Some days I'd really like to be hundreds of miles away living on a remote mountain side with fresh air and nature all around. Long refreshing walks up the mountainsides and trailing the rivers widning down them. Then a freshly cooked meal in the evening, a glass of wine and a typewriter or laptop to accompany the evening hours with a log fire burning.
Some days I'd really like to be hundreds of miles away in a foreign city with my laptop, a pack of twenty and a bottle of Southern Comfort locked in a hotel room and just letting my writing flow and take me the way it decides to go.
Some days I remember being in a really plush hotel in LA with palm trees and a swimming pool outside my window and a glorious heat warming my flesh. Room service on tap and a dozen great restaurants and nightclubs within a few minutes walk from my room.
Some days I remember a hotel room whose window towers about Vegas with a panoramic view across part of the Strip. Night time with all the neon flashing against a backdrop of a mountain range in the distance. Again room service on tap and my laptop on the desk infront of me with floor to ceiling windows behind that I can swivel my seat round to see all the life below.
Some days I really feel the urge to not be here more than others. The need to be travelling, to be writing, to be away.
No need to guess how I'm feeling at this moment in time.
I've been in London, in England, too long without an escape. I think I'll have to try and get myself away for a few days or a week in January or February. Just me and my laptop for a bit of one-on-one time. I have a million ideas fighting inside my head at present and some of them really need to escape.