Peppanpine - n. Pepperoni, Pineapple
and Jalepeno Pepper Pizza

After sitting in the KPA/Manchester listening to Stretch
make up new songs for his "Peppanpine" creation followed
by two days of "Let's get takeaway! Let's get Peppanpines!"
I think us Creative Writing types probably need a new
craze already.

Other people are peppanpining it up too, it's bemusing.

Mainly because they're clearly wrong; Jalapenos are disgusting.
I'm definitely rallying on the side of Peppanpine Lite.

I was in the pub with a group of Creative Writing friends
a few hours ago and I suddenly had an epiphany.

Everything is going to be ok.

So, you know, if you're really this right now and feeling
low, don't worry. It's going to be alright.
Really.

I should not be allowed near clothes.

Things That Scare Me Vol. 2:

1) Anything to do with Zombies that isn't Shaun of the Dead.

2) Ollie's bizarre luck, where other people get injured instead of her,
coming true and me dying in an unexpected and
possibly ironic way in Manchester.

3) Pigeons and Seagulls. I don't trust them not to poo on my head.

4) The Gentlemen from Buffy the Vampire Slayer

5) Dying before I ever have a poem written about me.

the date

I don’t want sympathy. I want a deadpan facial response. I want answers that can be conveyed in three syllables or less. I don’t know. I like you. I want to fumble and drop things adorably at your feet. I want the poems of Sylvia Plath to narrowly miss your toes. Giggle. I want us to not-quite make eye contact when we talk to each other. We will struggle and there will be gaps in the conversation. Jokes about something cute, like cats. I won’t ask you about food and music. What is important to you? I want you to take my number and put it into your pocket next to your coins and your keys. I will feel a sense of accomplishment and celebrate by going home and doing nothing. You will have my number but you won’t call it and I will be forced to spend long hours on Facebook typing your first name and searching through the local network. I hope you’re not from out of town. Eventually I will find you and send you a message and eventually after a considerable period you will reply and say you lost my number in your pocket with your coins and your keys. I will say ‘ok’. You will say ‘would you like to meet for coffee or something?’ I will say yes and then I will probably picture you without your clothes on but I won’t tell you that. I want you to think that I am not a weirdo so you will meet me for coffee so I can picture you without your clothes on. I meet you in a coffee shop. I buy the drinks myself but am thankful for your half-hearted protests. We sit down at a table with a menu and two chairs. My palms are damp. I am probably not a weirdo. I pick up the menu but don’t read it. I know that I need to say something witty and charming in approximately ten seconds time or you will finish your drink in approximately ten minutes time and make a hurried excuse to leave. Instead I sit there smiling at you because all I can think of to do is look at you just-below-the-eye and say, “from the moment I saw you I have been in love with you.” I smile. You smile. We are sitting at a table smiling at each other not saying anything. Say something. We don’t say anything. I want you to hold my hand and say ‘it’s ok. I know.’ I want to exhale dramatically and say ‘phew. I’m glad that’s out of the way.’ I don’t want to see your eyes snake under your shirt sleeve searching for your watch. I don’t want to know that you’d rather be somewhere else. I sip my coffee. I smile.

Steven and Roxanne have been reading out passages
from Twilight and Notes On A Scandal and replacing
key words with "pants" for over an hour. And it
definitely hasn't gotten old yet.

"I could tell from the smell that I was the first person
to enter Alice and Jasper's pants in a while"

Ollie and I are sitting in Starbucks.
I am drinking a mocha frappuchino and
writing my essay on my notepad laptop
whilst making insightful comments on
feminism.

Welcome to Yuppie-ville, population: me.