Editor Christopher Writes: 03/01/15

Pub conversations. Depending on who you are with, they can be some of the best conversations you will ever have. Largely, at the start of the night/day/whenever you happen to be there, they are about how your day has been, how your family are, what you have been up to recently. The usual guff that, while important, does not tell you a whole lot. Then one drink follows another and another. The brain becomes nicely lubricated. Inhibitions are lowered. More interesting conversation flows.

My favourites are those “Would you rather ‘x’ or ‘y’?” My absolute favourite pub conversation question is “What super power would you have? This has been on my mind a lot recently, largely due to the fact I have been watching Misfits – a wonderfully different kind of super-hero show. There are the powers that are right off the A-list, like flight, super-strength, super-speed etc. While all these are fantastic powers to have, they are all a bit ‘Superman’ and I really do not like Superman.

Invisibility is another good one, but the one that the perverts all seem to choose. The ability to control the elements or things like electricity would also be useful but, with the dramatic weather the world seems to have all the time, with floods, blizzards, tornadoes etc. I don’t think that the ability to control it would be any more useful than good timing.

The one I would go for would be the ability to replicate anyone’s voice in the world. Not their appearance. I would not want to be a shape-shifter. Just the voice. I have absolutely no idea what use it would have – apart from getting a lot of voice-over work. I just think it would be fun. You could completely mess with people’s minds. Here is another poem for today.

He sits and fondles the ivory between

tobacco-stained fingers, twelve gold-plated

dimples catching the low light,

shadows in the rafters dancing and hollowing.

The dirty fabric of the chair ruffles

under me as I lean forward

and take a sip of my

bitumen-flavoured stout.

I smile over at my opponent as

he eyes the game board.

Blank and six are his options.

Six the only one he can take and he does.

He knows my next move will win the match

and I do.

He mutters to himself and storms off to

the yard behind the pub for a cigarette.

As my eyes follow him,

I see my friend chatting up

a pretty girl in a purple dress

and I shake my head.

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