while it was being built.

Anyway, just there now, I went to get some ham for George from Sainsburys. Just before I left the house, I wondered to myself whether or not I should take the camera.

Normally, I always have a camera with me — but I thought, nah, I've taken pictures of everything along that cycle path, no-one is going to want to see any more snaps of it.

And despite my mantra that I try and teach students that you should always have a camera with you, I left both of mine at home. And I wish to God I hadn't.

Because there, in the middle of the Lune, through the lowest and clearest water I've ever seen on our river, was a clear line of rubble extending from one bank to another.

Damm!

I really wish I'd been able to take a picture. I called a friend to tell her about it (someone who shares an interest in local history and archaeology), but I reckoned that there was only another 10 or 15 minutes before the silt that was flowing down the river obscured the stones again.

The little bit in the photo above, now I could see it properly, was amazing. They aren't just lines in the mud — they're little rows of stones, deliberately place in a line like that. About 4 parallel lines of stones with more stone laid between — like a little road or something.

I'll have to do some research and find out just what they were now. The rest of the remains are just the rubble from the arches, forming a mass of rocks under the river surface — but these little lines, no idea