Here's what Tim Clare thought:

http://timclare.blogspot.com/2009/04/wigan-april-9th-write-out-loud.html

A beatific smile on your face John. Obviously Wigan is a very popular place with its full hotels.

Another excellent night at the WOL Tudor Hotel, Wigan, and I thought Tim Clare's contribution was top class (if Tim is who I think he is), I remember giving him a congratulatory slap on the back as he left the stage.

This doesn't seem like a bear pit to me - but then I've lived in Hull!

It was well worth the effort coming over from Wirral - even though it meant missing the preview opening of Tallulah's Late Lounge in New Brighton.

I do hope some of the Wigan regulars will come and perform at the second anniversary session of the Bards of New Brighton poets, at the Magazine pub, New Brighton, on Easter Monday, 13 April, starting 8pm. It's an open floor session. Poets get to perform at our fabulous golden lectern... and there will be cake!

Wigan’s ‘Tudor House’ serves coffee. I’ve never drank it, but I’m reliably informed that it tastes like any other decent coffee. Plus, and here’s the best bit, it’s usually served with a beaming smile from the pub’s licensee, Russ. His profit margin is significantly higher on coffee. Apparently.
The pub also has a selection of reading material loosely stacked at one end of the bar. Patrons can avoid staring into empty, dimly lit corners and peruse the complete works of a Daily Star or thumb through the well soiled pages of a 30 year old Oxford English dictionary. You can borrow this book. So, The Tudor is, in its very loosest sense, a pub, a Café and a library. Is it not?
No, of course it isn’t. It’s a pub. As such, it attracts those naughty people who feel obliged to drink heavily and turn themselves into blathering idiots. Some of whom go on to read poetry and make complete bottoms of themselves. At the same time reinforcing Mr Waling’s opinion of poetry in pubs.
Last night’s WOL event at The Tudor began, not surprisingly, late. Fashionably late, as they say. This had little to do with the military style organisational skills of John Togher and more to do with the fact that the poetry was competing against a live televised sporting event. Well, Rugby League. Wigan versus ‘Saints’. An event that usually brings the town, and what’s left of its workforce, to a standstill.
So, inside the bowels of The Tudor we had an animated young bunch who were displaying an alarming level of enthusiasm for getting blind drunk. Enough of the poets. The poetry.

The venue has on previous occasions been referred to as ‘The Bear Pit’ and last night did little to convince any newcomer that it was anything but. Non - poets mingled with those of us foolish enough to declare our status as a poet, and the ever moving feel of patrons walking through the room to the toilets has now become a socially accepted part of the event. Some people actually stop to watch. Others curl their lips at the dull sound of rhyming couplets, while others fain an indifference or pretend we don’t exist. However, it's unusual to receive any heckling, unless of course it's from our own poetic sort, as the patrons, although largely young, are respectful of incontinent middle-aged buffoons. Well, they’re polite to me anyway.

There were a few noticeable absentees, but this did little to quell an enthusiasm that, although not quite fever pitch, was inching towards ‘jovial’ at regular five minute intervals. This joviality was fused with the poetic wizardry of John Clays with a performance matched only by the whistling in my ears brought about by a robust and determined round of applauds. The precise and well crafted words of Sandré Clays quickly followed, and by this point, the partisan crowd had been whipped up into a consciousness.

Janet Ramsden made a welcome return to the Tudor. After finishing a respectable last at Bolton’s recent poetry slam, Janet reminded each and every one of us of just what we’d been missing. Well done Janet.
Pete Crompton, at least away from the stage , was in a sombre mood but he picked himself up to perform his ‘B & Q’ poem with all his theatrical skills - but for me, a little of that early sombreness had got inside his bones. Pete at his absolute best is fantastic.
Last night he got as far as fantas.

Jefferama slipped into the role of compére at a moment’s notice. A role he not only relishes but one in which he now regularly features.
Melanie Rees and Louise Fazackerly provided some much needed colour but by this point I struggled to tell the pair apart. Which, on reflection, is a concern.
Julian Jordan did his bit. A bit he always does with great measure and style.
Nat Clare made a welcome return to The Tudor. Minus his guitar and armed with nothing more than an acerbic wit and a few lines of poetry, Nat will usually stimulate the most demanding of audiences. Last night’s audience didn’t demand too much and Nat obliged us with some little tasters.

Baz Alder took centre stage wearing a selection of hats. Not at the same time but as props for his poetry. It had a Tommy Cooper feel to it - except Tommy was usually funny and didn’t involve himself with too much poetry. In fact, I’m not too sure what Baz was up to, or what he was saying, but for every person cringing there was at least one laughing.

Steve Regan performed once again at Wigan and it was enjoyable to speak with him later on in the evening about the merits of Morrisey as a poet/songwriter, while at the same time blowing large bubbles fuelled by intoxicants.
That cheese ball Gordon Zola was in attendance and performed at a level that we have come to expect , and a fellow called Tim. Who, by all accounts, is touring the country attending at open mic’ events with the intention of producing a book about his experiences. George Orwell was the last writer to do that about Wigan. Tim also performed a high tempo ‘street style’ kinda thing. He was good - but I had to follow him which only reinforced my drunkenness and made me look a bigger arse than I usually look.

All things considered - it were a reet good do and as part of the pub’s intensive refurbishment programme - there are now sparkly new double-yellow lines directly outside the pub’s main entrance - with those restrictive kerb markings.
Double vodka and coke £4.30 - the look on Russ’s face when he found out about the lines - priceless; as they say...

COFFEE?
Did i smell coffee?
Not only did i smell coffee it had coffee complement in it too.
:-)

Thankyou Darren for a lovely welcome back to the Tudor event after a self restraining order by me.
I thoroughly enjoyed the evening and performing too. Nice to discover time away hadn't removed my confidence on stage.
It was great to see some friendly faces and have a chat to other site users too, some of whom i hadn't met in the flesh.

Well done everyone on their performances and Jeff too for being a welcoming and entertaining compere.

It's ok Darren, I don't involve me in much poetry either.
And I'm not sure I knew what I was up to either as well.
Seemed like a good idea when I woke up that morning.

Wotcha, Baz! Were all the hats yours?
I say hats are the scaffolding for spatial logic and the felt/straw/mixed fibre philosophical basis for abstract thoughts.
Hooray!

Eyup Moxy
Yes, all the hats were mine. However they were all gifts, suggesting I either have a head that repulses medium size children, or I particularly suit a hat.
I rather hope it's the latter, as I want to be a policeman when I grow up.