I don't write well at home. There's always so much to be done. Cooking, cleaning, washing to be washed or folded etc, etc. I also don't have a desk. My workspace consists of my lappie and a notepad. It moves around the house with me, from kitchen table to rocking chair to couch.
I dream of the day I have a turret. I will stay up there and never come out. It will also have a laser-guided missile system to take care of any intruders and the skateboarders across the road. (Pew, pew, pew).
As I do not yet have my turret it means that if I actually want to get anything done, then I have to escape the house and find a place where I can sit and plug in the lappie. My favourite spot has been, for years, Hornsby Westfield food hall. It has free Maccers wifi and there is one power point in the whole place. I have to occasionally fight the one-armed lightbulb changing guy for it. But mostly if I'm early enough I can get my tea and get on with business.
But of late, things have not been going to plan. Others have discovered my powerpoint, and seem to think they're somehow entitled to use it. Even worse, if I'm already here they sit nearby and glare at me like its Their powerpoint.
With 39 days to go Christmas hysteria has arrived and Westfield is blasting carols over the pa system, which, I cannot imagine gets anyone in the festive mood OR makes them buy more, but Centre Management seem to like it.
Silent Night... Holy Night...
Security have moved the guy who had his hands down his pants, but now he's been replaced by a guy singing hymns with his headphones on. AND I can hear him and the Westfield carols over Call Me Maybe on full volume....
I'm just not feeling the welcome like I used to.