Posted by: writingwitch2013 | March 30, 2013

Frantic planner or pantster

Birds at Walker Art Gallery

Birds at Walker Art Gallery

 Once outside the building Bea headed for Lime street. It was too cold to sit in the gardens of St George’s Hall or by the river at the Albert Dock and she wanted to avoid the shopping areas and the possibility of bumping into friends and her work colleagues. She briefly thought of going home, but that wasn’t an option, not yet anyway.
 She kept her eyes on the ground. The cobbles, which were hard enough to walk on in flat shoes, were particularly bad to negotiate today in her black leather Miu Miu’s with the four inch heels. No matter what her thoughts were this morning, common sense should have told her that her best dressy shoes were not the most sensible accessory for work. In fact she was wearing the same outfit she’d worn the night before.
 When she had woken up and grudgingly got out of her warm comforting bed, the last thing she could be bothered doing was choosing an outfit to wear for the office, so she’d donned the clothes off the back of the chair. The only exception being that instead of her purple bolero, she grabbed her plain black cardigan out of the wash pile and buttoned it up to the neck to hide the low cut cleavage.
 Luckily it had been so busy at work from the moment they arrived at their desks, that if the girls had noticed that she was wearing her £400 Miu Miu’s to work, they hadn’t had time to quiz her.
 She had been kept busy all morning with no time to think of anything but work. Despite her lack of sleep and explosive headache she acknowledged that turning up or work had been the right thing to do, even though her soul cried out for her to stay in bed, cocooned in her duvet, and give way to a day of self pity and crying.
  “Oi! Watch where you are going.”
 She side stepped the youth and mumbled an apology. Large spots of rain dropped off her fringe and ran down her face. She brushed them away and looked around for somewhere to shelter.
 The building in front of her was the Walker Art Gallery. It was a very grand, imposing building. She hadn’t stepped foot inside it since she was at senior school, and even then had only signed up for the trip because it had been organised by the young, good looking male art teacher who wore tight fitting shirts, showing off his gym tight muscles. She couldn’t remember an awful lot about the inside or what they had supposed to be studying there, she only recalled the day jostling the other girls in an effort to stand so close to him  that they practically wore his Calvin Klein aftershave! She cringed at the thought.
ok , that’s the planning done…. Now to pants it for the rest….

imageThe walker art gallery steps, Liverpool.

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