Cursing in the coffee shop
Made more good progress on my poems, but am worried that I am turning into barking grouch. I was in costa coffee this afternoon, having my afternoon cup of jo (as Agent Cooper would have called it) and treating the place as my own private study, when in walked some teenage girls. These girls saw some other girls and the most over the top greeting ritual began, with them all flinging their arms around one another and giving vent to piercing screams of simulated joy and amazement.
It is all harmless attention seeking of course, and being unable to hear myself think, I was forced to listen to them. It transpired that they hadn't seen each other since last week.
Sadly the screaming forced me to involuntarily and quite loudly curse aloud, which is exactly how reputations for being mad start. You can innocently be sitting in a cafe working on your poetry manuscript, and seconds later be dragged off to a laughing academy.
As for the poetry manuscript, called The Revolution of the Eagles, it is on the home stretch. Reading it, now that it is almost fixed, I notice its prevailing mood is a kind of beautiful sadness, an Autumnal feeling. Left to my own devices, I am fairly jovial by nature, but it seems that my poetry aint.
In the evening met Lorraine again, and we sauntered off for a cheeky Friday beer and to the Agra restaurant where we were greeted with warm handshakes. Lengthy discussions about astrology with Lorraine for some reason, before it was time to go home.
Made more good progress on my poems, but am worried that I am turning into barking grouch. I was in costa coffee this afternoon, having my afternoon cup of jo (as Agent Cooper would have called it) and treating the place as my own private study, when in walked some teenage girls. These girls saw some other girls and the most over the top greeting ritual began, with them all flinging their arms around one another and giving vent to piercing screams of simulated joy and amazement.
It is all harmless attention seeking of course, and being unable to hear myself think, I was forced to listen to them. It transpired that they hadn't seen each other since last week.
Sadly the screaming forced me to involuntarily and quite loudly curse aloud, which is exactly how reputations for being mad start. You can innocently be sitting in a cafe working on your poetry manuscript, and seconds later be dragged off to a laughing academy.
As for the poetry manuscript, called The Revolution of the Eagles, it is on the home stretch. Reading it, now that it is almost fixed, I notice its prevailing mood is a kind of beautiful sadness, an Autumnal feeling. Left to my own devices, I am fairly jovial by nature, but it seems that my poetry aint.
In the evening met Lorraine again, and we sauntered off for a cheeky Friday beer and to the Agra restaurant where we were greeted with warm handshakes. Lengthy discussions about astrology with Lorraine for some reason, before it was time to go home.
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