It's Saturday today. I mean it doesn't really make any difference to me, except for the racing it could be Monday. No, it doesn't really make any difference. More
It's best to be here early, especially on Saturdays. Peaceful then. The rising pitch of the kettle is whistle joined with the faint hiss from the little blue camping stove. Twenty years old, that stove, found the receipt in a drawer just the other day - a bargain at four pounds fifty - but it always pays to hang onto the receipts. The first cup of tea is the best, early on. Little chance of any interruptions then. Steam rising from the teapot, fresh ... tell from the smell when it's ready. You can do that with tea.
Never quite the same, rest of the day, even at the end when they've all gone home - no, never quite the same somehow.
After tea, and of course, the paper, especially Saturdays ... the racing, you know - like to study the form. I never bet, no, not now ... when I was younger sometimes.
It's Saturday today. I mean it doesn't really make any difference to me, except for the racing it could be Monday. No, it doesn't really make any difference.
By eight-thirty the staff have all arrived, I can't hear them directly, but the soft, distant voices of the lifts rising and falling give them away.