I want to sit out in privety
with my dressing-gown on
and nobody to see
but it must have a balcony.
Then I can finish my writing.
It’s a hundred-and-forty a night, with a hot tub.
That’s no good. I can’t write
with a fountainpen in a hot tub.
I wonder if there’s background music.
I can’t have the sort of music
that keeps you jumpin’ all the while.
There needs to be quiet.
The windows have got to open.
I must hear water all the time.
If I get a room that’s luxurious
I’ll get writing in half the time.
I want to see Rooms One and Eight.
I want to see if they’ll do.
I don’t need you to come with me,
but I’ll need you to move in with me.
It’s all sketched out already,
just waiting to be filled in.
I’m tense till I get this settled.
Can’t get my head round it till then.
Overheard in a hotel bar in Ludlow, Shropshire, on the 10th March 2013. Submitted by John Killic.