Chill Pill, 10th March

It was no surprise that Chill Pill was great. I had been forewarned that it would be so, plus their reputation as one of ‘the’ spoken word collectives is widely known.

We got there a tad late so I think we missed the first open mic spot but other than that we saw the full show. It says something when even the open mic performers are of a ridiculously high quality. It attracts that. The ‘amateurs’ get to do one piece each, which I think is fair. We had someone reflecting on their love affair, someone imagining they were teaching the way of the world to their son, and another just giving us words that have helped her – basically go for it. But it wasn’t limited to spoken word. Gecko brought his guitar sang an incredibly amusing ditty about what it must be like to be in the painting opposite the Mona Lisa – neglected… unloved. Or is it…?

I think I had seen one of the two headliners before (there are only so many spoke word ‘stars’ to go around) but thinking about it, I think I may have seen her when she was first starting out. Anyway, she was amazing – Jasmine Ann Cooray. She spoke of her dad who has passed away and the love of her man’s hands with warmth and wit.

Of course The Chill Pill collective did a little of their own work as well – our host – Simon –treating us to various haiku inspired by his infant son. Deanna gave us a poetry video, where she questioned her desire to become famous and rich – something that hasn’t entirely gone away. She wondered if spoken word would be as powerful coming through a screen and I can confirm that it is.

The final act was Jack Flash who even had a backing band – one person on guitar and Karim (who co-runs Outspoken) on piano. He was an excellent performer, but somehow, even though I could agree with the message he was promoting, I didn’t warm to his act. Perhaps, as a cynical person my instinct was to roll my eyes at such blatant, earnest, political belief. Yeah, yeah, we’re all just human, we should be looking out for each other; whevs. Others I'm sure would find it rousing.

I'm not a regular visitor to such parts as Deptford but this was well worth the journey. 

Outspoken, 26th January

I go to these spoken word nights and I always think, well, it can’t be better than anything else I’ve seen. But Outspoken knocked my socks off.

It has an excellent blend of music and spoken word and could be just the replacement for Poejazzi I was looking for. (Though I know it has been going four years already so shouldn’t be a ‘replacement’ as such).

I think the first half was the stronger half, starting with a slot earned by a performer at their open mic night who launched into an indictment on the way the media reports murder sprees/terrorism as he recounted his killing bonanza that turned out to be a dream, knowing he’d be reported as just ‘having a bad day’ because he is white.

So the start didn’t exactly pull any punches and so it continued with Nasima Hanif doing several pieces (sometimes with musical accompaniment – different) which centred on the theme of womanhood, especially from the perspective of being a Muslim. She meandered through abuse at home, sexual awakening and the very funny ‘Guide to telling your parents you are dating  a ginger, white atheist’. Fairly hard hitting but also humorous enough to keep it palatable.

Which is something I really like about spoken word done well – it can be humorous, yet more often than not it really makes you think. Most of the acts this night did just that.

Andy Craven-Griffiths followed this up with pieces primarily inspired by his thoughts on Kindness.

There were three musical interludes – the first, Chagall, a solo act who provided her own backing singers and backing music via these programmable gloves (mi.mu if you’re interested). Only two people in the world perform live using these. Some of the songs were straying a little too into Enya territory for my liking, but some of them had a very dark pulse that had my body moving. Of course it was very heavily electronica based.

The other two musical pieces were more traditional by comparison – an instrumental piano performance from Kamar (one of the hosts) and then the evening ended with Royce Wood Junior doing the singer-songwriter thing to piano, and then doing a couple of covers on guitar – one soul number, and one Prince. He had a beautiful, high, RnB type voice that was soothing to listen to.

It was my first Outspoken, as it was for the Meetup crew I took with me – all leaving trying to figure out if we could make the next one (which is on the 23^rd). I am always wary when a night is so good. Can they possibly keep the quality that high every month? Were we just lucky to come on a night when they knocked it out of the park? The fact it has been running so long assuages me somewhat that it was not a fluke and of course I am happy to test that. We shall return...

