Crick Crack Club, 16th September

If you ever doubted the magic of storytelling then going to the Crick Crack Club will convert you. Clare Murphy had us eating out of her hand we were so rapt, so enthralled by the stories she wove. She put her entire being into them, so that they really did come to life in your mind.

Crick Crack Club has been going for yonks and hosts regular storytelling nights and festivals in London and beyond. Each one is a little bit different with a different theme. The one we went to had just the one storyteller, and she was given a brief and from that decided on the story(ies) she would tell. The first half was taken up by one large story – The King of Lies – but which involved at least two stories within that story. I wouldn’t say that Clare exactly ‘acted’ the stories out but she certainly seemed to become each character while also playing the role of narrator and imbuing her stories with impudent fun, a knowing wink here or there. The night we went to was one of several called ‘Fairytales for Grownups’ and the main story she told was centred around a Syrian King who decided he wanted to document in his book every lie ever told. And what is a story if not a lie? So all across the land all the great storytellers of all the different nations lined up outside to concoct the best story/lie they could. And if they failed? They died. This was a perfect premise for setting up within this story several ‘lies’ that each of the storytellers brought to tell the king. And, of course, the king wasn’t the most ethical character in the world, and the outcome was morally satisfying.

The second half was a Q & A which was interesting (even if a lot of the people there were a little pretentious in their eagerness to show off just how much they were storytelling aficionados). We learned the difference between storytelling ‘schools’ and just how Clare goes about learning a story and making it her own, how they become such a part of her, recalling one is like recalling a fond memory.

Crick Crack Club hosts several nights a month – some with the fairytale theme, some with something different, some with musical accompaniment, some without. If you love storytelling then this night is the epitome of it, if you’re not sure, then this will convince you. Enchanting. 

Liars League, 10th February

Liars League is a storytelling night with class and one that recognizes the perhaps awkward truth that just because you can write a kick-ass story, doesn’t mean you’re any good at reading it aloud. So Liars League teams good story writers with good story tellers to create a night of tales that is top notch. Each performer is a genuine actor, turning each short piece of fiction into almost a one-person play. Accents are adopted, actions are played out, and you are completely sucked into the narrative.

Liars League is a monthly event at The Phoenix on Tuesdays (The Phoenix fast becoming a place my Meetup group goes to regularly) and each event has a theme. Writers are invited to send in their submissions and then these are vetted by the ‘Liars’ who run the league to pick the cream of the crop and the ones that will work best for the event. They have to bear in mind that someone actually has to read these stories aloud and make them believable. So, for an example of one that didn’t make the grade – someone had written a story all about a person who could do all these amazing impressions. But that would mean the actor needed to be able to do all these impressions so regardless of how good the plot was, it wouldn’t work in Liars League. Once they have the stories, they need to match them to the actors. Any accents that feature prove a strong point to consider – they had to draft someone in especially for one of the stories we saw as they realized they didn’t have anyone who could do a Scottish accent. But more than that they just seemed to match the personas of the stories to the performers incredibly well so that you couldn’t imagine any of the other performers there doing any other story.

They have six pieces per night and an interval after the first three, plus plenty of time to chat and hang around after (when I got to talking to the compere for the night, Liam, who is a writer himself. Never a storyteller apparently although he does a bang-up job of hosting in an amusingly arch manner).

For this event we had the theme The Beautiful and the Damned (it was close to Valentine’s Day) and so we had a range of love-themed stories with many a non-happy ending. First, Selkie, the eerie tale of the disappearance of a man and his entire family – had he married a silkie and they’d all been taken out to sea?

Next we had a unique and unsettling story of this poor sap who had a tendency to fall and fall hard for people who didn't return his feelings. His tendency to pour out his emotions in poetry lead to his exploitation to create renewable energy. There's nothing like the pent-up energy of unrequited love to create a source of power!

We also had the hilarious story of Ger Sheen and the Satanists involving a literal motherf*cker and a bunch of satanists terrorising a poor sheep farmer. There was the sweet love story Gerald the Absolute Swine who finally meets his match. The rather sad Lag, about a prisoner on day release to attend a uni reunion, seeing the now-married ex he still has feelings for. And even a wizard story on the origins of Guinevere's beauty. You can watch the performances of the stories, or just read them yourself here.

And just to keep it even more interesting, at the end of the break there is a short, literary quiz. With books for prizes of course! This time they were giving out tacky YA romance novels in the main although one ‘real’ book was also a prize. This was much more informal than I expected – if you knew the answer you just had to shout out as soon as you knew it, as they read out clues to the title. So even though I figured out a couple I wasn’t brazen enough to pipe up. 

