I have been very busy at work. Last week I was in Geneva, but I didn't manage to write any posts.
I am stressed at the moment, but unlike last year I have managed to stay off special brew.
Around 4 I went to a local post office to try and pick up a package. On the way back to my flat, I met a local barmaid, who works at the pub I go to on Friday after work. She is a friendly outgoing person, and for reasons not totally clear to me, she has learned my name. I really just go in there on Friday. I order a pint of real ale and a double whisky chaser. Then I go home.
Two weeks ago she told me she saw me in the street and she said hello, but I didn't recognize her. So today when I saw her in the street, I did say hello and complain that she wasn't there to serve me my beer yesterday. Saturday is my day, where I speak very little, but I managed to drag some hopefully sane conversation out. It was true that I didn't see her on Friday, but I think I did stare at her coat in a wistful manner. Anyway, she told me, without rolling her eyes up, that she had been ill. She was sleeping more to get better.
Although I liked the bar, called the Nowhere pub, I was actually enjoying going to the gym on Friday
after work, followed by beers in downtime Plymouth more. Perhaps, her happy smile will bind me to this pub. She might blank me in the street, if I stop going.