I love the earthiness of Old English riddles, particularly after today's wonderful lecture. Can you guess what this might be?
Today I had my first Vagina Monologues rehearsal. There was no space booked, so we had to stand in an echoing corridor in the basement of the union, while John fixed his eagle eye on us and I hid my face in the worksheet and tried not to keep dropping my Northern accent. John is not a terribly good director, but fortunately my monologue, 'Flood', is so wonderful, with enough individual work I think I could really fly with it and make it more my own than anything I've done before.
Appropriate to this theme, the rivers in Yorkshire are flooding. Walking daily along the tow path I've been measuring, in my minds-eye, how the water has slowly risen up the. It will never touch us, but I like to watch it swell nearer the galoshes of the fishermen, as they sit illegally on the ledge.
The floods were worse in York when I visited yesterday. beeswing took some wonderful photographs of the river, including one of me in front of it, and has given me permission to post it. I much prefer looking at pictures on journals taken by others; natural, imperfect, momentary. The deliberation it's possible to take over digicam self-portraits does not suit my journal. Many of you, of course, will have seen it already.
Flood [Middle English flod, from the Old English]