Listen Softly London, 26th January

If you are a lover of words then you’re spoilt for choice in London. There is a litany of spoken word, poetry, literary and storytelling nights out there (and many of them have been blogged about by me). A fairly new arrival to the scene is Listen Softly London, run by Dominic Stevenson, in a room at the top of the Crown in Southwark. Dom works in the charity sector but still felt like he wasn’t doing enough good in the world and so decided to put on a spoken word event to raise some money for a good cause. When it was a success and someone asked him when the next one would be, it became a regular occurrence.

Dom curates four people who deal in the currency of words, as well as performing some of his own works. These are not the same people at each event and so subjective taste as well as their own objective talent will determine how much you enjoy it, but to go by the event I attended this is another gem in the literary crown of London.

First up we had Dan Carpenter reading an excerpt from a story in the collection After the Fall. I am convinced I have seen Dan read elsewhere but cannot figure out where. Anyway, this story concerned a world where technology was no more, a world where technology was viewed with suspicion and fear, by those who could even remember it. We didn’t find out why, and nor did we hear the entire story so we were left with our own unsettling imaginings as to what had gone wrong. Quite clever.

After a short break, Sarah Sheldon treated us to some of her ‘comedic storytelling’. In short, she is a standup comic but she has her own very unique delivery and stage persona. I know I won’t do it justice by describing it here but she had a sort of Charlie Brown resignation about her, in relation to the struggle that is ordinary life, as she told us about her favourite childhood stories of Topsy and Tim, envying both their companionship and their lives where nothing whatsoever interesting happened. She shared with us her fear of change, and how this has lead to an almost debilitating obsession with whether or not her boss was going to leave for a new job. And finally, we were introduced to her Jewish grandmother’s fixation on chairs. It was really funny, and I was really pleased to see a female comic given some floor time.

The last two acts were your ‘typical’ spoken word complete with the pattern and cadence familiar to anyone who has seen much of this. But that doesn’t mean they were old hat. Megan was, perhaps a little predictably, quite feminist (it just abounds in these circles) and started off with a bit of a rant inspired by Jay Z’s 99 Problems (she had 99 problems and the male construct anti-women society was one etc). Not all her pieces were quite so political though – she had a good old rant about couples snogging on the tube and also covered her sincere desire to be Maria from The Sound of Music when she was a little girl, and her feelings about leaving her student life behind. Before, finally, finishing on another feminist note inspired by Mary Beard. Her work was clever and witty with vocabulary any word lover would appreciate.

And finally, we had Dean McCaffrey. I must admit, I got a little distracted by his face and tats when I was trying to listen to his words but the story he was weaving eventually grabbed my attention. He started with quite a long piece about befriending a homeless guy who turned out to be something of a muse for him when he was but a young lad, as well as providing an introduction to the realities of homelessness that we all know exist. I’ve not really heard such a long piece of spoken word before. One of my Meetup members said it was Shakespearean but it reminded me more of an epic Homerian poem. He then rather shyly performed a rap for us as he is a rapper as well, though I must say, without background music the difference between rap and spoken word is ‘subtle’.

People were encouraged to stick around afterwards and have a chat, which added to the friendly and welcoming atmosphere. These nights are monthly and if you like this sort of thing, or want to find out if you do, then you should pop along some time.  

Talking to Strangers, 4th December

Well, sorry for being away from the blog for so long! I thought I’d get loads of blogging done over Christmas when I was off work but instead I did none.

I have loads and loads of posts to catch up on, so better-than-normal service resumes now…

Talking to Strangers is a pleasing blend of spoken word, music and comedy with a little extra surprise thrown in. 

First up we had Lucy Cait, a student singer-songwriter who had a voice much older than her years. I should probably avoid comparisons with Laura Marling, but I don't really listen to that sort of stuff off my own bat, so of course this is what I thought of - but not just because I'm lazy but also because she seemed to have the same pattern of faster, upbeat music, followed by something more swelling. Voice-wise she reminded me of a higher pitched Tracy Chapman. Considering we were such a small group I thought she did really well in her performance, and used it to her advantage, getting us all to clap and sing along at various points. I wouldn't be surprised if I saw her crop up elsewhere in the future.

We then had a poet, who, funnily enough, I had seen before at Velvet Tongue. I thought he looked familiar but only realised when he did his erotic piece and mentioned where he'd performed it before. He was alright - I must admit, he didn't give me chills the way other people I've seen have, and even though he was performing political poetry that seemed to slot into my beliefs quite easily, for some reason I didn't relate that well. It felt forced to me, and I found myself drifting off slightly.

