Stuck in a Rut?

Four of Six Gormleys I've got now, after Ocean Terminal, the Millpond and Stockbridge. This time the sinister watcher is between the Gallery of Modern Art and Dean Gallery.

Monday wander as an antidote to... well... Monday. There's a desperate need on days like these for a 'simple pleasure' (see yesterday's blip).

Tunnels. Dark places of foreboding, often damp, and a little bit creepy. And I love them. I should probably point out that I'm not some weirdo hanging about in the dark of tunnels, nor some Hobbit-like creature muttering to himself about random pieces of jewellery. And while I couldn't ever contemplate the claustrophobia of a bit of spelunkery, I like the enclosed echoey nature of tunnels.

I get to ride through one every day, more or less, on my commute, but it doesn't have to be small tunnels (though my favourite is probably on the Union Canal and is something like a kilometre long and pitch black in the middle - I tried riding through before getting the constant feeling I was about to fall in the water, despite the fence to the side). The Mont Blanc tunnel is fun (though after a while a little long, I'll grant you), and there's a great tunnel in London (Rotherhithe I think) that snakes underneath the Thames, making for a more interesting sub-aqua route than an arrow straight dip.

It's a bit like another of my pleasures (ooh, two for the price of one). Bridges in all shapes and sizes and forms. Maybe it's something about a route crossing the otherwise impassable. Sadly on holiday later this year we're not going to be close enough to the Millau Viaduct for a visit. That's one end of the scale - the other are little wooden footbridges on which I always find the need to pause and look at whetever is below.

Clearly I'm just not made for level ground...