Shop Girl 'the Writer'

-->

I’ve taken the week off to work on a novel idea.

It’s a story with two voices.

I can’t tell you much more because I don’t know a lot more.

I set my alarm for 15 minutes and write from the point of view of my first character.

Blablablablablablabla

Beepbeep.

I set my alarm again and write from the point of view of my second character.

Blablablablablablabla

Beepbeep.

I do this over and over for two hours until lack of knowledge makes my fingers slow down and I start to wonder many things, like how easy would it be for a Cuban to move to Spain?

And, what might my Cuban Mum cook for dinner?

-->

When I was backpacking in Cuba I remember one of their specials was a plate of shredded pork, appetisingly named, ‘Old Clothes’ .

Velvet and I chewed our way through it and promised ourselves that before we left the island we’d splash out on a lobster.

Instead, after days of awful food in La Habana, we came across an Italian restaurant and, I’m ashamed to say, splashed out a lot of money on a plate of spaghetti and a bottle of wine (or two).

It might have been cheaper if we hadn’t been so merry and mistakenly left a massive tip; easily the biggest tip of my life.

Would my Cuban Mum have eaten ‘Old Clothes’ at home?

These and many more questions prompt me on a trip through Google.

Operation: Find out all about Cuba.

Why?

I’m not sure. I’m hoping it’ll make sense in the end.

I open a blog profile of a Cuban living in Barcelona.

Her English isn’t too good. She’s written,

Interests: Friends chips.

She’d registered to the site in 2006 so by now she might even be in a relation chip.

I try to send her a message but it asks me to ‘Sign In’ so I look elsewhere.

Writing for long periods of time disorientates me and as I create fictional lives I start to feel disconnected from my own.

This means it’s time to start looking for a job.

I’m still Shopgirling on a Saturday, which keeps me interacting with fellow humans and supposedly sane, although I have my doubts about the latter.

Last Saturday, I was in the window changing the display when I heard a cry of ‘”It’s open!”

A little girl came in all by herself.

She walked around the shop inspecting our lights and of course I felt like I had to say something.

“So, when you’re older and have your own house, are you going to have a big chandelier?”

What a consumerist thought to feed an eight year old; I half-wished I could take it back.

My miniature customer wasn’t amused.

She looked at me with disdain and walked haughtily out of the door.

Like I said, a dose of quality interaction to keep me sane.