I could be a writer. I am a writer, as words have been published and also as an online chatterbox, I publish myself. This morning after breakfast Julie stepped over the threshold of the Spa at the hotel and I settled myself down to write this and the backlog of blog postings for the day. This was my view, and is still my view as I type this. The only other people here in the Garden Room are a duet of ladies of a certain age, previously nurses, one recently bereaved, having a morning coffee and trying to remember the name of an actor with funny lips. Michael Portillo was recalled, but apparently that's not him. So now they're trying to remember what they meant to say to each other regarding a visit to Bristol yesterday.
But the pithy part of this writing is that being in a 'shabby chic' hotel its more relaxed than a Playdoh model in the sunshine. I like it here. It's completely understandable why writers come to hotels to write. No distractions other than interesting people to observe. Such as the young couple who have just arrived in the lounge and sat at the only table where two empty mugs are in situ, which they then moved. These chairs, were recently vacated by another couple. So the question is, why these two chairs? There are a number of lovely squishy chairs in this room but that pair of high backed chairs seem very popular. I may write short novelette about this one day, I have the Title, the Blue Chairs..... no a better title, Two Chairs!!
"The room was bright. Sunlight flooded into the duel aspect windows, onto a pair of blue chairs. High backed Georgian style chairs, hard by the window. Resolute they silently play host to the dreams of people" ...to be continued!!
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