I sit at a table at the very back of my local Spoons. I have my notebook, the latest copy of London Archaeologist and Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own. I check the football results on my phone and scroll the Apple News feed. I actually feel a bit rough and have spent the day in bed but I often use the pub as therapy – both physical and psychological. I’m trying not to get annoyed by the couple at the next table playing clips of awful Euro techno on their phones but shoot them a few glares. They stop for all of five minutes before carrying on. This is a lesson in acceptance. I try to place their language but fail which often means it’s either Portuguese or Hungarian. Then I embrace the cacophony that had broken out around me, a phone call through the speaker, someone’s playing games, a fella is spinning yarns stood over a table, music through phone speaker. I can’t even see what I’m typing anymore on the blogging app. I haven’t even listened back to the recording but it’s of the here and now.

This is a throwback to the early days of this blog when I would post photos from a booth from the Spoons on Farringdon Road 2004-05 excited by the possibilities that this new medium offered.