This week marks the first of my staycations – a series of “use them or lose them” holidays resulting from a year where I carried on working while others escaped the rat race.
I’m at an oddly loose end.
For the first few days of the week I’m knocking around the house – tidying up, doing chores. Later in the week we’re escaping off to the coast for a few days – leaving the kids behind. Some old friends own a cottage. It was very last minute, but also a nice surprise.
I had plans to visit the new pub in town for breakfast today. The weather had other ideas – emptying most of the sky onto the hereabouts for several hours. I finally made it out a little after lunch.
I’m not sure what I expected really. A quiet corner of the pub, with my notebook, to perhaps do some writing? Perhaps? Instead I found myself surrounded by a small army of retired people. While waiting for my order to arrive (a drink and a burger), I quietly listened to some of the surrounding conversations. Complaining. Endless complaining.
A never ending stream of complaining about anything and everything. About “friends” behind their back, about the government, about young people, about their doctors, about their ailments, about their food, about their drinks, about whatever television show they had last seen… you name it, they were complaining about it.
I won’t lie – it got me down. After finishing my food I left.
I’ve noticed the same thing happening on the “social internet” (I’m starting to wonder if it should be re-coined “anti-social internet”) – people expending enormous effort to complain about anything and everything – often parroting made up right-wing nonsense posted by AI news robots with no basis in fact.
You know the scary thing? The complainers think the rubbish they share is true, because the algorithmic timelines surround them with those that agree. A legion of idiots claiming it was “better in their day”.
Like I said. It got me down – so I left – for much the same reason I rarely visit Facebook any more. I don’t want to have to deal with the lies, fear, and toxic rubbish that so many see as valid contribution.
Anyway.
I wandered towards home and looked in on the bookshop, and the stationers. I nearly bought a paper notebook. Nearly. I don’t need a paper notebook – I have a perfectly useable one with lots of empty pages left – but it was very nice. I nearly bought a pen too.
The bookshop was filled with all manner of tempting books. It always is. I love bookshops. I love books. I resisted temptation. I’m not entirely sure how. Instead of adding to the towering pile of unread books, I continued home – trudging back through the puddles to find the house much as I left it.
I might have stopped at the supermarket en-route and bought some chocolate. I’m not entirely sure why.
Oh. Look at the time. It’s half past coffee o’clock.