I’ve never travelled to the moon. Few of us have. I’ve seen the pictures of course. The video footage of men allegedly walking on the lunar surface bouncing around in what appears to be a care free world, or a care free moon even, but until last night, I’d never actually been there. Yet if NASA scientists ever need an atmosphere on planet earth which resembles that of the moon’s very near non-existent atmospherics, then it could have done a lot worse than attend at last night’s Write Out Loud poetry night at the Howcroft Inn in Bolton.

It appeared that everything and anything would go against the evening being a success when only a dozen or so familiar poets’ arrived at their usual irregular intervals. Those who did attend, were privy to one of the most demanding environments in which to perform their work. A near stony silence, mixed with ripples of irregular and jaded enthusiasm topped with heaps of apathy and lashings of lethargy.
Julian Jordan had the unenviable task of making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear and even a man with his unarguable compereing acumen and experience did little to inject some much needed verbal oxygen into a room that was quite simply - lifeless. Those of us that did attend are all experienced enough to realize that, on occasions, you have to experience this type of night in order to truly appreciate those evenings when the house is literally brought down or set alight with poetry. Although this was of little comfort to the few of us who did attend.

Bill Brierley actually volunteered to go on first and his eagerness should have been rewarded with a performance and a reaction worthy of ‘ten pressed men’. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. The muted response was perhaps due to various distractions filtering in from outside the room. Namely, Neil Diamond reminding everybody that his love is STILL on the rocks and that Caroline, although still sweet, is becoming increasingly irritating to those of us who quite frankly, don’t really care. Somebody obviously did, but they hid themselves away in a dark corner of the pub. Repeated requests for this music to be turned down were met with reactions ranging from curling lips to a forthright ‘no - we have other customers too’.

Undeterred in the face of confrontation us poets set to work in turning the evening into a satisfactory night and one where we could at least say that we had taken something from it, as well as contributing our own miserable woes that manifest themselves on such an evening in the guise of long, wallowing poetry where people quickly realize that they have, and perhaps quite rightly, lost the will to live.

But you couldn't help but get swept along with the melancholy. To an outsider looking through the imperfections of the glass partition it would have been impossible to actually determine what was going on in our makeshift mortuary. Something that we actually enjoy doing would have been a long way from their bold assumptions.
Even writing this, I can still feel the sense of doom that I was feeling last night. Nothing or nobody would have made last night a success. These type of nights are always going to occur. It was no one person’s responsibility and in all fairness we all tried to lift the sombre mood, perhaps nobody more so than Gordon Zola. Yet even his performance was littered with stalls and false starts and the irony was, he appeared to actually be reading from a book. Something Gordon never usually does, relying instead on his ability to remember his ever demanding lines.

So, what was it? What was the reason behind such a damp squib infiltrating the world of Write Out Loud? The lack of numbers? The familiarity amongst us? Neil Diamond?

These things, with the exception of Neil, were discussed afterwards by an International Committee of seasoned drinkers. We all agreed that the evening was, at its very best -below average. This is to take nothing away from any of those that did perform. Everybody did their best and provided poems and performances that on any other night would become instantly recognizable. Jefferama, Scott Devon, Pete Crompton, Dave Morgan, Marguerite Heywood, Val Cook, Rob Goodier, Seamus Kelly and myself, all attempted to instil something…anything, into the night. I’m not saying that everybody failed, but not many succeeded.

Whatever the reason - the moment has passed. Consigned to the empirical heap of experiences that are clearly marked ‘do not repeat’. Which means only one thing. This type of evening mirrors life itself. Good days - bad days. The laws of Sod have already established that the next Write Out Loud event hosted at the Howcroft will go down in the annuls of myth and legend. So, if you were fortunate enough to stay away last night perhaps due to that little voice telling you to - then your instinct is good. That same instinct should now also be telling you that the next third Sunday in the month will be not only bigger and better than ever, but also later in the month.

Now, where’s my collection of Neil Diamond LP’s?




PS It would be interesting to hear the views from any of those who didn't stay behind afterwards...

Oh dear - sounds must unlike the Howcroft - nights which I look forward to and don't like to miss if I can help it. I planned to come last night but, it being Fathers' Day, we'd been out for the day then a bottle of wine was opened, one glass became two and the rest is geography.

I've known a few nights that could vary from a dozen to 70 unpredictably - with rhyme but no reason. As a performer, the wildly different "vibe" from one night to the next is something which fascinates me though and all stage time is learning time, so they say.

Hope to be there next month and I'm sure it'll be a stonker.

Sorry John and I couldn't attend when we originally said we would - a series of events, including washing line collapsing, followed up by other demons from the law of Sod left us absolutely knackered. What you say about the music not being turned down is disgraceful. I can't quite understand it. The Howcraft has always seemed a sympathetic haven for the poetry nights. Anyway, hope to see you all next time.

Having read Darren’s excellent report it seems to me that the management and/or clientele don’t seem privy to a night of culture and like you respond to a bad host who attempts to treat you like s…; you should not facilitate a second try and simply withdraw your services. I would suggest a change of venue to somewhere more hospitable and I do like the idea of turning up en masse on the next occasion (while just buying halves thereby making the staff work twice as hard). John.

I agree Darren that Sunday at the Howcroft was short of the usual life giving energy that we poets thrive on. Where where you all ? Understandably fathers where being fathers . but where where you `others`. It was obvious to me that we missed the stimulation, appreciation and inspiration that you all bring to the session. We could have drowned out the music, ignoring the noise with our own ubiguitous presence. Thanks to Julian who worked hard and kept the evening going.
Thanks to all who came,
It was not in vain,
Lets hope it won`t happen again.

If a freak, flat Howcroft night can inspire downbeat Darren to whip up wit of the type displayed in his review then, as we used to say in Lancashire, good can come of woe; though on Sunday it was, it seemed, thrice woe.
It has been so good lately though that, like a British heatwave, the pressure had to drop eventually and, like summer rain, piss on our parade.

Bring me the Clays of outrageous excuses,
the Anthony Walshes of wine-soaked abuses,
Stevie and Mel who were absent as well
Geoff we'll let off as he isn't well
Dave turned up with his fruit salad ballad
Rob wrote a poem at the speed of the Mallard
Paul did his best with his shoulder in pain
Darren gave his all, bared his soul without gain
Scott read in t'first half from a poet so fecund,
but then had the wisdom to pass in the second
Geoffarama read so loud and so clear
But so did Neil Diamond in his other ear
Marguerite was reet good, with quality writing
And I retired hurt - too much muzak fighting

Back to the day job.

Lets all make the next Howcroft on the 20th July one to remember.