July 2008 Archives

TO the Scouse House caff in old Birkenhead last night for an open mic poetry session run by my friend Malevolent Malc.
'Twas a good night, a very good night, and I performed two newly minted poems.
One was an examination on the nature of rebellion, which hinted at the alternative virtue to rebellion, obedience, which, of course, is not considered attractive to the modern mind.
That new poem, A Rebel's Heart, also evoked the ultimate battle ever, with Lucifer the proud angel leading his "stars of the morning" in a war against God in Heaven.
The second piece was a two-hander, and more of a comedy sketch than a poem. It is titled A Dalek's Special Love and is about a dalek who's in a romantic relationship with a human, a woman.

I COUNTED and she'd used 75 candles in all. Tea lights, mainly.
All those flickering points of light to spell out a simple message: I love you.
Yes, my betrothed, Posh Boots, arranged those candles on her dining room table, for me, just before I called at her flat last Saturday.
Now, as I write, it is exactly one year (to the hour!) that Posh Boots and I first met.
We hit it off immediately and within days became inseperable.
About half an hour from now ... we will go out for a celebratory drink and a curry. Hurrah!

THE smoking ban is causing pubs to close down in record numbers.
The situation's dire. PricewaterhouseCoopers (PWC), the respected accountancy firm, predicts that 6,000 pubs will close nationally in the next five years.
By imposing a blanket smoking ban on pubs our liberal-fascist State has:
- weakened (perhaps terminally) the important and historic social institution that is the British pub
- forced smokers out onto the pavements (definitely not environmentally desirable)
- forced older people (who'd been going to the pub all their adults lives to socialise with friends over drinks and cigarettes) into social isolation.
No-one is pretending that smoking is entirely healthy - though a good argument can be made for its health-promoting functions as a reliever of stress and a substitute for killer junk food.

WE had a big turn-out and a top night at the Bards of New Brighton poetry group last night.
I was heartened to see more women poets than usual performing - and four singers joined us too.
The great baritone Dave Gilbey and Ed Doherty - who I know from the old days at Hell's Waiting Room - both sang very moving Irish ballads.
One of those songs told of "tender-hearted maids" of great "constancy".
Another mentioned "the queen of hearts, still making tarts".
I commented to the meeting that "tender-hearted maids" of great "constancy" were in short supply these days - though thin-lipped, cold-hearted harridans abound.
And it's especially in the Government that we find horrible harpies who are a disgrace to womanhood. The militantly pro-abortion and hardline feminist Harriet Harperson, especially, is the stuff of nightmares.

I MAKE no claim to be an interpreter of dreams – but I sure had a weird one the other night.
There I was, in dream-time, casually sauntering along a country road … when I passed a pub.
The publican came out of the front door as I walked by and pointed to a patch of ground by the pub’s frontage where an old white car was parked.
“I’ve had a lot of bother with that spot,� says the publican to me.