I had a nice little trip into town today and had a rather warming bowl of mushroom soup in a tiddley pub by the c-anal today. Its such a cute little place that I forget where I am (and in Birmingham thats rather nice). There is always a fabulous mixed bag of people in there and i cant help but listen in on their converstations which may seem like im being rude but thankfully my boyfriend does the same thing so we probably spend more time listening in than actually talking to eachother! I joke. I'm sure I spotted a reformed drug addict talking about her past to a guy who looked far to straight-laced to be her boyfriend. She was gabbling like a mental goose. I do wonder how these people meet.
On my way home I spotted my favouritist shopping haunt in the Pallasades. Amongst Poundland and Bodycare, there is a little gem hidden round the corner. Its a stall of about 4 rickety wallpapering tables selling books for £1... £1!!!! That to me is heaven and madness rolled into one delicious pie of spending. It only pops up occasionally and is so random i love it. There is everything from kids books to travel journals, karma sutra and fiction. I always feel the need to buy one of everything just because its a quid but eventuallly control myself and am reminded of what i would realistically read. So, I put down all of the classics and books on travelling to Peru and settle on just two. A book of Marge Piercy's poetry and a guide to writing chick-lit which is something I am dead into and plan to make myself a billionaire while I'm still young enough to enjoy it. Well.. one can wish. I have a sneaky suspicion that its not the quality of your writing but "who you know" that determines whether you are published or not in the realms of chicklitre. I'll give it a bashing anyway :)
Im sure I'll have a flick through old Marge's poems at some point too to broaden my knowledge of these feminisms I may have previously mentioned...
My last point today is as follows. Dont you hate it when you sit next to someone on the bus and they smell like soup? Because I dont know about you but it really pisses me off. It doesnt sound that bad, and i am partial to a bowl of hot broth in the winter months but i really, really do not want to be sat next to an old lady smelling like that. It just turns my stomach. I put up with it though because I never pluck up the courage to move because its just too obvious in those situation and so I sat through it starving myself of oxygen as was humanly possible.
All in all i think a very good day, now to get down to some... work i think its called?
ta for now.
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