The Moth, 7th January

The Moth is a hugely popular import from NYC – and downstairs at the Book Club seemed the perfect place for it. The Moth, is a story slam. That’s right. You’ve heard of poetry slams I’m sure. Well the same construct is applied here, but to stories. Real stories told by real people. Ten people, who volunteer on the night. And then they are judged. They are judged by other people who volunteer on the night. And, as long as you get enough people brave enough to tell their story, it works really, really well.

I imagine that getting people up on stage to tell a short, 5 minute story (you get timed) isn’t such a problem in the States where everyone is eager to have their time in the spotlight. Over here, at the event I went to, it required a lot of cajoling. Or maybe it was because the subject was Blunders and basically meant telling embarrassing stories about yourself. Actually, I suspect a lot of people went with the intention of telling a story, they just needed to work up the nerve to do it once they got there. It turned out that 12 people signed up in the end, so two people didn’t get to share their tales of shame. The order is picked completely at random so you can’t sign up safe in the knowledge that 10 people have signed up before you. You could even end up first on stage.

None of my group were brave enough, or could think of a story that could be eked out to the full 5 minutes, to put our names in the hat. But, if you are shy, there is another way to contribute: anonymously.

Everyone who attended was asked to write an answer to the question “What is a mistake you won’t make again?” on a piece of paper. These were read out, at random, every now and again to break up the storytelling on stage. Most of them were pretty snappy and hilarious, making me regret even putting in a submission. As the evening wore on I thought I would get away without mine being read but just before we left Charlie Partridge, our host, said he’d like to do one more and it was mine! Great relief, then, when it got more than a few laughs.

But, having said that, by this time the audience was well and truly warmed up. We had been treated to all sorts of mishaps ranging from being proposed to and saying yes when you didn’t mean it to taking a shower when your mates are on safari and narrowly missing a lion entering your bedroom to not noticing it was Jude Law you were serving so stroppily under a hangover.

As ever, with amateurs, the raconteur quality varied but most of them were pretty good at telling their story. They all did fit the theme and none of them were particularly boring. The best, by far (and happily the one that won) was a very simple story. It was the story of the most expensive apple in the world. Because did you know that when you order online at Tesco you get charged £6.50 delivery? Yes, even if, by mistake, you order a single apple, which is what one speaker did. Such a simple mistake, one we could all imagine doing, with such embarrassing fallout – having to take delivery of said single apple, for example, and live with the shame of having paid so much for it. It spoke to us all. And Holly’s comic timing was spot on.

The Moth is now on monthly at The Book Club and I would recommend it. It’s not perhaps as soul searching as Natural Born Storytellers can be, but it was a lot of fun. 

Natural Born Storytellers, 5th October

Everyone is interested in other people’s lives. That’s why soap operas and reality TV (even if there isn’t much reality to them anymore) are so popular. We all want to know what secrets everyone else is harbouring. Tapping into this desire, are a few storytelling nights where people get up on stage and tell a story to the audience – one that has to be true and has to have happened to them.

Spark was my first event of this sort, and I suppose Cringefalls under this category as well. The other day I went to another – Natural Born Storytellers. They have been going for roughly a year, and this event was a ‘Best of’ so everyone there had already performed at a previous event and was telling a story they’d told before – meaning they’d had a chance to refine and, perhaps, update it if anything had unfolded since then.

It was wonderful. There were three sections, with three speakers in each section, two of them being the guys who run it. There was a welcome ratio of female to male storytellers, and one slot was held for a volunteer in the audience to get up and give it a go. Normally, the events have a theme, but as this was a ‘best of’ it meandered all over the place, although funnily enough, unwittingly being paid for sexual services came up twice.

To start us off, we were asked to share with our neighbor one of our own stories, falling under the banner of shame or humiliation. I’ve done many embarrassing things in my life, normally involving alcohol and men, but at that moment I couldn’t think of anything. (And I should admit, that with the benefit of time having passed, I’m actually more proud of those things that embarrassed.) My friend luckily had a recent story I hadn’t heard which took up the time.

Then the storytelling began, and it began with a toe-curling, yet hilarious recounting of the time our host got a big splinter in his eye, while at a music festival, high on LSD. He only had one good eye at the time, so something happening to it was his worst nightmare. Having to go to hospital while high, as he did, is probably not the most fun way to spend an evening at the best of times but it did make for a very funny story. And one with a happy ending as he was forced to see a specialist who said they could in fact do something with his ‘bad eye’ and improve his sight.

