Thursday night at The Tudor House was, without doubt, the most painful night I’ve ever experienced this side of sobriety. Before I’m covered in rotten expletives, can I quickly add that this had more to do with an arthritic big toe and its associated angry throb than it did the poetry.
The poetry itself was fantastic, allowing my big toe to pulse with equal measures of excitement and gratitude at the readers and performers who contributed to make the evening at the Tudor House a great success. Not least because of Stevie Turner and his debut performance as the event's compére.
Dressed in a costume that would make even Vivien Westwood blush, Stevie took to the stage with all the confidence and grace that only men wearing high-heeled boots can possibly muster. In between each individual poet and their performance, he joined the usual tatty, frayed seams with a refreshing and sincere banter that allowed the evening to flow like a smooth, well orchestrated mosh pit and injected his own brand of wry, ‘glint in the eye’ style of humour which didn’t go unnoticed by the learned crowd of irony and sarcasm worshippers alike. Stevie Turner’s Mint Balls - it has a ring to it. Surely elevated status to ‘Honorary Mint Ball’ beckons?
As for the evening’s other performers - well, we had a much better attendance than last month’s feeble figures. Which again proves that you really cannot legislate for just who and how many will attend?
Sandré Clays was the reluctant opener with her performance of ‘Niggles’ and ‘If I were a real poet’. Her words demonstrated that she is well aware of all the poetry techniques and just what those same techniques are called. Her delivery, as usual, was deliberate and measured in her own inimitable style. A style that I’m sure there is a word for. Sandré?
If any man is familiar with ’Niggles’ then Mister Rob Goodier surely is. Fresh from his annual and most recent car crash, he told us all about ’The Sardine Express’. I’m a pilchard man myself but he had us rolling in the aisles with his observations. Not with laughter - just as a way of eating away at the clock. Which for some reason had began to slow to almost a standstill.
Gus ‘The Man in Black’ Johnson regaled us with his powerful and risqué version of ‘Suckapuss’ and as this night was a Valentine theme it was nice to hear a themed poem. Unless of course anybody has had a romance with a sardine, or a pilchard? Nothing surprises me anymore.
Chris Yates read a beautiful poem about her Mother as she grows with confidence in her delivery each time she appears at the Tudor.
Melanie Rees read ‘Throw away your Darlings…’ and this was read with wonderful intonation with a sincerity and personal residue of warmth covering each word. ‘To be a cat in love with a man’ - ‘pick out the letters with tweezers’ are two clauses that I can remember, but by this point my big toe was pulsing with all its after-throbbers at full force.
However, I was around to hear John Darby read ‘Love Isn’t’ which I thought was one of the best read and delivered poems of the evening. Maintaining the Valentine theme he produced a poem that had a beginning - a middle and an ending. This - with a performance poem - I feel - is always a good thing. It allows the audience to listen and build pictures in their drink swilled minds. He had a poetic turn too. You see, these Wigan poets know their poetic onions.
Isabella was a debut poet who read with an assurance that most people have when reading well structured rhyme with a pentameter and although she beat us with the thick end of her rhyming couplets - anything that would take the pain away from my big toe at this point was more than welcomed - even forced rhymes.
Gordon Zola read ‘3 minute Slam’, a poem that by now I’ve heard for over sixty minutes but never tire of hearing - and won’t again - next time -or the next after that - either!
Louise Fazackerly, as usual, looked and sounded great . Her personality shining through. Perhaps it would light up the whole of Wigan on a wet Thursday night in the middle of a recession filled month if we allowed it to?
Pete Crompton read one of John Togher’s poems as well as one of his own, and he delivered them both with gusto and style. Pete is arguably THE most animated person inside the Tudor when he’s on stage, and yet, away from the lights, the razzamatazz, the crushed blue velvet curtains, he’s simply Pete Crompton. Man of mystery with enigmatic ladders in his tights. He’s brilliant.
John Togher read his stuff as only John can. I tried by reading a John Togher poem too but by this point my big toe had grown large enough to merit a seat of its own and I left to elevate my foot to a status never before seen in the Tudor.
Overall, I really enjoyed the Tudor. I always do. It’ll take more than a large, throbbing, painful swelling to stop me having a good time. That reminds me - where was Julian?

Reading that was just like being there Darren, thanks. Win

I have to agree with Darren about the Tudor night last week.I thought the evening flowed really well,and there was a definite buzz in the air!

Stevie Turner was fantastic as compere and effortlessly linked the poems and poets throughout.

I personally enjoyed all the poets,including Jefferama's rant about the nosey old biddy living opposite him! I have a neighbour exactly like that at the moment!

Proof overall then that there is something special about the Wigan Tudor evenings and also really good to see and hear new talent taking to the stage!

Thanks for the positive feedback as well Darren

John Darby (jonboy)

Thanks, I thoroughly enjoyed the night and look forward to doing it again.

Not sure about these faces (left) we have to add - positively cruel some of them!

Brilliant performance from John Darby.
he just keeps climbing.