The cafe is situated on the mezzanine level of this well stocked library and I have just taken out a DVD on Harvey Milk for a week. The double set has many extras and although I have already seen it, I'm sure it will be well worth seeing again.
I cannot help overhearing my adjacent table where seven young literature enthusiasts have chosen to discuss their latest book club find. The conversation is lively, a variety of accents appear, and it is just seems to be a classic example of the intellectual fabric in this city. It all looks so natural, as though everyone has coffee together and talks about the latest best-seller, or perhaps even, an abstruse sociopathic thriller. I'm quite sure they are all budding writers, one of whom one day might even win the Man Booker Prize, although there are a few American accents among them.
As usual I have my honey, lemon and ginger drink, preparing my throat for tonight's choral singing on The Terrace. I'm happy to say my plans for the Christmas outing have firmed as there are some people with transport who are coming and we will make a jolly car full non-christmas vacationers. It is a mobile-free zone at Vinegar Hill, somewhere I am sure my young literary friends would never survive as I see they have just brought out their latest smart- phones and the conversation has now radically switched to hi-tech talk. Such is the reality of real time with the youth of today.
And now appears on my right another table of writers, this time they are men of a certain age, and who are actually writing on paper with pens. One I notice, has taken off his battered top hat and has rested his black jacket heavily decorated with plastic lizards on the back of his chair. He and his three mates are all seriously writing. I notice their watches are doffed and lying on the table. I think they may be doing a speed-writing exercise, or perhaps collaborating on writing the next kiwi blockbuster film script. Another piece of Wellington creativity.
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