#drappalife

“That he’s a big fan of cats!?” I finished excitedly, breathlessly amused that we had both hit on the same jokespiration at the exact same moment. (Milton Jones, BBC 1, the night before, for those who are wondering.)

A rapidly approaching guest, balanced under the weight of their own bags, stared at us both incredulously as we laughed way too hard at what appeared to be nothing and at the sight of him our faces immediately melted back into full professional mode, cases were unloaded, papers were signed, sealed and filed and the guest was delivered promptly to him room.

Later, on the way home, I detoured up the steep hill behind work (as one does) and found a memory surfacing that I hadn’t accessed in quite some time. I remembered coming here, to this same spot on the hill where you can see straight across to the landmark castlesque building opposite. It was only a few days after I had moved to Buxton and I came across a woman sitting in the grass with an Mp3 player. Interrupting enough to say good afternoon, we got chatting briefly about the weather and the town and she offered me Doretos (of which she had a large packet perched beside her) and it was weeks later that we actually met again in our mutual workplace and eventually became the best of friends.

I had barely even thought about our first meeting since, and it was only now combined with the common inspiration of the joke that morning that it made me realize how many small moments create the life around us often without our even realizing it. Would we have been fast friends if not for the chance meeting previously?

“I’m inspired by the things people say and do,” I announce to Sam, my spiky-haired friend from University who has stopped The House for a cup of tea and to catch up on Drappalife. “It makes me want to write about them all, but what am I supposed to do because I can’t start shoving all my friends into stories. They’ll figure it out right away and no one gets to be anonymous these days, not even that hacking ring Anonymous stayed anonymous.”

“You said it yourself,” Sam tells me and I stare back at her for a moment, blankly -- partly distracted by the sheer size of her jangly earrings, actually, but mostly because I still don’t quite get what she’s saying. “Be inspired by it, but write a story. Everyone knows you’re a writer anyway, if they don’t like it in the long run, sod ‘em.”

In fact, that’s actually not what she said exactly, but she inspired me to write the line as I’ve printed them instead. You can see how this is going to work from here on?

I text Greta, my friend from the hill, with the story of how we first met on a walk and she replies right away that she always loved that story but she doesn’t remember any Doretos, was I SURE she was eating them?

I was pretty sure...

...but maybe I made it up?

Or perhaps I only made it up in the same way that I DIDN’T make up the joke about the cats and the Pope.

But this is always going to be the way now. My Drappalife project (Drapproject?) is going be filled with stories, some heard and repeated, some seen and experienced, some combined and probably some completely and utterly thrown together on the spot, but all INSPIRED by the life I’m already living.

As for the Pope?

He’s a Catoholic.

Get it?

A Catholic?

Thanks Milton Jones.