Friday, September 16, 2005
Bloody Friday
When I left the house this morning it was half past seven and I felt good. I felt refreshed, charged and ready for a long day, plenty of writing and lunch in Clark's. A good Friday, with no controversy or drama. How wrong I was.
As I approached the bus stop and marvelled at the blanket of cold, dew-filled air lying over the Links, I wiped my nose, for it was running slightly and I had not a hanky on my person. It kept running and I found it odd that only my left nostril should be suffering such an attack of the sniffles.
I looked at my hand.
A red smear stained the skin.
I bent over and let the blood run from my nose onto the pavement. It didn't look like stopping so I nipped my nostrils closed and started to walk back up the hill to the house. It only took a few minutes to stop the bleeding and then I was on my way again, thankfully, with no splashing on my jacket or jeans. But it was strange it should happen in such a way.
Work was busy so I was delighted when lunchtime came so I could get a pint with Dave and Tom. I only had time for a couple before I had to get back and check on some work I left running, but I also got time to email my friend who is an editor for one of the UK's leading national Sunday newspapers. They don't normally deal in fiction; just sex, drugs and scandals. I sent him my query and he read it over. He made some good suggestions on how to add to its impact and make it more 'editor-friendly'.
And that's about all I managed. I went back to the pub when all was done and had a few more pints with Tom. We met up with Zander at Tanfield Bowling Club. He recently won a big tournament and was proudly showing off his photograph in the Scottish Bowler magazine. The club reminded me of a place I used to drink in Bridge of Weir when I was still at home. Strangely enough it was called the Bridge of Weir Bowling Club. At £1.80 a pint who could complain?
We left at about 10pm and headed into town where, for the first time in years, I was refused entry to a bar. No, I wasn't drunk or incapable. I was a bloke, and there were already too many blokes in the bar even though it was half-empty. Nice going guys; if the owners of The Privy Council bar on Hanover Street were to hire people with brains, we could all be in some serious trouble. Obviously this minimum wage thing isn't working for some people. As it stand, I'll not be back and won't encourage anyone else to either.
We went into Milnes on Rose Street instead (far more user-friendly) and I left at around midnight. I was tired, hungry and ready for my bed. I jumped into a cab for home, made a cup of tea and hit the hay. Tomorrow is DIY day, but if I can get through all my work I'll be able to get some writing done when Gail goes out with her pals.
As I approached the bus stop and marvelled at the blanket of cold, dew-filled air lying over the Links, I wiped my nose, for it was running slightly and I had not a hanky on my person. It kept running and I found it odd that only my left nostril should be suffering such an attack of the sniffles.
I looked at my hand.
A red smear stained the skin.
I bent over and let the blood run from my nose onto the pavement. It didn't look like stopping so I nipped my nostrils closed and started to walk back up the hill to the house. It only took a few minutes to stop the bleeding and then I was on my way again, thankfully, with no splashing on my jacket or jeans. But it was strange it should happen in such a way.
Work was busy so I was delighted when lunchtime came so I could get a pint with Dave and Tom. I only had time for a couple before I had to get back and check on some work I left running, but I also got time to email my friend who is an editor for one of the UK's leading national Sunday newspapers. They don't normally deal in fiction; just sex, drugs and scandals. I sent him my query and he read it over. He made some good suggestions on how to add to its impact and make it more 'editor-friendly'.
And that's about all I managed. I went back to the pub when all was done and had a few more pints with Tom. We met up with Zander at Tanfield Bowling Club. He recently won a big tournament and was proudly showing off his photograph in the Scottish Bowler magazine. The club reminded me of a place I used to drink in Bridge of Weir when I was still at home. Strangely enough it was called the Bridge of Weir Bowling Club. At £1.80 a pint who could complain?
We left at about 10pm and headed into town where, for the first time in years, I was refused entry to a bar. No, I wasn't drunk or incapable. I was a bloke, and there were already too many blokes in the bar even though it was half-empty. Nice going guys; if the owners of The Privy Council bar on Hanover Street were to hire people with brains, we could all be in some serious trouble. Obviously this minimum wage thing isn't working for some people. As it stand, I'll not be back and won't encourage anyone else to either.
We went into Milnes on Rose Street instead (far more user-friendly) and I left at around midnight. I was tired, hungry and ready for my bed. I jumped into a cab for home, made a cup of tea and hit the hay. Tomorrow is DIY day, but if I can get through all my work I'll be able to get some writing done when Gail goes out with her pals.
Colin 5:04 pm