This afternoon’s visit from a friend to fix my faulty desktop PC fell through after he once again couldn’t locate a missing piece he needed. I smiled as his frustration came through in his message. “If I had a cleaner, I’d blame them. It’s killing me I can’t find this.” While I need the desktop PC working, I wasn’t in the mood to play host this afternoon, so a few more days unable to work properly, given how I was feeling earlier, was no bad thing.
I’d caught up on housework, finally, but weekends are not great for me. I tend to be overcome by lethargy, an accumulation perhaps of pushing myself too much during the week and all the late nights catching up with me. It was either a case of go to bed and risk a cat nap and the bad dreams that come with that, or get out for a coffee.
I made the pleasant walk some fifteen minutes south to the back-up café. Double Denim, the moody Italian owner was in. I thought he didn’t work Saturdays. I had a free coffee to cash in today and given our poor rapport, my preference was not to have him overseeing this transaction. Thankfully he was gone within the hour, but not before bringing over a slightly too-warm latte, perhaps a warning shot on his part that latte-nursing isn’t tolerated in these parts.
I brought along a book with me and immediately made a note of some punctuation errors. If I could afford to do a proofreading course – they’re about £400 – I’d do one because every book I read, I find those errors. I’m super-anal and have a keen eye for proofing. I’m already part of several publishers’ proofreading pools having sent them a list of errors noted in their titles, but that work is slow to come in. It’s not an easy sales pitch approaching publishers to tell them you’ve found errors in their new books. You’re effectively calling out the team that’s worked on them.
Last night’s gig fell through. I’d been given the wrong date and the promoter only got back in touch a couple of hours beforehand. That’s not the way I like to work. Even by the circuit’s leave-a-lot-to-desired admin standards, that was poor. I chose to spend a rare night indoors.
After a couple of hours, I packed up my stuff and claimed my free coffee. The inked up 20-something girl, affable with good transaction-moment patter, failed to give me a new card. That’s going to bug me. It’s added to my list of things to remember next time I’m in there.
I’m starting to suspect that the staff in the back-up café use the same loos as the customers. I’m surprised at this as it’s such a capacious café surely it has room for staff-only loos. I much prefer establishments with a clear demarcation between staff and customers when it comes to lavatories.
Watching the ground covered this afternoon by the staff in this so cavernous eatery, I’d be interested in seeing what their Strava calorie-burning stats are. If you were looking to lose a kilo or three, this would be a good place to work.
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