doubleshiny (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
doubleshiny) wrote2008-05-12 04:42 pm
doubleshiny) wrote2008-05-12 04:42 pm
Entry tags:
Business Trips Yay!
Sitting in the optimistically named 'beer garden' of the Wellington Pub on Low Road, Leeds 10 is actually quite pleasant. If, for instance you can't think of the word 'optimistically', you can pause, look up at the traffic and think, 'oh yes, optimistically'.
Writing this on the back of an old bank statement I am conscious of 3 things;
1. How too many documents are now printed on both sides, leaving noble diarists such as myself little opportunity to write on them without unwittingly incorporating the Pet Helpline. (Though some might find "The meaning of existence as I see it is freephone 738 2273" as quite a comfort in these difficult times).
2. That I could have actually bought a real notebook in the Morrisons five minutes away, but didn't, because 20 minutes ago I had no idea that I would be sitting here writing on scrap paper in a pub garden next to an expressway.
3. That my ex-boyfriend once bought a very expensive leather bound notebook to take with him to Ecuador on a lifestyle trip to plant trees, but still ended up sending me a Valentine's card (arriving in March) which consisted of a pressed flower and scrawled missive on the inside cover of a Lonely Planet guide to South America. (Still to date the most romantic gesture I have ever received).
People are quite obviously looking at me as they pass. I'm drinking a pint, alone, outside and writing furiously. All these things provide a slight spectacle, though people obviously don't know what I'm writing. A lot of the young men in shirts and trousers are short cutting across the car park and then literally bounding over the two foot wall. They do this in small huddles of two or three, making them look like they're taking part in the world's crappest steeplechase.
Writing this on the back of an old bank statement I am conscious of 3 things;
1. How too many documents are now printed on both sides, leaving noble diarists such as myself little opportunity to write on them without unwittingly incorporating the Pet Helpline. (Though some might find "The meaning of existence as I see it is freephone 738 2273" as quite a comfort in these difficult times).
2. That I could have actually bought a real notebook in the Morrisons five minutes away, but didn't, because 20 minutes ago I had no idea that I would be sitting here writing on scrap paper in a pub garden next to an expressway.
3. That my ex-boyfriend once bought a very expensive leather bound notebook to take with him to Ecuador on a lifestyle trip to plant trees, but still ended up sending me a Valentine's card (arriving in March) which consisted of a pressed flower and scrawled missive on the inside cover of a Lonely Planet guide to South America. (Still to date the most romantic gesture I have ever received).
People are quite obviously looking at me as they pass. I'm drinking a pint, alone, outside and writing furiously. All these things provide a slight spectacle, though people obviously don't know what I'm writing. A lot of the young men in shirts and trousers are short cutting across the car park and then literally bounding over the two foot wall. They do this in small huddles of two or three, making them look like they're taking part in the world's crappest steeplechase.