Loose Ends, Lethargy and Let-Downs

Sunday 1st December 2013

Much of the day spent trying to clear the aftermath of autumn term. Just the sheer amount of paper – scraps of notes, flyers, rough drafts, folders of handouts – I binned as much as I could. So nice to be able to see the carpet. Made up a new morning pages book. Did the Facebook thing. Scribbling while the rock excess clichés play out on C4 tonight. I probably won’t go anywhere until Wednesday. Suits me fine. 10.32pm.

Tuesday 2nd December 2013

Been putting gig sets together all day. The one for Settle Down Café on Wednesday came easy. And I only had to remove two poems from my London list. But the one for Sunderland is a bastard. I’d much rather do a full book set but it’s impossible to memorize them all. Taken months to feel confident doing Bin Truck and Dark House. I’m including some older stuff but don’t want to include material that I’m doing earlier in the week. Supposed to be getting the last of the college paperwork together but thought it better to get gigs sorted. After all, the term is over; the paperwork is useless. It’s just going to sit in a fucking file till doomsday. I’m worn out with going over sets for about eight hours. Be good to get an early night or a change. House is well warm tonight. 10.24pm.

Tuesday 3rd December 2013

Been in the house since Friday. Haven’t looked at gig sets today. Was good to read some of Rob Auton’s book in bed this morning. Profound and somewhat bizarre. I like it. Spent much of the day going back over student papers. Almost done with them. Haven’t shaved since last Thursday and have a covering of hair round the back and sides of my head, but will be smooth again for tomorrow’s gig. Listened to Attila this afternoon. The Cult. Twisted Sister. The Mission. Watched a documentary about the death of Kurt Cobain this evening. Thought I’d seen it before but this seemed like a different version. Still Nick Bloomfield at the helm. Keen to read a book about the case now. Just discovered I fucked up my journal pages last week. Oh well…

Wednesday 4th December 2013

A nice intimate launch of James Fisher’s book Downstream this evening at the Settle Down Café. Interesting to see a choreographed dance piece  performed by Jeff Potts while James read. Book looks good. Looking forward to reading it. Along with a ton of other titles. Was good to perform Dark House and Bin Truck. Sets from Yvonne Young, Jenni Pascoe, Mandy Maxwell and Robbie Hurst. When I got home Mandy had emailed to say there was a vid up of Bin Truck and to ask if Claudia could use the poem for as an art prompt in her class. She wants the kids to draw it. Fantastic. Great end to the night. Okay. Suppertime. Workshop tomorrow. 11.25pm.

Thursday 5th December 2013

In the house since half ten. Fergus gave me a lift home from Poetry Jam.. Unfortunately Kirsten Luckins got marooned in Hartlepool and couldn’t make it over for her headline set, which kind of changed the dynamic, but it was a good night. Impressed by Bev’s set. She was very lively, great writing, engaging. We had some superb stuff in open floor sections and Stevie Ronnie closed the night with strong recitations from his new Red Squirrel Press book ‘Manifestations’. I had a good workshop at Consett this morning as well. Nelson Mandela died today. Lots of notes on Facebook about him. I have a day off tomorrow. Housework. Get the food in. Bed soon. 11.34pm.

Friday 6th December 2013

HUGE THANKS to everyone who made it out to Poetry Jam at Waddington Street Centre last night. Some cracking performances and readings in the extended open floor jam slots plus great sets from our two feature guests, Bev Priestner and Stevie Ronnie. Hopefully we’ll have Kirtsen Luckins on the bill next spring – if the weather doesn’t scupper best laid plans... Thanks to Fergus for bringing me home after the gig. Mega thanks to all at Waddy and to everyone else who made 2013 such a brilliant year for Poetry Jam. We’ll be back in February 2014 for another run of great page and stage poets giving it large. In the meantime, some pix from last night. Keep it going!

I met a guy I’d not spoken to for 27 years this afternoon. We talked a bit about school and jobs. Now a fireman, he was somewhat confused by the concept of teaching creative writing. “Surely, if people want to do that they just do it and if they need to be taught then why bother?” Without wanting to shoot myself in the foot, I have to admit that’s pretty much what I told the head of adult learning when I was offered the job at Waddington Street Centre nearly eleven years ago. As a working class bloke from an industrial town, it took me a few years to get my head around the idea of leading writing groups when most of what I write is fluked stream of consciousness culled from reams of self indulgent diary-keeping. I still struggle with my position and feel like a total fake a lot of the time. Not wanting to talk about poetry, spoken word, therapeutic journaling, fiction, characterisation, setting, point of view, etc on the V8 mini-link to Moorside with all the locals interpreting the conversation, I admitted the guy had a valid point and hoped for a change of subject.

The conversation prompted me to look up some names from school days on Facebook. So this evening I encountered the sister of a friend who died in his twenties; the family I lived next door to for all of my childhood; people who snubbed me in class; beanpole make-up wearing goth boys turned fitness fanatics selling body-building equipment; a girl who learnt to ride my skateboard; and numerous other people who populate this town that I’ve never seen for decades. The idea of contacting any of them seems ridiculously stupid to me. I realise I’m a bit of an obsessive one-trick pony and the way I live isn’t really what most of the people I grew up with would call successful or even stable. Besides the writing and performing community, I don’t really spend much time with anyone. Right or wrong, that’s the way it is…

I wanted to start making a hardback book tonight, but the house is still freezing despite having the heating on for the last two hours. Oh well… 9.07pm.

Saturday 7th December 2013

At the Independent in Sunderland. Acoustic hiphop soundcheck. Me and Jenni have been here an hour and no sign of an audience. 40+ people said they were coming. Spent ages putting a set together for this. Hope it hasn’t been a waste of time. No matter, next gig is London and that should be pretty good. 8.09pm.

Sunday 8th December 2013

The two kids with their feet on the bus seats ask if they look cool with their grubby tracksuits bottoms tucked into socks. One calls the other mental coz he broke someone’s fingers and tried to set light to another. “Bensham hard lads us, like,” he says. They both look about fourteen, are mouthy, cocksure nobodies, and the stench of stale sweat off the plumper gobshite of the two almost gave me a migraine. If there was another seat I would have moved. The older I get the less tolerant of human body traffic. Shut the fuck up and keep out of my breathing space, you little cretin. Mercifully, they got off at the Metro Centre.

Back home the house is cold and the internet fails to kick in on first attempt. This is becoming the norm now. Switch off and on at the box and reboot the computer. The only thing that works.

I found out today that Wanda Coleman died last month. Her books were published by Black Sparrow Press. I used to read her a lot in the early nineties. Imagoes, African Sleeping Sickness, Heavy Daughter Blues. I put a couple of links on facebook but it got no feedback. Jenni didn’t know who she was either.

Gig didn't happen for us last night. This evening I’m too tired to do much. Might be an idea to get an early night and kick in on the book making and housework tomorrow. Invoices, legal deposit copies to send out, utility bills to pay… Enough 10.50pm.