Kadeem, on the other hand (a co-host but this was his last show) had exactly the right touch of humour and serious points to think on, to keep me fully engaged in what he was saying.

After the break we had a special surprise, which I kind of don't want to spoil for anyone who may attend one of these in the future but at the same time I want to mention. Well, look away now if you don't want to know... Talking to Strangers isn't just a cool name. There is an element of this involved. One lucky punter is plucked from the audience and plunked down in a chair and the rest are invited to throw questions at him or her. When I went they picked a gnarly dude who was quite the character (his name was Leopold Growler which probably tells you all you need to know) and so it worked really well. He'd clearly travelled and seen a lot and wasn't shy to share his worldly wisdom with us in a very amusing manner.

As almost the headline act, we had a stand-up set from Andrew Doyle, who reminded me of a cross between Jack Dee and Stewart Lee in his mannerisms and way of speaking. After a slightly rocky start where I thought he might be unbearably arch, he turned out to be very funny. He certainly didn't hold back from throwing a few politically incorrect shocks out to the audience - even if some of them were 'quotes' from other people. (Talking about why he hasn't come out to his mother, he mentioned she once lamented 'Well, Aids did its best'). My only complaint would be that he seemed to think we couldn't handle it. Some of it was a little close to the bone (see above) but if it makes me laugh then it's acceptable in my mind.

And then finally the other co-host Sarah took to the stage and did some of her poetry - because what's the point of running a poetry night if you don't get to perform yourself?

The hostess, Sarah, I can imagine might be a little polarising - she has that sort of twee, girly demeanour that some might find irritating. Also, the girls that run it were either a bit tiddly, or just rather proprietorial, or both, as they had no qualms about shouting out or talking over the acts that were there (spoiling Andrew’s punchline in one instance). In another setting it would be construed as heckling but here it wasn’t malicious, just a by-product of encouraging everyone to get involved and the acts were quite happy to go along with it.

It’s a low-key, intimate and fun little affair. 

Book Club Boutique, 5th November

Lovers of spoken word! Bibliophiles! Where were you November 5th? I'll tell you where I was - lounging in the intimate and cosy Vout O Reenees club, listening to Salena Godden and her fellow chums published by Unbound deliver some very fine prose. And you should have been too! There was certainly room for more - in fact, without my Meetup group, I think everyone else there would have been one of the speakers or their nearest and dearest. Which is ludicrous, for it was an excellent event. It even managed to convert some un-poetry-minded people to the love of spoken word.

Vout O Reenees

We had about seven different artistes, who were celebrating the fact that they had recently had their poetry published by Burning Books. They were all 'label mates' if you will. And there wasn't a dud among them, although Dan Cockerill's pieces (who runs Bang said the Gun) were a little too child-centric for me. I'm sure you would have appreciated it more if you had children of your own.

All were very different - from the geek-chic poetry of Dan Simpson, musing on the unfortunate pseudonyms of the orange pac-man around the world, to the sublimely surreal Rob Auton, pondering what heaven might be like. Are chickens there? Do they get eaten? Do they mind?

We had Alice Furse reading an excerpt from her novel (the only non-poet of the night), about her first job and we had the wonderfully funny Mab Jones who, among other things, treated us to a touching poem to her hot young boyfriend about why she loves him.

Probably the most spine-tingling was Joelle Taylor, who I had seen before at Bang, but was no less affecting for that. As someone who works with young people, her poetry about a misused woman had a particular impact. 

And I haven't even mentioned A F Harrold, cohost Michelle Madsen or Salena Godden herself, who were all equally wonderful.

The night bills itself as 'books, booze and boogie-woogie'. It wasn't perhaps the booze-soaked revelry you might expect but it did have a certain rowdiness to it, coming from the fact that all the speakers clearly know and love each other and weren't afraid to show it. And there was a raffle - and I won a prize! Another one on my List to return to. 

Stranger than Fiction, 7th May

Stranger than Fiction is a new literary night that brings together several elements to entertain you. Perhaps even, slightly too many elements, because I think by the end of the evening our attention spans had rather drifted, but it was still a really good evening and one I'd recommend to the literary lovers out there.

