Andrew Carter's Blog - Posts Tagged "musings"
Monday Musings
As I currently work in an office in the middle of nowhere, there are not many options for things to do on your lunch break. On my first day, I wandered around the industrial estate nearby in the drizzle and didn't particularly enjoy it. A middle aged colleague spotted me and gave me quizzical look, which I thought was a bit unfair. She was there too after all. What was her game?
The only other option is to sit in the staff room, which is unreasonably small. As a new guy / the new guy (how long does this last? six weeks?), not many people know me so the disappointment in the air when I stroll in and pull up a seat at the communal table is almost tangible. I can appreciate this and don't take offence. Of course people prefer being alone or with people they know well at lunch rather than having to make small talk with a man who has been sighted strolling aimlessly around an industrial estate.
I also look like shit this Monday so don’t really want to be seen. I’m unshaven (not in a trendy beard way but in a way that suggests I drank too much over the weekend) and I’ve neglected to iron my shirt. The facial hair isn’t a huge problem but the shirt is. Just a week ago a manager-type gave me a light-hearted / heartbreaking dressing down in front of a couple of other blokes because my shirt was badly creased. I laughed along but the feeling in my stomach was comparable to being last pick in a game of football at school.
So, I've decided to stay at my desk and try to do something productive. I haven't mentioned what I am doing to my boss so it will hopefully be assumed that I am voluntarily working through lunch - something I have never done before in any job. I've already sorted my Fantasy Football team - over a week ago, which is arguably a bit too keen - so that's out of the window. Given that sales of my first novel seem to have plateaued slightly / completely stopped in recent weeks, I've decided to write this; the second blog for my rather modest Goodreads page. I find the word blog irritating. It's an ugly word isn't it? The word ‘blog’ also makes me think of a nineteen year old girl writing about how their life changed because they went to the full moon party in Thailand.
Over the past weeks and months, I've tried various forms of social media to promote my book. I lack experience with social media and I'm almost definitely not very good at it. This does beg the question, can you be good at social media? I would assume that someone who is classed as good at social media / a social media talent, is someone who writes masses of Facebook statuses and is aggressively active on Twitter. Aren't these people just a bit of a pain in the arse? It's difficult to find a balance.
Of course, the internet is a great, free tool for someone who wants to sell their book, or wants to sell anything for that matter, so it's a waste not to use it. But I don't want to get to the point where pals talk about me behind my back saying how annoying I am on Facebook and how I have turned into a dick since my book came out.
I gave Twitter a go last week with limited success. There is just too much going on - it gives me a headache. I always find myself on the safety net of Football Transfer News anyway, which is unlikely to boost book sales. Trying to promote your book on Twitter is like screaming into an empty abyss. Along with millions upon millions of other authors. I didn't realize until recently just how many people have written a book. (Loads. Loads of people have written a book.)
It seems that websites about book writing and book promotion take up almost as much space as porn does on the internet. There is a crossover though as many of the books I find promoted on Twitter appear to be porn. There seems to be a huge market for books with sexy titles that have photos of improbably muscular male torsos on the front. These men may or may not be vampires.
I'm not criticizing as there is clearly an audience for these books. They are just very different to my book so seeking advice / networking (I'm bad at networking) with the authors and the people (women) who read them seems a bit futile.
To be fair, despite our different genres, many of these type of writers have been really friendly and supportive over book discussion groups. Most people are alright to each other over internet discussion groups. There’s always one dickhead that is irrationally angry about almost everything but in general, people do try and help each other out, which is reassuring.
With demand come business opportunities of course. There are legions of people out there offering to promote my book for a fee. (A couple of them have said they would do it for free but after further queries, this is the same kind of 'free' as a shell necklace is from a man who interrupts you at dinner in Majorca.) I've considered taking a punt with a book marketing man who looks fairly legit but it is a couple of hundred quid. I'm incredibly inconsistent when it comes to money - I see this as a lot and a large gamble yet I have spent the same amount on an average night out in Leeds before. (Not to mention losses on the roulette wheel.) If the guy did turn out to be a cowboy, losing two hundred quid would be shit but it wouldn't be the end of the world. Perhaps it's the dented pride of getting ripped off that would be worse? Feeling like a gullible idiot is never ideal. This stems from the early teenage days of being approached by Nike-cap wearing rogues asking if they can borrow my phone. It's not a borrow is it?
Ah shit, that's the end of my lunch break. I was quite enjoying that. Until next time.
