There seems to be an unwritten rule that fish and chips, purchased within walking distance of water, must be consumed within view of said body of water.
That such beauty can thrive in this inhospitable environment of concrete and steel gives me pause.
So, I’m leaving work at 6.18pm and my first thought on seeing the time is, “Ooh, I might get home in time to catch the end of Grand Designs!”
My body is quite happy at rest. If given the choice between exertion and stasis, it generally chooses inactivity.
I love the smell of pubs. Not the fancy concrete and stainless steel places but the old public bar with beer-sodden carpet, cracked-vinyl barstools and faint odour of disinfectant.
Most days, while drinking my tea on the balcony, I watch the pigeons on the roof of the warehouse next door.
Yummy. It’s up there with “juicy” and “moist” in the words-that-make-me-twitch category.