Predominantly (just) it’s a night of performance by writers and spoken word artists on a given theme. They can speak, emote or perform for 7 minutes and at the end the audience picks their favourite. This inaugural event chose First Love on which to linger and we had some excellent performers. First up was Gemma Weekes who did a spoken word piece which raised the hairs on the back of my neck about a love that might not have been her first, but was certainly seismic, and she also performed a song to a backing track, which was slightly less effective.

Our second performer was Rhodri Marsden, the winner of the evening, who charmed us with his tale of first love (well, second if you don’t count the Wombles) and how you can be so convinced someone is right for you (mainly because they are a girl, and in your vicinity) and then over the years discover just how wrong you can be. It was delivered with touching, and sometimes rather cutting, humour. For his troubles he was presented with a small, but life changing prize - a ukelele. Given that he professes to hate the instrument, it could indeed change his life should he choose to give it a chance.

The third performance was a comedic set from Grainne Maguire who supported Rob Delaney on his tour recently, which just proves Stranger than Fiction aren't pulling any old performers off the street. I really liked her tale of lusting after the boy who wasn’t interested, only for it to lead her to the guy she’d been ignoring who was right under her nose. The story ended with hands brushing and realisation beginning to stir…

And finally we had a piece from France, otherwise known as Dan Carpenter, who was participating in the United Nations (a field trip) and had a crush on the United States (a girl). Oh, how France believed that together, diplomacy could be more than made but for some reason the US just wasn't interested.

So with only four acts, the night was surprisingly varied. Interspersed with each performer, is a literary pub quiz of sorts. I love a pub quiz and this was the right level of challenging yet answerable. There were also two rounds which weren't your usual – one where our inimitable host Dixe Wills shouted out words or phrases that related to a book and whoever shouted out the answer first got the points. This is where I think we scored quite well, getting two of the answers, and depriving other teams of those much-needed points. Another round was for all those foreign candy bar lovers out there – deciding whether a flavour of Kit Kat was a real Japanese flavour or not. We scored abysmally here, only getting about half right.

Naturally there was a prize for the winner, and even the runners up, which I’m happy to say, was my team, after I delivered the tie-breaker answer. As a prize, we got a book. That's right one book to share between the six of us. Oh well - clearly it was meant as a symbol of winning rather than an actual prize. First prize was, of course, booze, as it always should be.


On top of this, running through the evening, we were encouraged to tweet our own mini-stories of first love, and then Dan Carpenter picked his favourite to also win a prize (or it might have just been recognition, my memory is a little hazy, and the night was wearing on).

I think they’ve got a good thing going here, and they’re doing enough to set them apart from the other literary nights already in existence. They are probably most similar to Literary Death Match but that can be a bit hit and miss whereas this, I think, actually delivers more interactivity, and more fun. The next Stranger than Fiction is scheduled for June 4th and promises to explore a person's 'darkest hour'...

Tongue Fu, 27th March

From the ridiculous Bright Club to the sublime Tongue Fu. 

I expected a similar format to Poejazzi or Bookslam - some spoken word type stuff and then some music, not for the two to be intermingled with each other, creating an absurdly brilliant night, that managed to somehow transport us back to the beat generation. This was in honour of the current exhibition of photos taken by Warhol, Burroughs and Lynch, from which our performers took their inspiration as to which of their pieces to perform. 

Two guests and Chris Redmond the organiser, treated us to some of their magnetic, emotive, funny and sexy spoken word poems, all set to music improvised by the Tongue Fu house band according to the beat or style set by the performer.

We were enthralled. Visuals added to the atmosphere, and evoked the sensuality or moods of the poems, and by the second half almost everyone was sitting on the floor as if it were a massive sit-in – of appreciation rather than protest.

First Chris kicked it off with a challenge - the audience shouted out three disparate styles of music for the band to mesh together (I think we had calypso, blue grass and cha cha) and over that Chris 'rapped' a welcome message. 

Then Toby Thompson took to the stage. This guy was, unbelievably, only 19, a fact only given away by his arms occasionally flailing about in the way young people who are a bit gangly do. His words though were much older than his years, such as pieces on missing a lover – imagining an absent toe to stroke – and then another one taking us on the best ever festival experience.

