Apparently I met someone a couple of times when I was very drunk over the last year or so. Based on our brief encounter, in which I rambled something about cats and then continued to skank/mosh, he decided I was interesting and tracked me down through a friend. He asked me out for a drink sometime. In a completely out of character way, slightly because this year I’m embracing the answer ‘yes’, that is what I said.

He picked me up in his campervan called Karl-Barry. We went to a arty pub and he refused to let me pay for my strawberry Looza. He spoke of his incredible lone travels and his plumbling/sky diving occupancies. He was so interesting. He kept talking, but that was fantastic because I was intrigued and it meant he wanted me to know him. He wanted to share his mind with me.

He spoke of an occasion where he met a girl for a banana pancake and a coffee (to which I squealed, “Jack Johnson!”) They only spoke for an hour and then he never saw her again.

I have this feeling I may be a banana pancake. Or we could call it a strawberry Looza. This chap was so interesting. Flew in out of nowhere and made my reality surreal. I don’t know what it is. Sometimes you just meet people that you could happily listen to without contribution. I sat there like a wide eyed, bouncy little 21 year old girl, hypnotised by his outlook. It was that feeling I get when I’m watching a Ghibli film, or Into The Wild, or something magical. I wish I could be a part of the adventure. Truth is; that reality, with a little work, could be mine too.