The cold has settled, sliding itself through to the bone and making camp around the nose and cheeks. One project trickles to an end, so others raise their hands - gloved naturally, in sigh of the season. Though chilled the light is spring length and calls out for reinvigoration.
I have stocked up on supplies - canvas, sketch pads and pens. I am looking onward - so enthused, I stop in a pub and order a pint and a pie. This is food of warmth, and also determination - for after a pie the world feels better, more manageable and compliant - or is that the pint?
So I drink in the moment, stomach sated and head fuzzy. Light inside is soft, while the cold draws out the white in the buildings around me. The pub lies in an alley, with moments of history hinted at in the surrounding buildings. Red brick, old brick, arches and plaster dot around - all with a sense of having seen it before. Inside wooden floors and tables play with arty lights and stylised handwriting.
Slowly people are appearing, twos and threes replacing the one offs like myself who sought refuge over a late lunch. I quickly move to sketch whilst there is material to use. Now faces start to glow in the lights as they order the latest pint - and I am aware that I have occupied a booth for six... I'm fine with it. More faces, and my hand starts to itch with the desire to sketch looks, postures, scenes, lights and flickers.
The pie has gone now, but my glass is still half full. I have time to take this in; time - a wool of cotton that can be drawn and spun into new garments as the weather takes us. I sip another sip, there is warmth and the fruity undertone of barley and hops. The music is mellow and takes me to summer fields that are to come.
A sign advertises the six nations, and I smile. I look down at the menu... Oh, go on then.