We then had Salena Godden, the doyenne of spoke word (I have been trying to get to her Book Club Boutique for an age). As she took to the stage with cool ease it was obvious she had not only been doing the spoken word thing for a long time, but had participated in Tongue Fu events before. 

We had a brief break during which we browsed some of the photography, and then we came back and did it all again, in the same order. Salena closed the show – after performing my favourite of the night 'Dear Winter' where she explains to Winter why she just has to break off the relationship she's been having with the season in favour of another – Spring, she brought the night to a close by freestyling a poem! Magnificent. 

Everyone in my group enjoyed it – we felt like we had witnessed something special (though no doubt it is always like this) and that maybe this was what it felt like to be a part of that beat generation – having your eyes opened to something you hadn't experienced before. 

If this has piqued your interest then you can catch them next month at Udderbelly. 

Velvet Tongue, 2nd September

Who would have thought that underneath innocuous Bar Kick in Shoreditch you could find such a haven of sexual liberation. This, however, sounds a lot more exciting than it was. 

We apparently missed the first act of the night - a reverse striptease, or 'dresstease' where a man started off naked and gradually clothed himself until he looked like a woman. This also sounded like it was the best act of the night.

We got there for the compere, Ernesto, telling everyone about the origins of Velvet Tongue, and then introducing the first act, a gay man who read some 'erotic' literature. I put erotic in inverted comments because even though they did in fact feature sex, and sensuality we all quickly discovered that this alone does not erotic make. As one of my friends put it, it was like listening to him read his boring diary. His monotone delivery didn't help and, as an editor, I was dying to get my hands on it and spruce up his prose a bit.

I quite liked the next two acts, one being just a silly performance of a song involving whoopee cushions and the other providing probably the highlight of the night. Lazlo Pearlman, a stocky, wisecracking Jewish guy came out into the audience, Jew-seeking, in order to distribute doughnuts. He then stripped off a little and started telling us about his sexually liberated mother and upbringing and his encounters with Jews - especially some ultra-orthodox Jews who invited hiim to lay tefillin, which he had never done before. He had stage presence, and was amusing, he was entertaining to listen to. And then, the music went on and he started dancing and then he provided us with the shocker - he wasn't a he! Stripped right down, beneath his burly, hairy, rather attractive chest, he had no, as Nursey from Blackadder might say 'winky'. He then explained, as you can imagine, what a dilemma he had with these Orthodox Jews who wanted him to do rites that only a man in Judaism has any 'right' to be doing. And then, we danced! He grabbed some of the audience and made them follow him around the room. I found myself caught up in his wake, him holding one hand, me holding someone stranger's as we Jewish danced around the room. It ended the first half on a strong point.

Sadly, it was barely worth coming back from the second half as each dire, boring, amateur graced the stage to be replaced by yet another. I derived some small enjoyment from realising I was at what could be the epitome of an 'underground' event - people were dressed (or not) however they pleased, taking advantage of a welcoming, safe place to be themselves - but sadly I might as well have been listening to some self-indulgent jazz or poetry for all the entertainment and eroticism it provided.

Of course, it wasn't all about being stimulating and there were some touching moments and some that took me out of my comfort zone, and I sort of appreciated that. For example, one guy took to the stage and proclaimed he was a sadist - he enjoyed hurting women during sex. Of course, purely consensually. He recited some poems of his that reflected his tastes in sadism - punching, knife play. As a girl whose limits are some spanking and a bit of light electric shocks (see Antichrist) it made for some difficult listening, despite his reminders that for all the violence, an orgasm was at the end for both of them. But his was probably some of the better, more well written material that night and it was compelling to listen to the brutality, and a window into a world I'm not familiar with. 

There was also the person who took to the stage as a 'fairy godmother' and recited a rhyming poem which was quite an amusing ditty in some ways, but also quite a sad tale of acceptance, culminating in her derobing and revealing her transsexuality. 

And I have to give a quick mention to the German who recited a poem on making a chocolate carrot cake - something about combating racism in cookery. I noticed he seemed to have some shrubbery coming out of his shorts. This, it turned out, was the leaves from the carrot he had stuck up his bottom, which he dramatically pulled out and used to stir his wine with. He was quite a character!

