(no subject)
Mar. 12th, 2005 07:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
annwfynYou know, if someone had told me this morning that it would take me no less than an hour and a half to drive from Temple tube station to the Cantina, with some truly panicked moments of lostness on the way I may have laughed.
No more!
Now I know it can happen. Now I know how vile London roads can be. And now I know where an awful lot of rather pretty houses are along the riverside.
So. Back to the beginning of this story.
Today was the day I got photographed for the official White Wolf International Women of the Camarilla calender.mortalcity who was the photographer, hildekitten and myself spent the afternoon down on the Embankment and wandering around the temple area with Hilde and I posing and Bridgett taking shots. Despite my early stark terror, it was amazingly good fun. I got to strike snarly gangrel poses, poncy goth poses, moody arty poses and even swirl around in my big gypsy skirt in a random way. mortalcity is a deeply wonderful person - she got me feeling relaxed in front of the camera which I think is a minor miriacle.
And so the photoshoot went well. At 5 pm we packed up our bags, headed back to my car and decided to head home. I, very foolishly, got down to the embankment and turned left, towards Tower Bridge. After all, it's an easy route to Surrey Quays, right?
Erm. Well. I think it might have been an easier route if seven different roads were not closed down. Yes. Seven. Bridgett counted them. Including the road leading on to Tower Bridge running from the north bank to the south bank, the road leading up to Tower Bridge from the east, the road running parallel to that road, the Rotherhithe Tunnel, and two assorted other roads. Those roads that were open seemed to be full of stationary traffic.
It isn't meant to take an hour and a half to get from the Embankment to the Cantina. Bastard London transport. On the other hand, I think my knowledge of assorted London back streets has just improved no end.
I also had another odd realisation this morning. As regular readers of this column may be aware, I woke up this morning feeling horribly and vilely nervous about this photoshoot. I stressed. I didn't eat breakfast. I wandered around and finally, at about 11 ish I got changed into the first of my costumes for the photoshoot. I put on ripped fishnets, a short PVC skirt, and a very tattered death metal t shirt. I painted my eyes in egyptian style eye make up.ksirafai helped me draw a snake on my forehead, and I felt so much of the tension melt away from me.
Somehow, just the act of putting an old and familiar costume on was amazingly soothing. And oddly, although the character I wore that costume for is dead now, belongs to a chronicle which is gone, I still felt different just wearing those clothes. For five years I associated those clothes with feeling energetic, confident, oddly detached from all my normal worries. For five years wearing those clothes meant that I was death on two legs and I didn't need anyone to love me because I already knew they were mostly afraid of me. I put that outfit on now and I still have those associations.
I also found it weird how very ritualistic it felt, putting that outfit on a step at a time. I suppose for five years it was a minor ritual for me. It was a way to get me into character.
Then I was reminded, really weirdly, of one of those old cinematic montage shots - of the old gun slinger/assassin/dancer/whatever picking up their old kit/uniform/gun belt/whatever and responding to those old mental habits. A little bit strange. But I think quite nice. And apparently some of the shots definitely came out well.
And now I'm home. I should be at the London Requiem game, but I think I mildly knackered my knee driving around London, and I was tense as a tightly wound clock and so figured I'd sit for a while before making any decisions about what I want to do this evening. Home, by the way, is the Cantina for the next month or so. I shall be here pretty much full time with the exception of my hospital time until I'm better.
And that's me.
No more!
Now I know it can happen. Now I know how vile London roads can be. And now I know where an awful lot of rather pretty houses are along the riverside.
So. Back to the beginning of this story.
Today was the day I got photographed for the official White Wolf International Women of the Camarilla calender.
mortalcity who was the photographer, hildekitten and myself spent the afternoon down on the Embankment and wandering around the temple area with Hilde and I posing and Bridgett taking shots. Despite my early stark terror, it was amazingly good fun. I got to strike snarly gangrel poses, poncy goth poses, moody arty poses and even swirl around in my big gypsy skirt in a random way. mortalcity is a deeply wonderful person - she got me feeling relaxed in front of the camera which I think is a minor miriacle.And so the photoshoot went well. At 5 pm we packed up our bags, headed back to my car and decided to head home. I, very foolishly, got down to the embankment and turned left, towards Tower Bridge. After all, it's an easy route to Surrey Quays, right?
Erm. Well. I think it might have been an easier route if seven different roads were not closed down. Yes. Seven. Bridgett counted them. Including the road leading on to Tower Bridge running from the north bank to the south bank, the road leading up to Tower Bridge from the east, the road running parallel to that road, the Rotherhithe Tunnel, and two assorted other roads. Those roads that were open seemed to be full of stationary traffic.
It isn't meant to take an hour and a half to get from the Embankment to the Cantina. Bastard London transport. On the other hand, I think my knowledge of assorted London back streets has just improved no end.
I also had another odd realisation this morning. As regular readers of this column may be aware, I woke up this morning feeling horribly and vilely nervous about this photoshoot. I stressed. I didn't eat breakfast. I wandered around and finally, at about 11 ish I got changed into the first of my costumes for the photoshoot. I put on ripped fishnets, a short PVC skirt, and a very tattered death metal t shirt. I painted my eyes in egyptian style eye make up.
ksirafai helped me draw a snake on my forehead, and I felt so much of the tension melt away from me. Somehow, just the act of putting an old and familiar costume on was amazingly soothing. And oddly, although the character I wore that costume for is dead now, belongs to a chronicle which is gone, I still felt different just wearing those clothes. For five years I associated those clothes with feeling energetic, confident, oddly detached from all my normal worries. For five years wearing those clothes meant that I was death on two legs and I didn't need anyone to love me because I already knew they were mostly afraid of me. I put that outfit on now and I still have those associations.
I also found it weird how very ritualistic it felt, putting that outfit on a step at a time. I suppose for five years it was a minor ritual for me. It was a way to get me into character.
Then I was reminded, really weirdly, of one of those old cinematic montage shots - of the old gun slinger/assassin/dancer/whatever picking up their old kit/uniform/gun belt/whatever and responding to those old mental habits. A little bit strange. But I think quite nice. And apparently some of the shots definitely came out well.
And now I'm home. I should be at the London Requiem game, but I think I mildly knackered my knee driving around London, and I was tense as a tightly wound clock and so figured I'd sit for a while before making any decisions about what I want to do this evening. Home, by the way, is the Cantina for the next month or so. I shall be here pretty much full time with the exception of my hospital time until I'm better.
And that's me.
