Could someone please explain to me...
...why it is that Starbucks is so bereft of interesting characters?
Yes, I know, I know. It's hardly rocket science!, I hear you cry. But think about it for a moment. If we're talking slimy corporate chains, then Nero, on the other hand, never fails to deliver on the top-spot-for-eavesdropping front. And their range is far superior, but we're not here to discuss the relative merits of muffins. Whenever I've taken a solo trip to Nero, generally as a place in which to Get Things Done free from housemate-shaped distractions, it's been virtually impossible to not be the uncomfortable fly on the wall to some volatile couple's entire joint life story.
Sod's law though, innit. The day in which I finally venture out to research my latest uber-cool Prose Workshop piece-a narrative constructed around a recorded conversation between strangers, with background information sneakily added by yours truly, would quite clearly have to be the day in which there was an almost eerie absence of stomach-churningly nasty personal stuff foolishly unleashed into the public sphere. (Ooh, I really must try and halt this over excitement at the whole legitimised spying game before it really does become an obsession.) And I was so looking forward to, for the first time, being able to get my stalk on as good as legitimately. I imagined it would be even more fun than the time I was 16 and Jenny and I used to spend our after-school hours stalking her lust object. But no, I arrive at Starbucks, all eager and willing with my notebook at the ready and Ian's ultra-stalkerish listening-in device in my pocket (should I be worried that someone merely a flight of stairs away owns such dubious gadgets?), and the place is filled with either students of the most uninteresting variety, or extremely interesting looking characters who just happen to be sitting alone. I like to imagine that these individuals were, too, sitting there waiting for a suitably vibrant group to covertly spy on. Instead, they got me. It hardly seems fair.
See, that would never have happened if I'd gone to Nero. I do so hate the idea of arriving at my Prose seminar empty handed. Plus Nero, as uniformly glossy as they may be, are still vastly more sophisticasted than Starbucks. I'd choose an independent place with a bit of character over either, of course, but sometimes needs must.
But it would be wrong to merely go on my own judgement. Instead, I'll leave it up to you lovely lot to decide, with my very first Arbitrary Poll.
Poll
I think all the cafe-ness of today has seeped into my consciousness a little too much. For prior to Starbucks I'd initially tried my beloved and most hip local, Fuel, which turned out to be completely empty. Not to be defeated, I managed to get Ang, Ian and Kay to join me, but quickly discovered that it just ain't cool to stalk your friends. And after unsuccessfully relocating to Starbucks, I ended up so drained with all the waiting for action that I went for a rejuvenating cuppa and some soup at Man Uni's veggie cafe with Kay and Sara. It's a hard life.
But really, it seemed like such a cool exercise. I'd try it at my local northern caff, if it weren't for the fact that anyone, not to mention a southern female, sitting around taking notes is bound to arouse suspicion at that place. I don't think that even Simon's reliable Mancunian law of don't-broadcast-your-weaknesses-by-hitting-girls-or-southerners would quite be enough to protect me there were I found out.
I came home after that, and decided to be all antisocial in order to get some work done, but instead have spent the time feeling faintly ill. Rubbish.
I stayed in last night also, but that was okay because it comprised of us four female housemates attempting to give Ian the grilling on his love life ("You've scored yourself a fine one there, son"-I didn't say it, but by gosh I've always wanted to), before he managed to rope me into watching nonsense with him until a silly hour without much persuasion. And what utter genius did that nonsense consist of! Oh Weebl and Bob and all your assorted sister creations, where have you been all my student years? Badger-badger-badger-badger-badger-badger-badger-badger. Perhaps I won't even have to bother experimenting with mushrooms, after all.
I feel a little bit scared, truth be told, of ending up being stuck in this comfortable rut of talking nonsense with friends but doing really very little else, when really I want this year to be as active as the last. I feel so suffocated by work at the moment that starting anything new just isn't possible for the meantime, however. Still, there's walking in the countryside to celebrate my reaching the official world's most nondescript age this weekend, and I've already acquired a growing collection of presents to be saved for the day, not only from Kenny but also from his mum (aww) and a couple through the post today from Holly. Rare bits of interesting post rule! I'm planning on getting back into activism once the work has subsided a little (er, that might well be the end of the year, then), and it seems that Sara might go to the knitting circle in Didsbury with me. Mock all you like. I have vegetarian jelly beans, so I careth not.
This album mostly consists of wallpaper. But there are some excellent twee love songs.
I wonder if there's a demon that takes over sometimes, one that seizes the presentation planning I should be doing and transforms it into ramble. Or maybe the thing'll get done when I'm least expecting it. One can only hope.