The only other option is to sit in the staff room, which is unreasonably small. As a new guy / the new guy (how long does this last? six weeks?), not many people know me so the disappointment in the air when I stroll in and pull up a seat at the communal table is almost tangible. I can appreciate this and don't take offence. Of course people prefer being alone or with people they know well at lunch rather than having to make small talk with a man who has been sighted strolling aimlessly around an industrial estate.
I also look like shit this Monday so don’t really want to be seen. I’m unshaven (not in a trendy beard way but in a way that suggests I drank too much over the weekend) and I’ve neglected to iron my shirt. The facial hair isn’t a huge problem but the shirt is. Just a week ago a manager-type gave me a light-hearted / heartbreaking dressing down in front of a couple of other blokes because my shirt was badly creased. I laughed along but the feeling in my stomach was comparable to being last pick in a game of football at school.
So, I've decided to stay at my desk and try to do something productive. I haven't mentioned what I am doing to my boss so it will hopefully be assumed that I am voluntarily working through lunch - something I have never done before in any job. I've already sorted my Fantasy Football team - over a week ago, which is arguably a bit too keen - so that's out of the window. Given that sales of my first novel seem to have plateaued slightly / completely stopped in recent weeks, I've decided to write this; the second blog for my rather modest Goodreads page. I find the word blog irritating. It's an ugly word isn't it? The word ‘blog’ also makes me think of a nineteen year old girl writing about how their life changed because they went to the full moon party in Thailand.
Over the past weeks and months, I've tried various forms of social media to promote my book. I lack experience with social media and I'm almost definitely not very good at it. This does beg the question, can you be good at social media? I would assume that someone who is classed as good at social media / a social media talent, is someone who writes masses of Facebook statuses and is aggressively active on Twitter. Aren't these people just a bit of a pain in the arse? It's difficult to find a balance.
Of course, the internet is a great, free tool for someone who wants to sell their book, or wants to sell anything for that matter, so it's a waste not to use it. But I don't want to get to the point where pals talk about me behind my back saying how annoying I am on Facebook and how I have turned into a dick since my book came out.
I gave Twitter a go last week with limited success. There is just too much going on - it gives me a headache. I always find myself on the safety net of Football Transfer News anyway, which is unlikely to boost book sales. Trying to promote your book on Twitter is like screaming into an empty abyss. Along with millions upon millions of other authors. I didn't realize until recently just how many people have written a book. (Loads. Loads of people have written a book.)
It seems that websites about book writing and book promotion take up almost as much space as porn does on the internet. There is a crossover though as many of the books I find promoted on Twitter appear to be porn. There seems to be a huge market for books with sexy titles that have photos of improbably muscular male torsos on the front. These men may or may not be vampires.
I'm not criticizing as there is clearly an audience for these books. They are just very different to my book so seeking advice / networking (I'm bad at networking) with the authors and the people (women) who read them seems a bit futile.
To be fair, despite our different genres, many of these type of writers have been really friendly and supportive over book discussion groups. Most people are alright to each other over internet discussion groups. There’s always one dickhead that is irrationally angry about almost everything but in general, people do try and help each other out, which is reassuring.
With demand come business opportunities of course. There are legions of people out there offering to promote my book for a fee. (A couple of them have said they would do it for free but after further queries, this is the same kind of 'free' as a shell necklace is from a man who interrupts you at dinner in Majorca.) I've considered taking a punt with a book marketing man who looks fairly legit but it is a couple of hundred quid. I'm incredibly inconsistent when it comes to money - I see this as a lot and a large gamble yet I have spent the same amount on an average night out in Leeds before. (Not to mention losses on the roulette wheel.) If the guy did turn out to be a cowboy, losing two hundred quid would be shit but it wouldn't be the end of the world. Perhaps it's the dented pride of getting ripped off that would be worse? Feeling like a gullible idiot is never ideal. This stems from the early teenage days of being approached by Nike-cap wearing rogues asking if they can borrow my phone. It's not a borrow is it?
Ah shit, that's the end of my lunch break. I was quite enjoying that. Until next time.
Monday Musings 2
As my blog post was warmly received last week (thanks), I have decided to try and make this a regular thing. The likelihood is that it will just be a fad and I will give up within 3-4 weeks. Comparable to when you are excited about trying new things as a kid but swiftly lose interest. For example, Warhammer. When I was about ten, my brother and I jumped on the bandwagon and bought - after guilt tripping our parents with the old: 'Everyone plays it so we will be left out,’ - lots of miniatures, dice, cards et cetera in hope of spending Saturday afternoons locked in glorious battle at Games Workshop. I think I had one attempt at painting some of my figures, realized that I didn’t enjoy it at all and gave up. That kind of thing must be so irritating for parents. All I remember from the short lived hobby is a character called the Bloodthirster who cost about fifteen quid which was entirely unreasonable for a small metal monster.