Next up we had a lady, also telling a humorous story, and the first of our dabbling with prostitution. As a green young girl out of uni, working at an estate agents, she somehow became embroiled in a kinky spanking party, courtesy of the worldly female boss she so admired. And, of course, at that age she was just too polite to excuse herself as things became more bizarre… I won’t tell the whole story here just in case you have the chance to see it live.

But everything wasn’t all fun and (kinky) games. One very powerful story was told by the other organizer about the strain put under his long-distance relationship when his girlfriend was attacked by her thuggish neighbour. Listening to his inner turmoil and struggles as he had to deal with his urge for revenge, his desire to not propagate violence, and of course wanting to comply with his girlfriend’s wishes not to retaliate, we all felt his frustration and were powerfully affected by this story.

Not every speaker was as accomplished as the others, and some of the stories lacked structure, or were a little too long but they all raised a smile, or told a lesson and my group left feeling like the last few hours we’d spent peering into these lives were rich and worthy. I heartily recommend going to another of these events. I know my group will. 

Are You Sitting Comfortably? 28th January

Continuing the storytelling trend I set by going to Spark London, we decided to go to Are You Sitting Comfortably, another storytelling night, this time stories submitted in advance, again that had to adhere to a theme, but unlike before, decidedly fiction. 

Cornflake cakes

I invited a few friends along, and after a quick drink in the Commercial Tavern up the road, we went down to Toynbee studios, where it was taking place. The website had said it started at 7:30, but I didn’t know if that meant doors opened then, or the show started then. We got there at about 7:25. I had also never been to Toynbee studios before so other than knowing it took place in their Arts Bar and Café, I didn’t know what to expect. We collected our tickets and walked in. Clearly doors opened before 7:30 as almost all the places were filled and there was a lot of hustle and bustle as extra chairs were being brought out to ensure everyone had a seat. This was in additon to the toing and froing as people arriving and sitting were hastily asked if they required a chip butty and these were ordered and brought to wherever you had found a seat. Seating was not, as I had imagine, in a theatre or auditorium format, but in fact lots of tables replete with red and white checkered table cloths, with various literary and hipster types chattering in them with their bottles of red wine. Each table had some complimentary sweets in teacups and also some very delicious cornflake cakes, which had the best chocolate to cornflake ratio I’ve ever encountered. We ended up crowded round the front of a table, barely a footstep away from where the stories were being read, tucking into our chip butties, and popping sweets into our mouths. 

The spooky stage

The theme this night was Ghost stories, our hosts were Gareth and Bernadette, who run White Rabbit and are writers themselves. They write a story each for the night, and then from the 70 or so submissions they receive from amateur short story writers, they pick seven to read aloud to the audience. The little stage was set up to reflect the theme of the night, and Bernadette had bedecked herself in a bit of a spooky costume (Gareth had stuck to a suit) and there was also a screen showing creepy, ghostly images while the stories were being read. 

After all the chip butties had been served (they were complimentary, as were the little treats) and everyone had settled, they began the first story. The take on the theme of Ghost stories was quite varied (and I suppose that is why they chose the stories they did). There was one story that I thought was quite chilling, about a woman who discovers the grave of a clown, and who may or may not have ended up trapped and killed by him in the end. There were a couple of stories with the ghosts being the narrator – one an evil lady haunting her manor, surprised when the ghosts of her own children she murdered come back to haunt her, and another with a man telling us what he has got up to since he died (voyeurism mostly), and what life after death is like. One ghost story was almost a love story, and quite moving. Both Bernadette and Gareth’s stories were very entertaining, and you could tell that they were accomplished yarn-spinners. I will never think of Croydon the same way again, not that I thought of it much at all before. They each took turns telling all the stories, with one guest speaker (as there were 9 stories in all, this keeps it fair I guess). 


At the end of the evening, it was time for a few little competitions. On the tables in front of us had been pages from a book. We were now invited to guess at what that book was, and whoever did, won a prize. Reading the page I had, I didn’t feel I recognized the text, and yet something within me made me think of The Magus. It turns out it was that book, but I know this because someone else shouted it out, not because I was brave enough to make a punt at it. Then, there was a bit of a general quiz about ghoulish things, you had to raise your hand or shout out the answer to win a prize. And finally, all through the evening we had been invited to write down what we were most afraid of, and the top 5 were picked at the end of the night. I didn’t enter, as I felt writing something like ‘dying alone’ wouldn’t really suit the mood of the evening, and the winners were indeed people with far wittier phobias than mine.

