Finale it’s happened to me

9 Oct


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Right in front of my face and it’s poetry.

The end.

I’ve lost my bloody hat but in the grand scheme of things who cares?

Writes Domestic Cherry veteran Barry Dicks from his surveillance vehicle.

I had it when I was installing my CCTV in that psychedelic tent of theirs.

I’m over the road, the Texaco Garage, in Roy’s van.

I’m in the back with my bank of 3 widescreen Bright House tellies, one blinking like a Belisha beacon.

It doesn’t make for interesting viewing but I’m watching the Festival Finale/Domestic Cherry Party which has started with a loose and wayward open-mic hosted by the cheerily sardonic Sam Loveless.

Robert Stredder was drafted in as a last-minute platter spinner after Bobby the Persuader couldn’t be persuaded to make it.

From where I’m sitting I can just see silence and my mate Tracey Bentos on the cracked patio chair in the van doorway lip-reading the lips of these poets and poet’s hangers on so that I can get some idea of what’s happening Chez Poetry Swindon.

What could be less life affirming than being a poet’s hanger on?

Robert’s wearing huge eye-operation sunglasses and I’m spying on him, waiting for any Domestic Cherry slip, Sinead O’Connor’s on and Tracey’s weeping, it wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Not that I care anymore, this poetry voyeurism is just an extension of my strange obsessive compulsive interest in the unwanted, my Daily Mail online reading, my week’s shopping done at One-Stop, the Doctor Marten’s I clean with Mr. Sheen, Monkey World on repeat on Gold or whatever.

Sophie Boyce suddenly out of nowhere after a couple of hours corrals the troops and the Domestic Cherry readings are underway.

I’m watching in an underhand way.

It’s worth it. Sophie Daniels, helped by her father Stephen channeling the spirit of Gertrude Stein

Sophie Daniels, helped by her father Stephen, channels the spirit of Gertrude Stein with a remarkable climb through the endless Escher world of stairs.

Guest poet Jonathan Edwards spoke of hippos and making love to Keira Knightley (preferably against a wall) and Neville Southall and Evel Knievel leaping his family on a motorbike at Wembley.

These people do Domestic Cherry proud, it’s a shambles dressed up as a shambles that leads to the marvellous Andra Simons, via Hannah Linden, Louisa Davison’s tale that curdled the UHT in the van, Suzie Simmons (no relation and spelled different) and the fabulous Tess who puts down her pom-poms and delivers a pair of fine in yer face poems.

And just as it’s coming to an end so am I.

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I spy a TV Licence Detector Van on pump six.

Do I need a licence for illegal voyeuristic CCTV monitoring?

Doubtful, but I did watch ‘Bake-Off’ on iPlayer the other night when that usherette thing was on over the road.

I’m not hanging about here to find out, I’m off.

If you see my hat speed it my way, but it was never in that tent, right?

Domestic Cherry was part of the finale of the Poetry Swindon Festival, 9 October 2016, at the Richard Jefferies Museum Tent-Palace of the Delicious Air.

Written by Michael Scott.

One Response to “Finale it’s happened to me”

  1. neenslewy 10th Oct 2016 at 1:38 pm #

    Great write up of a splendidly brilliant festival! Your hat might be in the Swap Shop, although I don’t think it was yours.

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