With the help of my mother flogging some at her work, I sold over twenty books last week which was decent. Not quite enough to give up the day job and look up properties in the Bahamas but certainly better than nothing. I had hoped that there would be an upcoming spike in sales as a result of a recent interview I did for Forbes magazine about Hong Kong. However, the journalist who interviewed me was offered a new position with a newspaper just before it was published. Selfishly, thinking about his career instead of my book promotion, he took the job so said interview will never see the light of day. It would have been a nice thing to boast about so it's a shame but what can you do?
My Twitter marketing attempts have continued to do almost nothing so I probably need to look at different avenues. It is difficult to convince strangers to buy your book in 140 characters. I can’t moan as I haven’t bought any books, or anything for that matter, as a result of a Tweet. A major issue is that there are so many great books available by famous authors, why would you take a punt on a debut novel from an unknown man, which could well be shit?
On this topic and on the back of Go Set a Watchman’s release, I finally read To Kill a Mockingbird for the first time last week. I don’t see what the fuss is all about? I jest. It was, of course, wonderful. Reading books makes me eager to start writing a second one. Without sounding arrogant (precursor to definitely sounding arrogant like an angry man in a pub who starts a sentence with, ‘I’m not racist but…), I believe that I am capable of writing a good second novel. I’ve written a few bits and pieces but regrettably it is difficult to find the time at the moment. I know this is a weak excuse.
It was easier to write a book in Hong Kong. This isn't because I was inspired by living in an exotic place - most ideas I had for the book came during banal everyday occurrences such as being reprimanded at work or overhearing a conversation between drunkards in a bar. I didn't stand pen in hand, contemplatively looking at the Hong Kong skyline waiting to be inspired. It was merely down to working shifts which meant I had a lot of time on my own.
I often stayed up until 2am which isn’t feasible now that I’m back doing the 9-5 grind. My job in Hong Kong didn’t involve computers either, so on returning home from work, I’d be quite content to stare at a laptop for hours on end. Now, my job involves nothing but staring at computers so it’s not too appealing to then come home and press on. It's a bit depressing that life often seems to revolve around staring at screens. The modern man needs constant stimulation doesn’t he? On occasion, I’ve found myself with TV, laptop, phone and Kindle all on, which is completely stupid and an extravagant way of hiding that I am actually doing nothing at all.
Also, the football season has restarted so that rules out large chunks of the weekend. It’s hard to concentrate on writing a book when your mind is diverted by fantasy football and accumulators. I went to the Leeds game on Saturday and thoroughly enjoyed it until Burnley equalized. I’m not going to write anything resembling a match report as I am not a football journalist and also, because most people don’t care.
Before the match, we called in at an off-license near the ground. When I was younger, we used to go here as a ritual before every match and subsequently built up a rapport with the couple who own the shop. On arrival, we were greeted with a jovial, 'Hello, here they are again!' which was all very nice but I hadn't actually set foot in the shop since before moving to Hong Kong, some four years ago. For a moment, it felt as though four years of my life hadn't happened at all. Quite a large slice of time really. There is something comforting in familiarity though and the lady confirmed the seamless resumption of our friendship by spiking a Caribbean Twist with a flask of vodka that she kept under the counter and we shared a lukewarm cocktail together out of plastic cups. Before midday.
Something unusual happened at the game; my friend and I got into an altercation with one of our own fans. He turned round and angrily told us off for ‘yammering’ because he couldn’t concentrate on the game. The pre-match cocktail may have loosened our tongues but I'm fairly sure that you don’t have to remain silent during football matches? My friend aptly told him to shut up, and he mumbled something under his breath about us being like kids in a cinema, despite the fact that I have numerous grey hairs and am pushing thirty. The telling off left me feeling awkward and a bit nervous for the remainder of the game, unsure whether I was allowed to speak. Our deep-concentrating foe proceeded to spend the majority of the match looking at his phone and then left five minutes from the end which was very odd. He clearly didn’t care that much? His early departure also stopped me from asking if he was interested in buying my book. It would have been a tough sell.