The evening finished at about 10 and we went home. It was a very different night to Spark – you were almost guaranteed the stories would be good, and perhaps even better, that the people telling them knew what they were doing. You were safe with them. It was almost a strange experience – actually being read to. I can’t think of the last time it really happened. It made me wonder whether I ought to give audio books a try. But for some reason, I know they’d really annoy me. Best just stick to Are You Sitting Comfortably. 

Spark London, 16th January

Upstairs at the Ritzy, and I was beginning to get that slightly uneasy feeling I get when I've insisted on taking someone (namely Stephen) to something that I don't know too much about myself, and am starting to worry it's going to turn out to be a bit shit. There weren’t many people there at all and, knowing it was an open mic night, I hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be embarrassing for everyone involved, if no one was willing to tell a story. At about 8 pm, some sweets were distributed among the table, and someone took the microphone. She introduced herself as Mathy, gave a brief overview of what Spark is about, and welcomed to the stage the first speaker.  This guy had apparently ended up drinking in the Ritzy by chance after being banned for the foreseeable future from his regular drinking establishment around the corner. He was quite amusing as he took us through his last 24 hrs, which included being ‘tricked’ into accompanying his friend on a skiing holiday (but the backing out of it he said was another story) and how he may be up for disciplinary action at work because his boss thinks there are dubious reasons for his laptop being corrupted. This guy seemed quite a character and certainly made for an interesting beginning to the evening. I started to relax.

The audience was then given opportunity to get up on stage. No one volunteered and there was that familiar awkward silence hearkening back to everyone’s school years when the teacher asks if anyone wants to give an answer. Mathy reassured us that this always happened at this stage of the night and not to worry. Each of the hostesses told a story and then we had a break to give people time to be inspired and put their names down, and also to contribute to the tip cup, as the event was free, but not without running costs.

After the break two people had signed up to tell a story. The first was a girl whose resolutions this year were to keep up her running, drink more moderately, and to take it easy with the number of boys in her life. You can probably guess the outcome of these resolutions, especially as she was on stage divulging them to complete strangers. Funnily enough, she broke her drinking resolution at Secret Cinema on January 5th which is the same night I was there!

Next up, a German girl who revealed she really needed to be more punctual and stop being so cavalier when it comes to being on time for flights - it was costing her money and she was missing out on holidays. Then the hostess asked again if anyone else wanted to tell a story, and someone's arm went up. This person was relating a story that was told to them, the resolution being to continue to explore any island that crosses his path, just like his uncle did when he was seven and had to be rescued when his ‘ship’ (cardboard box) was lost at sea.

It was now time for another break. Someone had indicated they might be willing to get up and tell a story but they wanted a bit more dutch courage first. I wasn't drinking myself, but by this time I really wanted to get up and tell a story myself! I didn't though (like I said, I was stone cold sober) and I couldn't think of a well rounded story to tell. When we left Stephen said he would describe the night as inconsistent but I think this is no bad thing. As Mathy stressed at the beginning of the night, the people getting up weren't professionals at speaking in public, they just fancied telling stories in front of a willing audience. And if they can do it, then why not you? They've already proved that no one’s going to laugh at you, unless your attention was to raise a smile and you find yourself starting to picture yourself up there.

But as I said, tempted though I was, my participation only stretched to listening and when we entered the third 'half', another two people were willing to take the stage; one girl at 27 determined to turn into a homebody with her boyfriend and to get out and do more, and a guy who basically said never let your girlfriend join you when you're ' finding yourself' - the relationship won't last. And finally, one last girl got up to say she had come to the last event almost by accident and made friends there, so her resolutions was to do more random things. It was blatant Spark promotion but Mathy said she didn't pay her and I begrudgingly believe her.  I think, honestly, the girl was just a sweet person sharing her appreciation. And then, at the end of the night there were prizes for two of the brave souls who got up there, designated at random. With one of the prizes being a pair of tickets for the Ritzy, that's even more motivation to get up there next time.

I really enjoyed this night. At the first break there were about 30 people there but at least ten more came in later and chairs were scarce. Mathy had said at the beginning that it wasn’t a comedy show but of course, being English there wasn't a single story that didn't have a humorous element to it, even when one lady was in fear for her life, having found herself in a rundown taxi with a gun pointing at her from a glove compartment, potentially ready to go off with every bump in the road.

If you’re interested in going (and I think you should be) here’s when it happens: The open mic night, which we went to, happens monthly at the Ritzy, but they also have one at the Canal Cafe which I will also be attending at some point. That one is a bit more structured, with people signing up in advance and getting the opportunity to work with the Spark team to hone their story. Each event has a theme, published beforehand on their website. I will be thinking hard about a story for the next one.