A coffee shop moment.


I’m sat with my leg up on a seat due to a sprained ankle. Starbucks is the venue, and I’m watching old people during their coffee mornings. One old lady whilst waiting for the toilet, started reading something on the noticeboard, decided to touch it to pull closer and proceeded to pull it off the wall. She then had several attempts at trying to figure out how to attach it back on with the magnet it was attached with, with no success. Note to self: magnets should come with instructions. The same old dear also had a great deal of trouble trying to figure out how to lock the toilet door. It wasn’t until a kind / ‘desperate to pee after her’ stranger informed that all she needed do turn the lock to the ‘locked’ position after the door had closed, not whilst it was still open, that she could finally get in there and ‘release’ the half teaspoon of coffee that been sloshing about in her bowells for the past 5mins. Note to self: Old people should come with instructions.

There’s also business / suited men having ‘meetings’, and single mums with their baby buggies. Maybe they all think I’m unemployed? And that my ‘leg up’ seating position is a sign of disrespect, instead of one of medical necessity?

My mocha is one third milk foam and there’s not enough laptop sockets here, good job I’m writing this in a notepad (yes, using ‘old media’). Which reminds me, left handed people can’t write properly in right handed notebooks. The b’stad spine always gets in the way. I went to the stationaires(sp?) to look for an buy a flip top (journalists style) hard backed lined notepad to rid me of the whole problem… however I couldn’t find one that didn’t give the world the impression I was a 12yr old girl trapped in a 34 yr old mans body who happened to love Hanna Montana etc. Neither could the staff locate one… I was even given the comical / nervously useless response of buying a normal notepad and writing in it back to front with the spine on the right. Cheers luv, not the grippiest tyre on the race car are you?

I really want to write a book I’ve decided. So badly. Maybe I don’t, but the desire to create something physical instead of digital, has just manifested itself in my head in that way… a bit like how a dream isn’t a literal ‘vision’ but more like a vague interpretation of thoughts using whatever memories it has to hand at the time, leaving us all bemused in the morning as to what we were trying to tell ourselves. Our brains are like a kid on the floor with safety scissors, glue and a collage of magazine clippings trying to create a picture, it’ll be crap but essentially the picture can be interpreted somewhat.

Maybe I need to go on a creative writing course? I feel I have so much conversation that doesn’t get out, but formatting facts into readable fiction is hard for me. I haven’t figured out a way to do that properly yet. Maybe I should have an extended working holiday in the Maldeeeeeeves? Or sell the house and live for the next decade off the proceeds?

I think I’ve already written a book. Its just scattered about all over the place in different notebooks, hard drives, wiki’s & self sent emails.

The thing is about a book / life, is it must be interesting and researched, otherwise a publication house won’t touch it with a bargepole. But do they really know whats best? or do they just know what sells in the current market place? cause that’s not necessarily what the public wants…. the two are entirely different. I’ll bet you that all the greatest advances in life have come from those that have had to break with convention and took an army of persuasive tactics to convince people to support it…. and been rejected by a vast number of people before finding someone bold enough to take a chance and finance it.

Can an uninteresting life be popular enough to the point of financial stability? is there such a thing as an uninteresting life? I think I sprained my ankle for a reason. I’m writing this because this ‘space’ has occured in my routine. If I’d gone to work like normal, the thought may not have happened at all this way.

Thank you ankle.

 I’m going to hobble up the road, grab a sausage roll, take some paracetemol at home and go to work.

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