I had a late night last night, finishing off the final episode of S4 of Downton Abbey. Clearly there’s been a big dip in the quality but it’s still a good show, and if anything, I think the fourth year is better than its third. A couple of nights ago, I extended this belated deep appreciation of a wonderful show to listening to a Downton Abbey podcast, figuring the first episode would have no spoilers given how deep I now was into the series.
Big mistake. Within ten minutes, an interview with its super-posh creator Julian Fellowes had revealed the resolution to a S4 storyline and I had to turn it off.
Today, in terms of how it was set up, was always a messed up one I’ve been dreading, my morning pockmarked by appointments, errands and another visit to the bank. This hack issue some 25 days ago really did wreck my Christmas and I currently have no access to money. It’s incredible. As if being hacked isn’t enough. Almost four weeks on, the repercussions continue. All of which meant I could only fit in a run first thing this morning. Now this is my least favourite time to run. I admire those who can roll out of bed and get out there for their run right away. Getting up early, there’s nothing new there for me. Sleeping in is the problem for me. But getting up early for a run, I struggle with that. I was up at 7am. I loaded up on carbs and a coffee and by 8, I was out in that rain.
I’ve upped the distances again. For a couple of months, I’ve really toiled just to run three 5ks a week, a massive drop on my usual runs. I’ve just not been enjoying even a minute of it. Nothing changed today but it’s been such a tricky month, I feel upping my distances will have a good outcome mentally.
I’ve struggled with my swearing over Christmas. Seriously, yes, it’s been a decent year, but everything went pear-shaped from the moment of the hack on the first Sunday of the month, and since then, my swearing’s gone through the roof. I should be and am pleased that the only F-bomb I dropped during the run came 3.75k into today’s 8k.
That’s the same distance as Wednesday night, a minute slower, which I’m sure was down to the conditions, but four hours on, my body’s really feeling that effort in a way that it doesn’t when I run at my usual time of day.
The first latte arrived lukewarm. I’ve tolerated a few of these in the back-up café since I first walked in here, reluctantly, back in the summer. Despite it being ferociously busy today, now was the time to make my move. To lay down a marker. What I can and cannot tolerate, coffee-wise. As soon as I saw the Nostril Flarer, I put in my request. It’ll be interesting to see if they charge me for that side jug of milk . I think it’s like having a partner. You have to wait until you’re comfortable and then you pull them up on some trait or other you’ve picked up on that doesn’t quite work for you. Often, early on, we find these endearing, but over time, they become maddening.
I’m hoping Nostril Flarer doesn’t ask Double Denim to deliver the side jug. The temperamental Italian is likely to take such a request as a personal affront to his coffee-making skills. It will almost certainly undermine the nice moment earlier where as I walked in, he winked at me. It was a lingering wink, which struck me as curious, I have to say. It was almost as if he were trying to learn to wink with his other eye. An optical ambidextrous winker.
It could be as I leave today, maybe he steers our exit conversation towards this unusual side-order. I wouldn’t be surprised if he broods over it all weekend.
Should the milk arrive (it’s no 13.14hrs), it doesn’t change anything in terms of how long I drag this latte out. I won’t order my second one until 14.00hrs.
13:25hrs. Nostril Flarer brought the side jug of milk over. It could’ve been hotter. It would’ve been in the café, but still, it’s helped me to salvage this opening latte.
The waitress has this week shown that unlike Double Denim, she has remembered my name. She’s very outgoing, without being an EXTROVERT, thankfully, and has the habit of saying my name at the top of her voice. Which is fine when it’s busy but when it’s quiet, I’d rather she deliver it a little quieter. I do feel like I’ve turned into my dad now, in that I talk a lot to people, and it’s usually people I don’t really know. Which I suppose is better than not talking to anyone, that old specialism of mine that peaked during the pandemic.
She’s quickly sussed out my ordering patterns, one latte an hour. Yesterday, when I ordered my second, at the top of her voice, it was “Is it time for another latte, Daniel.” Might she be inferring something else here, calling out my limited orders in a kind of ‘yeah, we got your number here Mr Frugal Creator,’ fashion?
Still, if I were to run a café, you know, that one I mentioned for tight writers who would be welcome to drag out their coffees for as long as they liked, I’d definitely have her on the staff. Every place needs someone like that. She’s nice and nice is good.
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