The last twenty four hours have been very busy for me. And do you know what, it’s actually quite good to be busy. Especially now that I have moved house, it feels like I am ready to tackle all sorts of things.
On Friday night I had the honour of hosting the Aesthetic Clarity annual awards and birthday party. Part of my chores for the event was to add up the votes for the various categories, so it was a bit of a responsibility, and one which I was very surprised they left to me. You know. I case I cocked it up. But I didn’t.
I did a couple of poems at the start of the evening. They were both well-received, which was good because it was a youthful audience full of talented singers, dancers and models. Either that or they were being sarcastic, but as a scientific research indicated this week, sarcasm is a sign of intelligence. They genuinely seemed taken by my work, which was nice.
This is the third time that I have worked for Aesthetic Clarity. The company is a modelling agency run by a friend of mine, the indefatiguable Toya Harvey. She is the most wonderful person, incredibly busy and ambitious, and because of this she is something of an inspiration to me. She regularly works to three in the morning, which is perhaps why she told me to man up when I complained that I was working on the script till almost eleven o clock! Toya has created a company which exists to fill its models with a sense of self-worth and to improve their esteem, and this happens. It actually happens. People with issues and problems are welcomed, and it really is delightful to see the transformation.
The evening also allowed me to work with The Freakboi, a good friend of mine and a fellow band member in Croydon Tourist Office. He played me his new rap. It mentions filou pastry.
And today, I did some street poetry out in the open in Torquay with Ellie Davies, Graham Chillcott and Brenda Hutchings. Our audience may have been small and fleeting, but we had the most amazing time, poeting away while some Spanish language students played football next to us in the hot sunshine. There were a few weird moments, like when Graham was interrupted full flow by a student who wanted to sell him a packet of crisps. And when a tourist advanced with their camera, only to ignore us and take photos of the town crier!
The town crier liked my Titanic poem.
It was all a part of the Riviera Fringe Festival, a brand new event for this year which is hoped will go from strength to strength. It’s co-run by an enthusiastic and hard working chap called Jay Fortune.
I caught the ferry home afterwards. I think it’s the only gig I’ve been to in which I could catch a boat there and back. I resisted the temptation to stand at the bow of the vessel and do that ‘I’m the King of the World, wahoo!’ line from Titanic.
I’ve got a busy week ahead, with Chris Brooks’ performance poetry course on Monday, the comedy night on Thursday, (in which I have a small slot), Glas-Denbury Festival on Friday and Family Fun Day in Paignton on Saturday. And as well as all that, I shall be putting the Poetry Island Anthology together!
So, here’s a poem for ye.
Poem
Being gay was all right,
But now I’ve discovered
Steak nights
At the Wetherspoons.
I think it’s solely responsible
For the fact that
I’m not nearly as homosexual as I used to be.
No more Gloria Gaynor!
No more Glee!
No more Chihuahuas!
I can’t remember the last time I
Bought some moisturiser
Or baked a quiche.
The excitement, risk and dare
Of dating and dancing and anonymous
Sex and rampant nights of
Hot hot heat pulsing actions and
Dextrous skill
Is not as overwhelming as the thrill
Of ordering a mixed grill.
I’m not as gay as I used to be.
It may sound like a mistake
But I feel just great!
For a start you don’t have to
Stay up so late.
Looking down at a plate
And seeing a steak
Makes me think I could almost
Pass as straight.
Almost.
I’m not as gay as I used to be.
I used to spend all night on the dance floor,
Spinning and gyrating, begging for more,
Dancing and prancing, I liked my sex raw
(Unlike steaks
Which I prefer medium rare),
Athletic men in their skin tight tops
Moving to the beat, soaking up the heat
So hot and saucy and fizzling and sizzling
And oozing various juices.
That’s it, over here, table 23
I’m not as gay as I used to be.
When people see me, they say I look ‘well’
By which they mean instead
That I look ‘well fed’.
A genial bloke, a jovial mucker,
A gay man trapped in the body of a trucker.
My promiscuous days may be history,
I’m not as gay as I used to be.
Instead of spending my nights
Giggling and gossiping and bitching
I now spend them
Mostly in the kitchen.
Instead of cuddling up on the sofa
Cooing and laughing and loving
My ultimate aim now is for
A sausage and egg McMuffin.
Instead of looking for the ideal man
I’m looking for the burger van.
Instead of making love
I’m making pizza.
Instead of handcuffing and whipping a man
I’m whipping up a meringue.
Instead of a one night stand
I’ve got a cake stand.
With lots of cakes on it.
Instead of feeling that buzz of excitement
In my groin
I’m ordering a sirloin.
The only thing that’s the same, I suppose,
Is that I really like sausages.
I’m not as gay as I used to be.
Last night,
For the first time in ages
I met a man
He was called Phil
We started to have some fun
But halfway through he suddenly left
At the exact moment that I asked him,
Phil,
Is everything all right with your meal?
I then changed the oil on a Ford Focus
And watched some football.
Robert Garnham 