Here’s my problem with writing: I have a great idea for a story or a blog post and I spend days thinking about it — how funny it’s going to be, how I’m going to give it my own unique perspective, and I envision flopping down on a leather sofa and spontaneously banging out this masterpiece in ten minutes flat. Of course I know that in reality if I did that it would be total crap and I’d end up being angry with myself for squandering the opportunity. So I do what I’ve been doing for the last few months: not writing it at all.
The story in question was going to be about the pretentious airs that global coffee brands like Starbucks and Costa put on to entice you into their world of quality-coffee-which-has-to-have-an-Italian-theme-to-sound-more-worthy-than-it-is, and how this manifests itself in a marketing lingua franca that customers are expected to embrace. You can’t just ask for a large black coffee, you need to say, “I’d like to get a Venti Americano”. Then I was going to joke about getting my corporate multilingualism mixed up by going into Costa and asking for a Tall drink when, of course, I should have said Primo.
The moral of the story is that all I seem to be good at writing about is how hard I find it to write about stuff. Perhaps it’s time to revisit my idea for a self-help book.