First Evening In Salisbury

The hotel I’m staying in is small, but everything works. Anybody who remembers my weekly incarceration at the Hilton late last year will recall the hilariously flawed hotel that hid behind the marble coated atriums. Having a nice room, with working air conditioning, and a clean bathroom is fantastic. Having checked in I wandered straight back into the city center in search of a drink, and a chance to sit down and gather my thoughts. I took the moleskine with me, to give myself something to do. I’m not very good at being on my own and doing nothing. After buying a pint of the local beer from the most disinterested barmaid in the known universe (which was a shame - she was rather beautiful), I sat outside in the cool evening air, and watched the world go by. I couldn’t resist recording what was going on around me… There are lots of polish people here. The girl in the hotel is polish too - and very pretty. Is this a theme with the immigrant girls who are flooding our service jobs at the moment? They are all prettyThere seems to be a lot of wealthy students, moving from place to place around the square I’m sat on the edge of - or at least they are dressed far better than I ever was at that age. I notice too that they are not actually going in anywhere though - perhaps not as wealthy as first impressions might describe? Maybe appearances count for everything at that age. There’s a guy sat a few yards away telling a story about a girl he knows who he has discovered is working as a prostitute. It seems awfully grubby to be relating all the details of the story to his friend. An Italian girl has stopped to talk to the polish couple. They know each other. Another beautiful girl is walking by (what is it with this place?), and an idiot on a skateboard has appeared from nowhere - showing off in front of her - trying to look casual about it. She’s not taking a blind bit of notice. Perhaps if he wasn’t wearing jeans around his ankles, she might have been more impressed? Or perhaps if he hadn’t chosen the Deputy Dog hat… idiot. Ok. Mr Prostitute is now talking about his recent conquests on PlentyOfFish (even I know it’s a dating website). I don’t know what it is about him, but I don’t like him one bit. Perhaps it’s that since I’ve been sat here, he’s talked non-stop, not letting his friend get a word in at all. He’s talking like he’s the word’s biggest expert on picking up women, and yet here he is, nearly 50, drinking in the street, and pouring scorn on the girls that have been unlucky enough to go out on dates with him. I need to finish my drink and leave before I demonise him any further.