I must just tell you that it's very noisy here - police car sirens, traffic in general, other people in the coffee shop (yes, more annoying étrangers) (actually, it's not so much the people, more their accents) (why oh why does this bother me so?), to name but a few disturbances of my petit sojourn au extérieur. . . also the weather is very changeable - within seconds it goes from hot and sunny and balmy (I take off my cardigan and order a coke with lots of ice) to windy and nippy (I put the cardigan on again and try and attract the waiter's attention to bring me another coffee) (it's such a hard life, eh) (altho I do not expect any pity whatsoever!!)
so, a little more about the cafe, just to put you in the picture. . . from here I can see bay trees and rosemary plants in the adjoining restaurant (I don't think they'd distract an outside diner from the traffic, double red lines and tarmac of the South Circular - but at least someone's tried); a large blue and orange sign reading "Budget" (which I'm sure is useful if you want to hire a car, but it spoils my outlook); and a banner proclaiming "Virgin Active" (quite clearly not aimed at my good self, seeing as I am neither) (*sigh* those were the days, dear reader - youth is wasted on the young, is it not?)
here the front boundary of the place is planted on one side with some kind of weed (not dandelion, but it has yellow flowers and is quite pretty) and trays of six or seven types of lettuce on the other (I think the weeds are meant to reinforce the cafe's green credentials, I hope the lettuce - with its proximity to the traffic fumes - will not end up in someone's salad); the awning flaps about in the breeze and blocks out the sun which would otherwise be shining down on me, in between being itself blocked out by the clouds which are scudding across the early summer sky (is it summer in June, or merely late spring? I never know if summer comprises June, July and August or July, August and September) (but weird, eh, that the longest day of the year approaches and I haven't yet had one opportunity to avail myself of the bonus long well lit evenings)
before my arrival I purchased a newspaper just in case the netbook's battery gives out, or the internet connection wouldn't connect; it remains in my bag and will probably stay there until it ends up in the recycling - how much of the bulk that is a Sunday paper do you ever manage to get thru?); I also brought along The Lacuna, which I finished last night
there was one passage in almost the final section which I marked by turning over a page corner: having written the other day of my piece of "knitted fabric" which was unravelling and ripped to shreds, I then read a similar analogy in The Lacuna (my copy purchased before it won the award, published before the cover will be emblazoned to that effect), so page 613 in my book, the narrator describes "knitting away at the front of the long knotted scarf that will have to be unraveled at the back"
is there such a thing as an original thought anymore? I know I've touched on that topic before, but the notion returns time and again like a piece of driftwood bobbing up and down on a shore on the incoming and outgoing tides; not that I'm particuarly bothered, despite it coming to my attention so frequently the same thoughts spoken by a different voice still have their own degree of uniqueness, don't they?