The Premier Inn in Saffron Walden seems quite new. A new hotel, attached to a new Beefeater restaurant, in a new development, in a very old market town. A “market town since 1141” according to the sign on the road. The excitement of being in a new place, the potential of, for just a few hours, being a new person.
When in fact, by the time check-in is completed and a beer is bought & paid for, the same slightly overweight, balding, middle-aged man sits on his own at a table for one and feels just a bit lonely.
The overly enthusiastic young barman, with too many smiles and too many “I hope you enjoy it!”‘s just makes one feel tired. And then mean, for thinking such uncharitable thoughts.
A book, constant checking of the phone for twitter updates / texts from her left behind. Time passes slowly but the beer goes down quickly. “Be careful” I think, “it’s not even 5 o’clock yet”.
Making plans for the evening meal, and seeing the slightly sympathetic look in the eye of the lady when responding to the question “a table for how many?” with “Oh, just me…”.
Sitting at a table for two, on my own, but excluding myself from the world around me with a book. Reading at the table may be frowned upon, but I’d rather that than stare listlessly at the middle-aged couple across the way who have literally nothing to say to each other and instead gaze dead-stared off into the middle distance, thinking wistfully of the days when life was fun, and regretting their life choices… or maybe they’re just wishing they had chosen the steak instead of the fish.
It’s food as fuel for now, not the joyful experience of sharing food with a loved one, commenting on good and bad. Wondering what the serving staff are thinking about the man on his own and whether or not they would pass comment if I ordered a whole bottle of wine and just one glass. Then realising I don’t actually care what they think. It’s a one night stay and I will never see them again, so red is ordered and yes, just the one glass, thanks.
Experimental Fiction 