“Are you done with that?” says the waiter, eyeing the last two mouthfuls of smashed avocado and smoked salmon on multigrain toast, languishing on my plate. I look up from where I’m scribbling madly in my notebook and wave her away.
Really, she ought to know that the cutlery isn’t in the correct position to indicate I’ve finished. It’s splayed every-which-way, not neatly placed in parallel. Just because something occurred to me that I simply had to write down immediately. . . Nervously I examine my half-drunk coffee to make sure that hasn’t disappeared. Thank god.
Even when I’m on my own, I find it can be beneficial to get out of the house and down to a cafe with notebook (either tree or e) in hand. Change of scene, and all that. Today’s interlude took place at The Pound, Elsternwick, one of my usual haunts. Good coffee and good food, which is what every writer needs to unlock the creative flow.
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