write.as/jonbeckett

Before I drift into a nonsensical discussion about reality, causality, parallel universes, and all sorts of other clap-trap, ofcourse the weekend happened. I just didn't have much of a participatory (is that a word?) role in it.

I feel like the weekend has been stolen from meby the washing machine, the dishwasher, broken glass on the kitchen floor, the playpark, the shops, and every other part of “normal” life.

I'm getting onanother train tomorrow afternoon, to head north for another entire week. My bag is already packed. My home for the week will be the Holiday Inn in Leeds, alongside the canals my grandfather worked on seventy years ago.

I won't see anything of Leeds. I will see the inside of my hotel room, a few hundred yards of canal tow-path, and the inside of a corporate office. I might see the inside of a pizza restaurant across the plaza from the hotel.

Maybe I'll venture down to the hotel bartake my moleskine, and empty my head into it's pages. Record the other lonely souls gazing into the bottom of their drinks, wondering what to do with themselves.