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BARDS in New Brighton

It’s felt good to be alive in New Brighton (the Royston Vasey of Merseyside) in recent days.

Last night we had our poetry and music session – THE BARDS of New Brighton – at the Magazine pub. More about that next, but first a reminder that our sister group, THE LIVER BARDS (!) will meet for open floor poetry at the Belvedere pub, Sugnall Street, Liverpool city centre, on Monday 21 March, starting at 8pm.

These Bards groups – motto, “your laws do not apply to me” – appeal to the grinning go-getters of the poetry scene. Bottom-feeders from the publicly-funded arts swamps are less likely to feel at home here. Ditto all the whingeing workshop junkies. Get ye to a library.

At the Mags on Monday three new poets rocked up. Welcome to Emma and Fred (who read spell-binding love poems), and Clive, who was very clever about stammering.

Jennifer evoked the mystery of a single night of intimacy and then aroused feelings about someone digging around in her underwear drawer. In the third set she sang a very classy love song.

Music got a strong showing on the night, with stylish numbers from Guy Taunton and Dave Gilbey. Our other Daves (Bradley and Costello) were eloquent and intellectual, though I think I perhaps saw smut in one of Mr Bradley’s poems where none was intended.

Alex the Senior evoked the majesty of Roman Catholicism, while Alex the Younger offered something chilling that also encouraged titters around the room with references to spiders and t**ts. There was plenty of tittering generally, but then again, there always is at the Bards, and a lot of drink was taken (always the case at the Bards).

Chris Co performed a poem that evoked “ruined resorts” – and in New Brighton of all places! He made us smile slyly with a wily jibe at “the evaporating clarity of people’s charity”. I know what he means, I've played the Tudor!

And Nikki (sorry if I’ve spelled her name wrong) read some flash fiction as well as a nostalgic poem that featured, among other haunting images, the “grim grin of the clown”.

With Nikki was her partner, a magician named (by me) Caspar Alabaster, who features in one of my novels, ‘Bad News for Butterflies’.

Sick of all the vile PR bullsh** surrounding the Olympic Games coming to a London near you soon, I performed my poetic attack on the false virtues of the Olympic movement – ‘The Evil, Games'.

I’m sure I’ve forgotten to mention some of the performers, so apologies but it was nice to see you.

There was, as usual a largish crowd at the Bards. I counted 23 though not all read or sang.

A promised guest spot from Chlamydia Parkyer-Balls, a luminary of the Dead Slugs Poets, who meet in a room above the tanning salon in Skelmersdale, didn’t materialise.

Shame that, because Chlamydia had promised, as well as a poem or two, she would perform a musical duet with New Brighton’s leading transvestite entertainer, Mandy Chuff.

Sadly, our patrons had to depart without their promised rendition of “Don’t You Go Breaking My Arse”.
Tue, 15 Mar 2011 04:58 pm
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It was a good night Steve,

Great to see some new blood as well. The new chap 'Clive' was one of my favourites.

It must be pointed out though that your Tudor reference is entirely your own Haha.

Putting that next to my name could have people attributing your opinion of your home town to me.

Saturday should be good ;)
Wed, 16 Mar 2011 06:42 pm
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Excuse me - do I hear someone dissing the Tudor? And/or Wigan? I think when you go to any venue - particularly as a compere, you have to just develop a thick skin. There will always be someone who doesn't like your style, your personality, something you do or don't do - believe me I know...
You have to learn to live with it or just not do it. I can't believe that the Bards is different to anywhere else - people probably just do it a little more out of earshot - it would be hard to gossip in that square shape you have going on.
Sorry I haven't been able to get along of late - it clashes with my clog dancing. x
Wed, 16 Mar 2011 08:15 pm
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"It clashes with my clog dancing" ... unbelievable! That is so extraordinary it has to be true - especially as it commes from a Wigan wench! My not-so-distant ancestors were clog-fighting champions of Scholes and Wallgate. Keep it Catholic when kicking the crap, eh?!

Isobel, the white dress, wow!, very glamOrous (sic), as they say in Orrell and Islington.

I hope no-one at the Tudor was as hideously, bitchily nasty to you as someone (no names, no pack drill - and that person certainly wasn't a Wiganer) was to me when I MCd one Xmas not so long ago. Some people need to have an examination of the conscience and learn the value of apology to human beings. Then again, I'm not sure everyone on the N-W poetry scene is human. There are quite a few soulless Replicants out there - casually delivering evil.

Chris, sorry, I shouldn't draw you into potential bitchfests. You have already suffered greatly at the hand of faux-poetic barbs loosely based in Liverpool - though your eloquence (not to mention the truth and justice of your arguments) won the day.

Top class food in Crosby. I salivate in expectation.

Keep the faith, folks.

Be good.

No, really, be GOOD. It's much better in every way.

As my old school motto from Wigan puts it: Quod Bonum Est Tenete. Translation: Hold that which is good.
Thu, 17 Mar 2011 01:41 am
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Chance would be a fine thing.... ;)x
Thu, 17 Mar 2011 03:48 pm
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