The Writer

Spending my time searching, but not actually finding, seems to have become one of my latest hobbies (as opposed to creating ships in bottles, which seemed like a good idea when I got the book out the library, but lack of a whittling implement and appropriate wood has hindered me, as opposed to my lack of patience, which my mum insisted would lead to the non-creation of bottled ships).

Saturday, the object I hunted for was the giant table and chair that apparently exist on Hampstead Heath. The table and chair are supposed to inspire writers. I kept peering up at the sky, expecting the table to suddenly be looming over me, or for me to be walking in the shadow of the giant chair, but it did not happen. I didn't look that hard, but really, the table and chair could not have been that giant if I failed to notice them.

Instead, I shall have to take my inspiration from normal-sized tables and chairs. Every time I see one, I will feel secure in the knowledge that I do not need giant tables and chairs to inspire me. Normal-sized tables and chairs will do just as well, even if I have to imagine myself as being a little smaller than I really am.