I've always liked the idea of sitting outside a chic Parisien cafe at dawn, surrounded by the French literati, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes in a black polo neck, whilst producing the next great work of English literature.
Sadly, I've never been to Paris. Or been up at dawn. And I don't smoke or drink coffee. And let's face it, I'm never likely to produce a great work of English literature. But I do look good in a polo neck.
So it's 8:45am and I'm sitting on the beach underneath Brighton pier with my laptop, pretending that the drunks and homeless people are actually just anti-capitalist writers who have rejected worldly goods. A bit like me. Well, I haven't so much rejected them, as realised I can't afford them.
Anyway, Lisa's been successfully delivered to her place of work. Not on time, obviously, but hey, I can't be hurried in the morning. Especially since Lisa is insisting I shave more often. Honestly, you go to all the trouble of compiling the definitive 101 Phil Phacts, and immediately they expect you to change number 3. If I'm not careful, number 31 will be history too. But I digress...
So I've resolved to make use of my day by getting out with my laptop and actually writing some of the stoopid top-secret fiction thing which has been hanging albatross-like around my neck for a dog's age. I have all the relevant files on here, and even some photos of Christchurch Park in Ipswich to remind me of home. So I'm all set. Which is why I'm writing this blog post instead.
I wonder how much mobile internet access costs..? I could post to my blog from every donut stand on Brighton seafront, and avoid doing anything even remotely resembling work. Not that I need any help in that department.
Someone's just wandered past with a metal detector. I think he's picking up my laptop on his headphones.
Oh by the way, I'm still in Brighton. Did I mention that? I couldn't go home last night, owing to the extra traffic created by the London to Brighton bike ride. So I was forced to stay. And by the end of the afternoon I'll have come up with a good reason for staying tonight too. Possibly involving the threat of drunken England fans rampaging across the M23. I'm still working on that one.
Oh, and I've been instructed to mention the fact that Lisa has lost 3lbs over the weekend, an admirable weightloss achievement wich I'm sure is due entirely to the walk she insisted we take on Saturday. An outing I was particularly keen to go on (split infinitive), as there's nothing worse than being allowed to stay in bed all weekend.
Oooh, a TV crew have arrived! They appear to be interviewing a man in a blue shirt on the seafront. It's not the Tory pary conference this week is it? Of course they could just be covering the breaking news, as reported on local radio this morning, that Brighton is STILL the gay capital of Europe. It's nice to know that in this ever changing world, some things will always remain constant.
I think I'll go and buy a milkshake. I can do that writing later.