annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary

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Dirty old river

I'm up in that big London, at YD's, after another mixture of unavoidable stress-inducing factors led to her losing the plot big-time yesterday. Touch and go for a while regarding emergency psych call-out but the crisis passed (I think, hope, pray). I went to see the head of Art at her uni this afternoon to find out where YD would stand if she was unable to do anything more towards her degree - very re-assuring - they've had many art students with mental health problems, some have taken six or seven years to complete the three year degree course. She's done everything except her final exhibition and can come back just for that next summer for a flat fee of 100, so that eased the pressure right off and maybe she will get it done this year. Just six weeks till it will all be over. While talking to the tutor I kept having flashes of awareness that YD's last project involved giant prints of photos of me either pregnant or nursing one of my babies, always lying around in an unkempt garden, half naked, usually with a fat spliff in my hand, unbrushed hair and a bunch of friends all drinking beer. Ah well. My hair was unbrushed today too. The tutor was great though, obviously thinks the world of YD both on a personal level and as an artist.

For the photo a day thing today's topic was 'shape' so I used this which she has on the wall in her bathroom

taken by Son as part of YD's pre-foundation year task to take photos of herself as various things - this one being a building, a lighthouse obvs. She was standing on a kitchen stool, very wobbly on the shingle, with a load of old curtains held together with clothes pegs. I'm on the other end of the 'beam of light'. There was a lot of shouting and storming off, I remember that.

I did make a paella for her birthday and even took photos along the way, right up until it was ready, at which point I forgot and we just ate it. Here it is, almost done:

So things have been pretty gothic round here until this evening when we went for a walk along the beach by the Thames at Greenwich.

I'm not sure if the strip of land that's revealed when the tide goes out so far inland is a beach, but that's what I'm calling it. It felt like stepping into another world - the light was very dramatic

and it all felt very 'Our Mutual Friend'. The weirdest thing was the bones - look at this

it seems to be a pile of seaweed but it's actually all bones, brown and ancient and washed up in their thousands. Why? Is this a normal feature of city rivers? Big bones too, of big animals:

We sat and pondered and contemplated Lizzie Hexam and other river-dwelling characters and watched the filthy water flow past and became soothed by the remembrance of our insignificance in the greater scheme of things.

And I drove, through the rush hour, in London. Go me.

Grateful for: us all still being here, still breathing, still hoping; a quiet spot in a dirty city; my princess and the pea bed here; tranquilising drugs - thank fuck for valium, eh; not being cold.

Sweet dreams xxx

11:44 p.m. - 08.05.13

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