With the help of my mother flogging some at her work, I sold over twenty books last week which was decent. Not quite enough to give up the day job and look up properties in the Bahamas but certainly better than nothing. I had hoped that there would be an upcoming spike in sales as a result of a recent interview I did for Forbes magazine about Hong Kong. However, the journalist who interviewed me was offered a new position with a newspaper just before it was published. Selfishly, thinking about his career instead of my book promotion, he took the job so said interview will never see the light of day. It would have been a nice thing to boast about so it's a shame but what can you do?
My Twitter marketing attempts have continued to do almost nothing so I probably need to look at different avenues. It is difficult to convince strangers to buy your book in 140 characters. I can’t moan as I haven’t bought any books, or anything for that matter, as a result of a Tweet. A major issue is that there are so many great books available by famous authors, why would you take a punt on a debut novel from an unknown man, which could well be shit?
On this topic and on the back of Go Set a Watchman’s release, I finally read To Kill a Mockingbird for the first time last week. I don’t see what the fuss is all about? I jest. It was, of course, wonderful. Reading books makes me eager to start writing a second one. Without sounding arrogant (precursor to definitely sounding arrogant like an angry man in a pub who starts a sentence with, ‘I’m not racist but…), I believe that I am capable of writing a good second novel. I’ve written a few bits and pieces but regrettably it is difficult to find the time at the moment. I know this is a weak excuse.
It was easier to write a book in Hong Kong. This isn't because I was inspired by living in an exotic place - most ideas I had for the book came during banal everyday occurrences such as being reprimanded at work or overhearing a conversation between drunkards in a bar. I didn't stand pen in hand, contemplatively looking at the Hong Kong skyline waiting to be inspired. It was merely down to working shifts which meant I had a lot of time on my own.
I often stayed up until 2am which isn’t feasible now that I’m back doing the 9-5 grind. My job in Hong Kong didn’t involve computers either, so on returning home from work, I’d be quite content to stare at a laptop for hours on end. Now, my job involves nothing but staring at computers so it’s not too appealing to then come home and press on. It's a bit depressing that life often seems to revolve around staring at screens. The modern man needs constant stimulation doesn’t he? On occasion, I’ve found myself with TV, laptop, phone and Kindle all on, which is completely stupid and an extravagant way of hiding that I am actually doing nothing at all.
Also, the football season has restarted so that rules out large chunks of the weekend. It’s hard to concentrate on writing a book when your mind is diverted by fantasy football and accumulators. I went to the Leeds game on Saturday and thoroughly enjoyed it until Burnley equalized. I’m not going to write anything resembling a match report as I am not a football journalist and also, because most people don’t care.
Before the match, we called in at an off-license near the ground. When I was younger, we used to go here as a ritual before every match and subsequently built up a rapport with the couple who own the shop. On arrival, we were greeted with a jovial, 'Hello, here they are again!' which was all very nice but I hadn't actually set foot in the shop since before moving to Hong Kong, some four years ago. For a moment, it felt as though four years of my life hadn't happened at all. Quite a large slice of time really. There is something comforting in familiarity though and the lady confirmed the seamless resumption of our friendship by spiking a Caribbean Twist with a flask of vodka that she kept under the counter and we shared a lukewarm cocktail together out of plastic cups. Before midday.
Something unusual happened at the game; my friend and I got into an altercation with one of our own fans. He turned round and angrily told us off for ‘yammering’ because he couldn’t concentrate on the game. The pre-match cocktail may have loosened our tongues but I'm fairly sure that you don’t have to remain silent during football matches? My friend aptly told him to shut up, and he mumbled something under his breath about us being like kids in a cinema, despite the fact that I have numerous grey hairs and am pushing thirty. The telling off left me feeling awkward and a bit nervous for the remainder of the game, unsure whether I was allowed to speak. Our deep-concentrating foe proceeded to spend the majority of the match looking at his phone and then left five minutes from the end which was very odd. He clearly didn’t care that much? His early departure also stopped me from asking if he was interested in buying my book. It would have been a tough sell.
Monday Musings 3
As I was at a wedding on Saturday, I woke up feeling fairly groggy and jaded today. A hangover now lasts anywhere between eight hours and three days sadly. Gone are the days of having a coffee and a paracetamol and being fine by midday. I tried to combat this with a swim before work, which was a first, supposed to boost morale and make me feel pleased with myself. First, I went into the steam room in a bid to sweat out the remnants of the weekend's indulgences before diving into the pool but within seconds a Speedo-wearing man entered and sat a bit too near to me given that it was otherwise empty.
