For all of those trembling on the brink, all wannabe poetry performers, as yet uninitiated and still afraid to stand-up on an open mike night, WOL Middleton night at the Ring of Bells is just up your street.

I was last to climb the ladder of a  steep staircase to the cosy room upstairs  at Middleton’s Ring of bells, I was warmly  welcomed by  the words of our  compare  Gemma ,( I’m pregnant, I’m a gypsy princess, and I don’t take shit), Lees.

‘’ … so if we can have less of the Effin and Jeffin ,  cos its offended some people and I don’t want them to go away thinking it’s been a crap night.’’ 

The poetic ensemble laughed raucously banging their glasses and gesturing frantically, fisting the air  and nodding in communal strained agreement to this outrageous freedom of speech slur.   All this was witnessed and enjoyed by a small boy who was looking through a balcony window making V signs and various other sexual innuendos at the seated poets within.

Middleton is WOL’s poetry open mike nights answer to the BBC’s Archers, its safe, clean and homely, and of course there are  well scrubbed ladies,  jolly chaps in sports jackets and cakes , doughnuts and raffles.  Midst all of  this rustic garden fete  atmosphere and to sound of loud munching and crunching the running order continues to run like clockwork, well almost, under the steely grip of Gemma (I’m bigger than I used to be) Lees.

The poetry was fine and varied with some exceptional performances old stagers like Jefferama, Katie Haigh, Bill Brierly‘s exceptional ‘Weapon on the Wall’, Don Parry singing of the ’Old Salford Docks’.  One new member , my apologises for not catching his name performed his brilliant and scholarly poem to a portrait of a Russian heroine which was held aloft throughout his performance by Gemma  (don’t you know I’m not supposed  to stand too long)  Lees.

 Meanwhile the aging Cray sisters’ alias Alvin and Des amused all and sundry with a rap is crap number and in another rib tickler extravaganza they tricked the audience into thinking they had found a word to rhyme with Regina. This had me completely lost but Joy France told me later what they had really meant. Following a request for all things related and associated to Tea to be passed on to her the lovely Joy France rehearsed her forthcoming slam entry to the audience a mischievous little piece about decadent slices of bread.  Gemma (now,  tell me honestly does my bum look big in this) Lees  was at her brilliant best with her Taxi poem followed by her eagle eye for detail  on a bus trip to Bolton from Rochdale.                                                 

When not eating Rob Goodier is either sleeping or in a coma but tonight after consuming  beer, endless iced cakes and bags of crisps he took to the stage beneath the spotlight as this month’s headline act.  Trooper that he is, he held aloft couple of curling books for sale in one hand and a sticky doughnut in the other as he began his smooth and flawless performance, a style which has become legendary throughout WOL. 

During his performance Rob suddenly spread his arms wide open which had the effect of immediately shaking most of his audience from their trance like state as he announced that he was amazed  by the size of sea gulls  whilst the stunned gathering nodded open mouthed only to be asked if anyone liked cats.  Gemma (God, have you seen the time) Lees sensing another book of poems was about to be opened, quickly reminded Rob that he had just enough time for one more.

That’s the fastest fifteen minutes of my life, exclaimed Rob, the audience silently contemplated and nervously awaited his finale; The Sword of Honour, Rob it seemed is plagued by a female stalker and lustily performed his  symbolic phallic parody leaving little to the imagination.

Well, what a night that was and not a dry cake in the house and yet again Middleton’s Ring of Bells proving as though proof was ever needed that you don’t have to be a poet to visit a poetry night.