Proper east end pubs have a seafood vendor

They sell cockles and mussels and crabsticks or, for the upper class market, prawns.

I was in such a pub on Sunday with an old friend. It felt good. I felt at ease, I could relax. I wasn't watching what I say or trying to put across a view that I don't believe in. I met some nice people, had a laugh and got home in time to be tucked up and getting enough sleep to get to work in the morning a little tired but not in too bad a shape for it. I think I'll make it a more regular thing. It seems to me that a few hours well spent on a Sunday evening can make me happy, until at the very least Tuesday afternoon and very probably for the rest of the week.

I'm fed up of pretending. I don't want to be perfect, why set yourself up for a fall? I'll never really think that way, I'll never put in the effort required to achieve that. Maybe I should really admit it to myself. I've had ideas above my station and reaching for them is making me, if not miserable then exhausted. I don't want to constantly be trying to be something that I'm simply not. It would be nice to go home and be able to just be. But I'm pretending, I'm over-reaching and I'm out of my depth, too stretched to enjoy what I've tried to achieve. And I'm tired.

I don't know why I bother. None of it's been real for a long time. I just don't like change. Maybe backwards isn't such a bad direction to go, at least I know where that leads me.

That is deliberately ambiguous, but I know what I meant. Feel free to let me know your interpretation. I'd like to know if there's anyone listening!