"Morning." He said, cheerily.
"Hi." I said in a tone supposed to suggest that I am neither antisocial nor sociable, something which is difficult to indicate with one syllable. I don't usually mind small talk but before eight o'clock on a Monday, when you are feeling a tad emotionally unstable? No.
"Not as much steam in here as usual?" The man said. Was his tone accusatory?
"Nope." I replied.
"Hopefully they will put some more steam in."
I couldn't do it. I couldn’t contribute to a conversation about steam now. I got up.
"Right...see you later," I forced with a flat smile then left the steam room, walked straight past the pool and back into the changing room. I'd been in for a matter of minutes. I didn't feel pleased with myself at all.
I went to the wedding with my fiancée Louise. I’m not sure how I should refer to Louise. I always feel like a bit of a twat saying "fiancée" as if I am boasting about it. Girlfriend seems unsuitable after nearly nine years and while partner is okay, my sexuality remains ambiguous. Barring an incident on Saturday morning where I flooded the shower and was stood in a soaking hallway wearing a really small towel while Louise and her mum cleaned up, the weekend went well. The wedding was excellent. If you don't like weddings, you are an idiot. My limited sales skills did become apparent at dinner though. A lady seemed genuinely keen on my book and asked for the best way to buy it. I recommended that she buy it on Kindle because the paperback is a complete rip off. She said she hadn't got a Kindle.
As I'm feeling decidedly low on energy, it fleetingly occurred to me that I couldn't be bothered writing my blog today. I was thinking that lunchtime would be much better spent idly scrolling through BBC Sport or photos of my friend’s German stag do on Facebook. Fortunately this was just for a second because as soon as I feel like that, I should stop writing it. (Hopefully not next week.) If you start seeing writing as a chore and not something that you enjoy, I don't think you should bother. It is a hobby after all. There is nobody telling you to do it. Well, unless you have been signed by Penguin and written a bestseller.
I've come across a few writers who like to talk about all the grafting, the hours and the blood, sweat and tears that they've been through to finish their book. I'm not saying that writing a book is easy and fair enough, editing and chopping and changing can take forever but it should be something that you want to do in your free time. You don't hear people talking about how hard they have worked to get through a Game of Thrones box set. Similarly I don't feel comfortable calling myself a writer and don’t introduce myself as a writer. I am a man who works in an office job, who wrote a book. Perhaps if I was in a trendy bar in East London talking to a bearded painter, I would introduce myself as a writer. But only then. My colleague plays for a Sunday league team but eyebrows would be raised if he said he was a footballer.
Work today is proving particularly difficult as I had Thursday and Friday off last week so I was starting to get used to a life of not working. I like not working and would gladly retire now, aged 28, if it were feasible. A couple of my old pals were back in Leeds, from Canada and London respectively, so we met up for a day out on Thursday. It had been mooted that we would meet up at 7am and hike the Yorkshire three peaks but after tweaking plans, we met at 9.30am. In the bookies. My Canadian pal (he's not Canadian), had bags under his eyes and a slight but telling whiff of alcohol in his proximity following a family do the previous evening. I remember from my own experience in Hong Kong that when you visit home, it is fully expected to see people and do things all day, every day which generally involves a disproportionate amount of lager.
Instead of the Three Peaks, we did a much more modest walk over some moors. I'd done this walk a few weeks ago with Louise and her sister and although we'd veered slightly off track (resulting in two angry women not really wanting to talk to me for a while), I was confident that this time I could navigate accurately. Of course this didn't happen and we were wading knee-deep in heather for over an hour, which is stretching the time-frame that such discomfort can remain funny for. At one point I was convinced I'd found our way back to the path, only to be dismayed by it actually being a stream. After the added mileage, we abandoned the walk at a pub and got a taxi home. The taxi driver gave me some dubious advice regarding my upcoming driving test (yes, I'm nearly 29 and can't drive. Piss off.) He said that in the week leading up to the test, I should simply drive really fast. He demonstrated this by driving really fast.
Map reading aside, it was excellent to catch up. It’s always reassuring that even when your friends live miles away and you don’t see each other for months or years, things don't change much at all. Within five minutes of seeing each other, usual service was resumed and it was like they’d never been away. Right, I'm in danger of sounding sentimental, which is not something I want. Because I'm a man.
"Morning." He said, cheerily.
