Was I on drugs?

That bloody Cafe Oto (checked on the way out) kicked me out at 5pm! What kind of cafe is that? I am blacklisting it. Disregard all good things in previous post.
In their defense, they did offer me a croissant to take home. But croissants are for breakfast! What possible need have I for a croissant at 5pm? Especially when they knew very well I had already bought a packet of crisps, blowing my strictest ever diet enough for one day!

Speaking of diets, I think it is counterproductive. Ever since I went on this get-beach-body-for-sydney diet, all I have done is think about food. Never again! I knew dieting was bad. Now I've tried to go in one, it is confirmed as fact.

Now bring on that pork pie I can see on the bar....

Run out of things to say! Moi?

Surely not. It strikes me that it should not be too hard for someone with as much to say as me to keep up a blog. Here I am sitting alone in that institution of cool-because-it's-not-coolness (there should be a word for that - is there? answers on a comment) Cafe Otto. Or is it Caffe Oto? Or Caffe Otto? I could look at the front door.

Wait.

I did. I cannot see the name anywhere (see what I mean about the not-oh-so-cool factor?). So I am not sure how you spell it, but I am sure there is something a little unusual or international about it.

Now you would imagine when one comes to a den of creativity such as this, that one would be inundated with inspiration and excitement and immediately surrounded by wonderful, and effortlessly gorgeous people. It's just not happening for me today.

Don't get me wrong. This is a great place. And a great place to work when you're working from home and your cleaner comes and you have to get out but you're still in your pilates gear. In fact, I am struggling to think of a place I would rather be. But really, where is the gorgeous man reading poetry in the corner? (There was a nice-looking, not my type but nice nonetheless, man in the corner but he awkwardly leant across his lounge with his coat and scarf still on and played on his Mac the whole time and didn't look like the type to read poetry. Although he did look like the broody type and the way he didn't even smile back when I nodded in his direction makes me think he might have some tormented poetry inside him yet. Hmmm, maybe he is my type. Wait I have to find him.


He's gone. Like all the men in my life. Gone)

Anyway, back to my point. (Just have to read back so I can remember what it was.) So I was thinking, I should be able to keep up this blog after all. Who knows, every now and then, I might have something interesting to say.