Under the Bridge
All that confused commuting sent me a bit batty. I remembered to set my alarm clocks last night. I forgot to change them from 5am to 7.30am. By 7am I've given up all hope of getting back to sleep and was up and checking my emails. By 8am, I had left the house and was buying a double espresso from the Café on Cowick St and wandering down to the river to take photos. It was obviously going to be a blazing June day, but the river was still quiet, with just the hiss of bikes on the path and the occassional clatter from a cafe or pub as it began to set up.
As I went through what is rather grandly called a piazza (but looks rather more like a patch of grass between the river and the canal basin to me - a canal doesn't make it Venice, you know) someone setting up the tables by a tearoom shouted hello. So that is where my aromatherapist is now! She's set up a small clinic and also a tearoom. Even better, she offers a "footbath and cream tea" deal. I think she does anyway, but she might have been teasing me.
According to blogger's stats, this is my 400th post since November 2003. The other day was my 1000th post to flickr since July 2004. Woo. That's quite a bit of my life atomised and dissected and displayed. There's been a novel written, and the latest short story, there's been one most beloved cat lost and a new brute brought home to adore. There's been photos of every kind of place, and doubtless lots of stuff about zen and the art of public transport travelling. I didn't really set out to achieve anything with the grouch: I had no plan or agenda when I started and yet I just keep on writing it. It's never my most private thoughts (how do I tell that person I rather fancy them?) nor carefully constructed arguments...it's just...waffle. Everyday chatter and grouching. I hope y'all are enjoying it.