"Hi." I said in a tone supposed to suggest that I am neither antisocial nor sociable, something which is difficult to indicate with one syllable. I don't usually mind small talk but before eight o'clock on a Monday, when you are feeling a tad emotionally unstable? No.
"Not as much steam in here as usual?" The man said. Was his tone accusatory?
"Nope." I replied.
"Hopefully they will put some more steam in."
I couldn't do it. I couldn’t contribute to a conversation about steam now. I got up.
"Right...see you later," I forced with a flat smile then left the steam room, walked straight past the pool and back into the changing room. I'd been in for a matter of minutes. I didn't feel pleased with myself at all.
I went to the wedding with my fiancée Louise. I’m not sure how I should refer to Louise. I always feel like a bit of a twat saying "fiancée" as if I am boasting about it. Girlfriend seems unsuitable after nearly nine years and while partner is okay, my sexuality remains ambiguous. Barring an incident on Saturday morning where I flooded the shower and was stood in a soaking hallway wearing a really small towel while Louise and her mum cleaned up, the weekend went well. The wedding was excellent. If you don't like weddings, you are an idiot. My limited sales skills did become apparent at dinner though. A lady seemed genuinely keen on my book and asked for the best way to buy it. I recommended that she buy it on Kindle because the paperback is a complete rip off. She said she hadn't got a Kindle.
As I'm feeling decidedly low on energy, it fleetingly occurred to me that I couldn't be bothered writing my blog today. I was thinking that lunchtime would be much better spent idly scrolling through BBC Sport or photos of my friend’s German stag do on Facebook. Fortunately this was just for a second because as soon as I feel like that, I should stop writing it. (Hopefully not next week.) If you start seeing writing as a chore and not something that you enjoy, I don't think you should bother. It is a hobby after all. There is nobody telling you to do it. Well, unless you have been signed by Penguin and written a bestseller.
I've come across a few writers who like to talk about all the grafting, the hours and the blood, sweat and tears that they've been through to finish their book. I'm not saying that writing a book is easy and fair enough, editing and chopping and changing can take forever but it should be something that you want to do in your free time. You don't hear people talking about how hard they have worked to get through a Game of Thrones box set. Similarly I don't feel comfortable calling myself a writer and don’t introduce myself as a writer. I am a man who works in an office job, who wrote a book. Perhaps if I was in a trendy bar in East London talking to a bearded painter, I would introduce myself as a writer. But only then. My colleague plays for a Sunday league team but eyebrows would be raised if he said he was a footballer.
Work today is proving particularly difficult as I had Thursday and Friday off last week so I was starting to get used to a life of not working. I like not working and would gladly retire now, aged 28, if it were feasible. A couple of my old pals were back in Leeds, from Canada and London respectively, so we met up for a day out on Thursday. It had been mooted that we would meet up at 7am and hike the Yorkshire three peaks but after tweaking plans, we met at 9.30am. In the bookies. My Canadian pal (he's not Canadian), had bags under his eyes and a slight but telling whiff of alcohol in his proximity following a family do the previous evening. I remember from my own experience in Hong Kong that when you visit home, it is fully expected to see people and do things all day, every day which generally involves a disproportionate amount of lager.
Instead of the Three Peaks, we did a much more modest walk over some moors. I'd done this walk a few weeks ago with Louise and her sister and although we'd veered slightly off track (resulting in two angry women not really wanting to talk to me for a while), I was confident that this time I could navigate accurately. Of course this didn't happen and we were wading knee-deep in heather for over an hour, which is stretching the time-frame that such discomfort can remain funny for. At one point I was convinced I'd found our way back to the path, only to be dismayed by it actually being a stream. After the added mileage, we abandoned the walk at a pub and got a taxi home. The taxi driver gave me some dubious advice regarding my upcoming driving test (yes, I'm nearly 29 and can't drive. Piss off.) He said that in the week leading up to the test, I should simply drive really fast. He demonstrated this by driving really fast.
Map reading aside, it was excellent to catch up. It’s always reassuring that even when your friends live miles away and you don’t see each other for months or years, things don't change much at all. Within five minutes of seeing each other, usual service was resumed and it was like they’d never been away. Right, I'm in danger of sounding sentimental, which is not something I want. Because I'm a man.
Leeds City Musings
Hi,
This week's blog features capes, casinos and handcuffs.
http://leedscitymagazine.co.uk/andrew...
Please have a read.
Cheers!
This week's blog features capes, casinos and handcuffs.
http://leedscitymagazine.co.uk/andrew...
Please have a read.
Cheers!
