I’m back home at my mum and dad’s house. I was hoping for a lie-in to make up for yesterday’s insomnia but no such luck. I’ve been up since seven. Tonight I’m off to Wareham in Dorset to do a gig with Elvis McGonagall at his sporadically run Blue Suede Sporran Club. Elvis and I have been trying to get this gig together for ages, but there’s always been some reason I can’t make the journey, so when we offer me this one I jumped at the chance. I doesn’t matter that it makes my journey this week has been Norwich-Kelevdeon, Kelevedon-London, London-Aberystwyth, Aberystwyth-London, London-Wivenhoe, Wivenhoe-Coggeshall, Coggeshall-Kelvedon, Kelevdeon-London, London-Wareham, Wareham-London, London-Kelvedon, Kelvdeon-Coggeshall, Coggeshall-Norwich. That’s fine, right. Actually, I really don’t mind, travelling agrees with me, especially if it’s on the train (though not on those fucking Pendolino trains, they can fuck off).
So the Sporran should be grand, but last night will take some beating. I had such a warm, friendly audience at Poetry Wivenhoe. A real poetry crowd: there were two villanelles in the open mic! I did a mix of stuff in the first half and then my ballads set in the second half. The Ballad of Barlow Burton was particularly scary last night. I’m so excited about Cynical Ballads. I have a couple more pieces to write, but it’s really taking shape. The plans we have to illustrate the show are very big too. It’s going to be great.
