music to wee to

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A long line of woman use the mirrors in the public conveniences for the beautifying of their faces; trowels and mascara litter the surfaces. How they can stomach leaving the house without make-up I can't even begin to imagine, but they're getting in the way of my hand-washing. Beyond the toilets the world is serenaded by the soft piano playing of a couple of youngish tourists. They play the tune from Titanic and, somewhat bizarrely, this makes me smile. I don't like the song, or Celine Dion, but I can see Kate and Leo brazenly flouting the behaviour rules of their time. King and Queen of their sinking ship land. There's a bunch of women here in Costa. I sit here, supping my free {always the best price} latte {skinny hazelnut, of course} and watch them. They gossip. They hog the heating. I wonder if they're here every day or only on a Friday. I wonder if they wonder the same about me. It's unusually busy this morning. Brighter, lighter mornings seem to make people less sluggish, more perky and more enthusiastic to get up. I must get up. I have a bus to catch. Happy Friday!