But mostly it was kind of boring, and I mainly stayed because as more and more people left, I didn't want to be impolite! We were finally (sort of) rewarded because the final act of the night was not bad, not bad at all. A girl in an open marriage told us a vignette about a recent lesbian encounter she'd had (these were not rarities for her) and did so in a funny, dry, honest way that was both amusing and quite a turn on. I don't know if it was quite worth the wait, but had the whole night been like that I would have been more than happy.

Sadly, with open mic nights you can never really guarantee quality, and I wish they had just tried to restrain the quantity as well a little, so that even if you did have to endure some bad acts, they were at least short. Some of them seemed to drag on interminably. A time limit would have been very welcome. Ernesto himself was quite funny, having more changes of costume than an Academy Awards hostess in the night, progressively getting more naked with each outfit. My favourite was when he came out in nothing but an inflatable rubber ring.  

I appreciate what they're doing in terms of welcoming anyone and everyone to explore and be open about their sexuality, but I don't think I'll be returning. 

Bang Said the Gun, 27th September

Bang Said the Gun prides itself on being the noisiest poetry night in London, even garnering complaints from the locals on occasion. To be honest, most of this volume is created by the audience who are encouraged to take up the makeshift maracas (milk bottles with rice in) and shake them at every opportunity. The poetry itself is spoken at a fairly normal decibel.

The night is held upstairs at The Roebuck pub in Borough (which is a lovely pub and serves some excellent chips. It’s also great value for money – a large wine was only £4.80!). The room is quite small and it does get busy so getting there early is advisable.

And it gets busy for a reason. There wasn’t a single bad act, though some of them stood out more than others.

After our compere for the evening had stopped skipping around the stage to the music, shaking his ‘maraca’ all the while, and occasionally banging on the bar in case rattling wasn’t loud enough, he introduced himself and the night began. It has been going for 15 years or so I believe he said, and was set up because they wanted an antidote to all the ‘beard-strokey’ serious poetry happening at the time. Instead, this is supposed to be more light-hearted . . . more raucous, and they achieve this by playing loud music and having some silly interludes, such as playing ‘keepy up’ with a balloon for a prize. The first act introduced rather emphasised how this night contrasts to others.

Fresh back from the Edinburgh festival, he was definitely one of my favourites of the night. Not strictly spoken word, but part comedy act, his ode to yellow was completely off the wall and silly and not to everyone’s taste, but right up my street. I’d urge you to seek him out and see if he appeals to you. Unfortunately I cannot remember his name. But I can remember some of his shopping mantra ("take a lemon from the shelf, take a lemon for yourself") so if anyone recognises that, please let me know who is responsible for it.

The final speaker of the first half was also excellent. A lot of spoken word artists speak about things that they strongly believe in; it is not unusual for the poems to have a political leaning (always liberal, I do wonder what would happen if a right-wing poet ever found their way to the stage). But, even though I am sure they believe what they are writing, sometimes it is hard to believe that they really know what they’re talking about. Not the case with Joelle Taylor, who works closely with young people from all walks of life via Slambassadors, using poetry as a way for them to deal with or escape from their sometimes tough situations. Her poetry was powerful and touching, clearly inspired from experience (she said as much but you could tell from the way she delivered it that this was true). In fact, she was so overcome with emotion from her words that she couldn’t finish the poem. She was completely forgiven this by the audience who were all touched by the message.

After the break, the person who won Raw Meat Stew last week took the stage. Raw Meat Stew is the open-mic part at the end of the night where you win a slot in next week’s gig. He’d only been doing spoken word for a few months and his novice status was evident, but having said that he had good stage presence and I think his poetry showed promise, there were a few clever turns of phrase, even if it was a little rough around the edges. And long.

My overall number 1 act of the night was Musa Okwonga who brought a huge amount of energy to his poems, commanding the room so much that he didn’t even need to use a microphone. His first poem on the fast pace of this world was delivered with breathless velocity, his poem on the father he never really knew was moving, and his words on the tremendous effort it takes to just do the adult thing and tidy your room (a metaphor for dealing with life as an adult in general) was spot on. I will make the effort to see what else he does. I’m already following him on twitter. Proof of my admiration.