Yes, I know, I know. It's hardly rocket science!, I hear you cry. But think about it for a moment. If we're talking slimy corporate chains, then Nero, on the other hand, never fails to deliver on the top-spot-for-eavesdropping front. And their range is far superior, but we're not here to discuss the relative merits of muffins. Whenever I've taken a solo trip to Nero, generally as a place in which to Get Things Done free from housemate-shaped distractions, it's been virtually impossible to not be the uncomfortable fly on the wall to some volatile couple's entire joint life story.
Sod's law though, innit. The day in which I finally venture out to research my latest uber-cool Prose Workshop piece-a narrative constructed around a recorded conversation between strangers, with background information sneakily added by yours truly, would quite clearly have to be the day in which there was an almost eerie absence of stomach-churningly nasty personal stuff foolishly unleashed into the public sphere. (Ooh, I really must try and halt this over excitement at the whole legitimised spying game before it really does become an obsession.) And I was so looking forward to, for the first time, being able to get my stalk on as good as legitimately. I imagined it would be even more fun than the time I was 16 and Jenny and I used to spend our after-school hours stalking her lust object. But no, I arrive at Starbucks, all eager and willing with my notebook at the ready and Ian's ultra-stalkerish listening-in device in my pocket (should I be worried that someone merely a flight of stairs away owns such dubious gadgets?), and the place is filled with either students of the most uninteresting variety, or extremely interesting looking characters who just happen to be sitting alone. I like to imagine that these individuals were, too, sitting there waiting for a suitably vibrant group to covertly spy on. Instead, they got me. It hardly seems fair.
See, that would never have happened if I'd gone to Nero. I do so hate the idea of arriving at my Prose seminar empty handed. Plus Nero, as uniformly glossy as they may be, are still vastly more sophisticasted than Starbucks. I'd choose an independent place with a bit of character over either, of course, but sometimes needs must.
But it would be wrong to merely go on my own judgement. Instead, I'll leave it up to you lovely lot to decide, with my very first Arbitrary Poll.
Poll
I think all the cafe-ness of today has seeped into my consciousness a little too much. For prior to Starbucks I'd initially tried my beloved and most hip local, Fuel, which turned out to be completely empty. Not to be defeated, I managed to get Ang, Ian and Kay to join me, but quickly discovered that it just ain't cool to stalk your friends. And after unsuccessfully relocating to Starbucks, I ended up so drained with all the waiting for action that I went for a rejuvenating cuppa and some soup at Man Uni's veggie cafe with Kay and Sara. It's a hard life.
But really, it seemed like such a cool exercise. I'd try it at my local northern caff, if it weren't for the fact that anyone, not to mention a southern female, sitting around taking notes is bound to arouse suspicion at that place. I don't think that even Simon's reliable Mancunian law of don't-broadcast-your-weaknesses-by-hitting-girls-or-southerners would quite be enough to protect me there were I found out.
I came home after that, and decided to be all antisocial in order to get some work done, but instead have spent the time feeling faintly ill. Rubbish.
I stayed in last night also, but that was okay because it comprised of us four female housemates attempting to give Ian the grilling on his love life ("You've scored yourself a fine one there, son"-I didn't say it, but by gosh I've always wanted to), before he managed to rope me into watching nonsense with him until a silly hour without much persuasion. And what utter genius did that nonsense consist of! Oh Weebl and Bob and all your assorted sister creations, where have you been all my student years? Badger-badger-badger-badger-badger-badger-badger-badger. Perhaps I won't even have to bother experimenting with mushrooms, after all.
I feel a little bit scared, truth be told, of ending up being stuck in this comfortable rut of talking nonsense with friends but doing really very little else, when really I want this year to be as active as the last. I feel so suffocated by work at the moment that starting anything new just isn't possible for the meantime, however. Still, there's walking in the countryside to celebrate my reaching the official world's most nondescript age this weekend, and I've already acquired a growing collection of presents to be saved for the day, not only from Kenny but also from his mum (aww) and a couple through the post today from Holly. Rare bits of interesting post rule! I'm planning on getting back into activism once the work has subsided a little (er, that might well be the end of the year, then), and it seems that Sara might go to the knitting circle in Didsbury with me. Mock all you like. I have vegetarian jelly beans, so I careth not.
This album mostly consists of wallpaper. But there are some excellent twee love songs.
I wonder if there's a demon that takes over sometimes, one that seizes the presentation planning I should be doing and transforms it into ramble. Or maybe the thing'll get done when I'm least expecting it. One can only hope.