The table in the corner was the furthest away from the other customers so Sally made a bee-line for it. She sat down reluctantly and placed her coffee on the tacky surface, grimacing. From her bag she took her notebook, a couple of propelling pencils and her laptop. She tried to gather her thoughts as the computer gathered its folders and apps and eventually illuminated it's screen. Sally clicked on the folder entitled NOVEL and stared at the last thing she'd written. It might as well have been in Sanskrit. She read the last three paragraphs several times but in this alien environment they made no sense. The hubbub was mounting around her and the smell of coffee and bodies was making her feel sick. It was no good, builders or no builders, she could only write at home, at her own kitchen table.
Tom had taken the dog and announced he was going for a long walk. As the motorhome door clicked shut Amy gave a contented sigh. She turned and put the kettle on, then dropped a teabag in the pot.Having erected the table she placed her tatty exercise books and a selection of pens and pencils. From a carrier bag by the door she fished a brown paper bag and removed a brand new, pristine A4 notebook. This too, she laid on the table opening it at the second and third pages and smoothed it down lovingly. The kettle having warbled it's little song, Amy brewed a cup of tea and with her mug strategically placed out of harms way she took up a pen and wrote Chapter 1 at the top of the page.
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