Words are good

Oh look, it's Wednesday already and here I am making my entry for the day as first thing as it possibly can be. It might not be coffee fresh but you can't knock me for trying. Besides, I can now chat about "last night's" open mic in a bit more length. I say a bit more because Helen, though I embrace your plan, my eyelids appear to be opposing it.

I have the feeling of £3 well spent. A good feeling indeed. I much prefer it to that well know £3 poorly spent feeling. I think we all know what I'm talking about. For £3 was the amount I paid to spectate and partake at the live lit night/Word Soup 3 held at The Continental pub. I have never ventured into the room we used before. Very comedy club i felt with people strewn around tables lit with tea lights (the tables not the people). A lovely low light to be inconspicuous enough to have a wee go at reading myself I thought. Better wait till the second half though I reasoned, check out the standard first. And very good it was too so perhaps it was against my better judgement to put myself out there. Good judgement also reasons that you only live once - in this life at least.

Two verses in I found my hands shaking so violently I had to actually physically shake them out, apologise to all for my nervousness and attempt to redeem my rocky start. Now, most people probably wouldn't have me down as a nervous sort. I wouldn't have me down as a nervous sort but it turns out the bright lights of the stage affect my heart in a way that not many things can. It shall perhaps be my new nemesis, since I have conquered my laser eye fears and have never looked back...ey, were on the top, we're goin' higher. I digress.

So I finished my poem to lots of happy clappers, or perhaps just clappers, but it was a nice sound to my withered heart. My heart now hears. You know what Helen, I'm not sure I concur with this method of blogging... I value my followers. But anyway, I can't sign off without giving a special mention to a man called Gary Bridgens and his ukulele. What a jolly performance he gave us. As a kids lit developer who writes songs with kids and is a puppeteer (Like my library job but with more music, puppets and less admin I'd guess), we sang along with him to a song he'd written with the kids about ducks and sausages, heard a heartfelt poem about his little boy somewhere in the middle and ended with a song on the ukulele about Margaret Thatcher being paraded around in hearse. Fun times. No one could argue he wasn't eclectic.

Finally, I was most pleased to meet a fellow blogger named Viv (a boy). I do like it when boys have girl's names. I like even more the stories behind nicknames. Anyway, I think Viv will be a very good blogger because he works in a bookshop and has just helped to edit a published book which can be bought in 'all good bookstores'. Viv writes satirically. Perhaps if Viv has been kind enough to remember my blog address and is reading this, he will be kind enough to remind me of his. That way I can introduce his stuff to you and you can see for your good selves. For now, I hope for pretty dreams but for those there tonight, not ones with legs ;)