It’s been another unproductive writing session in what is only a shorter session in the back-up café today. I really can’t get this script idea together right now. I’ve been here before, many times, as all writers have. It’s a question of being patient and being ready when the problem holding up the script is resolved so you can get your head down and write it.
Upright’s second and third decaf lattes illustrate that her technique, compared to Nostril Flarer and Muscular comes a poor third. The heads are too big and the coffees are a little on the bitter side.
I’m posting this in a hurry as charging my rechargeable USB hand warmers, which I could’ve done with at last night’s show, has drained the damaged laptop’s battery.
What else to tell you? I mistakenly bought some alcohol hand gel in Superdrug this afternoon for just 10p. I thought it was 50p, in my defence. Had I known it was alcohol, I wouldn’t have bothered. I always find that that particular store’s habit of having an assistant at the door offering you a basket as you walk in as a waste of staff. If a customer needs a basket, surely they’re capable of getting one themselves?
Meantime, the music in here this afternoon has been most appalling. Cheesy Italian stuff. Look, I grew up in a Spanish household having to suffer tinny Spanish music beloved by my parents. This is essentially why I don’t like Eurovision. For me, it’s just an extension of the rubbish I grew up with and I don’t celebrate in cheesiness, unless it’s 90s show ‘Renegade’ featuring Lorenzo Lamas and Bobby Sixkiller, which aired on late Friday nights on ITV and kept me going the year my mum died. I’m paraphrasing here, but The Guardian TV Guide that year wrote that it was so bad, it was great, words to that effect.
I forgot to say that there was a guy in the Camberwell branch of Lidhell this lunchtime, in the frozen section (it was always going to be the frozen section) who was singing Gary Glitter songs aloud. That’s the first time I’ve heard that in a generation. Where has this guy been living?
Meantime, Muscular is back in the café just half an hour after going home. Home being next door. I think, and it’s great that he enjoys his job, that he’s too attached to this place. The day he leaves, and he will inevitably go at some point because all things come to an end, it’s going to be very awkward for him as he lives next door. Part of me thinks he’s the kind of guy who will leave a job but still return regularly to chew the fat with former colleagues. But when you leave a job, like any broken relationship, you need to move on.
Postscript
Muscular has just return a second time. With a huskie. Not very hygienic but also slightly David Brent.
I’ve got to wait for him to go. I’m not very keen on animals of any sort. I’d be happy to live on a humans-only planet. Don’t want to feel pressured into stroking this dog.
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