I love writing in coffee shops. I have tried to convince my friends about the benefits of it, but they always side-eye me like I am trying to talk them into clicking on the link to the guy with two willies (but C’MON, he has two willies and a twitter account! How do you NOT WANNA GO THERE?). Right now I am taking a break from tap tapping out my next brilliant bit of prose (and from staring beady eyed at the story and wondering if I should just throw a corpse in there, just chuck it in and see what happens?) and watching a lady absently eating her baby’s boogers (what the hell?) and a man sitting with his feet on the table as he reads a Stuart Neville book (unhygienic, the table not Stuart Neville).
When I get home I will start to panic about packing for my trip to California. I am a very anxious packer. There’s usually a suitcase sitting in the corner of the room for AT LEAST a week before I travel. I don’t know what my brain thinks this is useful for? Like, am I worried that I will be made to take an earlier flight? ‘No! I can’t go yet, I haven’t packed my holiday knickers!’.
Admittedly, one year I left packing until the night before and only then realised that I had accidentally bought thongs for my holiday knickers. What the hell is the appeal of those things?
Right, my coffee is nearly gone. So see ya soon!