I’ll be back to ranting about the world next
week but I am, today, hoist by my own poetry petard.
Have you ever been caught out by conflicting
promises made to yourself?
You promise yourself you will not walk on the
cracks in the pavement but you also promise yourself you will make a better
effort to avoid arriving home with doggy doo doo on your shoes. Then you come
to that bit of pavement where the pooh-clear space is so tiny and your foot
just too wide to avoid the crack. Yes – we've all been there.
You promise yourself
that you will be so appreciative of Aunty Maud’s next presy that you'll wear
it whenever you see her. You have also promised yourself that you'll never
ever wear a knitted tartan twin set encrusted with orange sequins.
Ok you get the picture.
Having tried a couple unwittingly when I
first started doing performance poetry, I promised myself I would not take any
further part in slams. For the uninitiated, a slam is competitive performance
poetry. A lot of folk love ‘em and if you like blood sports I can see there may
be an attraction. NOT FOR ME.
On the other hand when I moved to Edinburgh I promised
myself I would do the first 10 things that were offered (poetically speaking).
Like the Five-a-day only not five and not in a day. Well – the second thing I
was offered was the BBC slam. Instead of saying a definite NO – flustered by
the conflict with my other promise - I prevaricated. Then a few weeks ago I
received an e-mail (e-mails were sent to those too crap and out of it to be on
facebook) with a heat date and time.
Anyway – to cut a rambling story mercifully
short – I won the heat last night so now will be doing the BBC final in the big
blue tent at the Edinburgh Fringe. The Fringe is something else I promised myself
I would avoid for a while but it gives me chance to get my performance back up to scratch after a too long break ready for - hopefully - the autumn's big project. Watch this space.
This week’s recommended blog from the archive is
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Blog
33. Can’t Cuss? Try a Comedy Curse!