And almost last was Raw Meat Stew. Even the people who did this were pretty good (though not as good as the ‘pros’) and had a charm to them. The guy who won was a bit of a regular at Bang apparently, often participating in the Stew. He won over Joelle, who was judging, and the rest of the audience, with his poem about Shelley Long from Cheers. Clearly we’re all suckers for a bit of audience participation – having to shout “Cheers” whenever he signalled clinched it for us despite his halting deliver (well, English wasn’t his mother tongue).

I was incredibly impressed with the standard of this night. I’ve been to a few spoken word events in my time and this was a head above the rest. Even if it didn’t have all the silly noise and jingles (yes, Raw Meat and the balloon game come with visuals and a song) this would be a night deserving of becoming a regular feature in my repertoire. Bang Said the Gun was kick-ass.

Homework at The Bethnal Green Working Men's Club, 30th November

My friend Fiona who is a bit of a literary type (it helps, when you're in publishing) brought my attention to the fact that Homework was on that night and she was going, did I want to come? And it was the last Homework of the year. I had planned a relaxing night in with Stephen but it seemed a fitting end to my first enjoyable day of unemployment to go out for a drink or two. In a highbrowish kind of way. I am quite partial to a literary night myself, having been to several BookSlams over the last few years, and also one Literary Death Match and I always find them enjoyable. The added bonus of going to this one, of course (besides it being in Bethnal Green; only one tube stop away) was that I'd be killing two birds with one stone. Attending Homework and striking that off the list and seeing what the Bethnal Green Working Men's Club was like. 

Homework is a monthly night that runs from May(ish) until November(ish) every year which is put on by Aisle16. They are, in their own words 'a looser collective of writers sharing ideas and collaborating on projects as and when'. Although I guess 'as and when' has to coincide roughly with their commitments to Homework. Each Homework has a theme, and this month's theme was Poet in Residence.  The Aisle16 team had to take themselves out of their normal writing habitats and become 'poets in residence' of a different place (building/town/state of mind) of their choosing. 

We had actually seen three of the six poets before, at the aforementioned BookSlams. At first we were a little disappointed by this, although if I had bothered to do my research I would have realised it was inevitable that at least two of them would have been there, considering they are the founders. Last time we'd seen them Joe Dunthorne (author of Submarine) and Ross Sutherland, they had done an ill-concieved 'live poem writing' made up of tweets from the evening on a poem which had been projected onto a wall. 

I'm kinda glad I didn't look though, as it might have put me off - I like to see new people rather than pay to see people we've already experienced and that would have been a shame. Because I absolutely loved this night. The places the poets chose to go and be residence in ranged from a library in Bungay to Occupy LSE to Beachy Head. And the poems they wrote there were enraging, moving and hilarious. I don't think I have enjoyed any other literary night more. Fiona said that normally the subjects were a bit more lighthearted than they were that night but I didn't mind at all. It so happened that the 'heavier' things they touched upon were things I had become interested in myself recently. Well, things probably most of the audience were interested in - CEO pay, council cuts, the closure of libraries and er... suicide. But even addressing these serious issues, all the poets managed to sew in some amusement to the tapestry they were weaving and provide light relief. 

And, somewhat of a surprise, they managed to get a real life poet in residence - the ex-Poet Laureat himself - Andrew Motion to come along and do a reading. It was well worth a fiver.

But I am not only reviewing Homework but also the venue in which it was performed. The Working Men's Club. Do not be fooled into thinking this is just a trendy theme for a bar. There is no mistaking that this either still is, or was until very recently, a real working men's social club. It looks like one from the outside, and it smells like one on the inside. It comes complete with those funny sort of plush velvet-seated chairs, heavy drapes and a little bar in the hall manned by people who looked like they were more used to serving working men than a bunch of middle class people 'slumming it' to watch poetry and sip wine.

Given the milieu I wasn't sure if I trusted the quality of the wine and stuck to cider. Stephen was drinking blackcurrant and sodas. The round together cost me a fiver. That didn't seem so bad until I got a sight of the drinks list and saw that my cider was only £3.50. £1.50 for a blackcurrant and soda is a bit steep. 

The Working Men's Club plays host to many a different sort of night - karaoke, burlesque, electropop club nights, gay nights. I'd like to go back and see what it's like on a night when it really lets its hair down.