Pub in Well Walk, 90p, for iced water, just to sit down and write this

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I pause to draw breath

(was I withholding it as I wrote and if so that suggests I was writing far too hurriedly, as if racing time) and to drink some more of this incredibly cool and mild lemon water, for that's what it is, or how I prefer now to describe it.

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But what of my half-resolve to write more slowly, more deliberately, more
legibly, inspired still by the inscriptions of David Jones, with each
letter a work in itself, starting anew, though as I (hand)write this now I
can feel that I am not succeeding  sufficiently in losing my previous hurry
or in attending, in the manner I have experienced before, to each letter as
I write it . . . . PERHAPS IF I CHANGE FOR A MOMENT TO CAPITAL LETTERS THIS
AWARENESS WILL RETURN?

Well, I don't think it did completely but I hasten (hasten?) in joined
handwriting to note a tiny event close by me where a young Indian woman is
reading a book and drinking orange juice. The event (which encourages me
out of that ageist way of regarding myself as already decaying) was that
she also unconsciously misjudged the closeness of the table as her glass
thudded on to it as she put it down after drinking without ceasing to read
and not observing her hand.

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(c) john chris jones 1995