It’s Wednesday again and I’m here in my usual spot. The usual people are here as they are every week. I sit in the lounge which is always quiet at this time of day, and I can just about hear the bustle of the bar in the other room.
I’m thinking that I should describe the Tavern for you, so that you can get an idea of where I am. So I’ll give it a go.
It’s what I would call an ‘Old man pub’. This isn’t somewhere that young people would come to really, there’s no music or cheap shots. It’s really about a more placid environment I guess. It has tartan carpet, sort of pink and blue. It sounds gross but after years of being trodden down it doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb.
It has an open fireplace which is gorgeous in the colder months and a clock in the wall that chimes every hour.
I sit on a bay seat if that what it is, I’m not entirely sure. Opposite me there are two chairs for when my friends arrive later on. From this position I can see the whole room almost. There’s a pillar that blocks one of the corner seats. This position is important for me. I can’t bear it when my back is to a room. Fills me with anxiety.
I’m trying to think of it’s smell in here. There is one I’m sure but it’s hard at the moment because I can only smell my perfume. It isn’t a bad smell I know that much. It’s like the smell of old upholstery, but not unpleasant. Just a warm scent. I can’t really smell the beer which is strange being in a pub, but I don’t.
This place is like a comfort blanket for me. I love how I can be completely anti-social and nobody minds in the least, but at the same time they always have time for you if you need it. I like being around older people, I feel so much safer.
So that’s where I spend my Wednesday nights and where I write most of my work.
I’m hoping that by posting this, that you all will feel comfortable enough to pull up a chair and sit with me a while.
Love to you all