Took Lucy along to an Ambit poetry night yesterday at the Betsey Trotwood pub, a little island of old London tahn amidst the chaos and cacophony of Farringdon Road and on the edge of Clerkenwell Green.
We weren’t prepared for the evening to start on time, but it did, so we missed a little of Kevin Crossley-Holland, and the upstairs room was COSY, but we really enjoyed the evening. Loved Jim Burns. Three headline poets and an entertaining short story from Eley Williams, plus an interesting open mic (with only one woman reading, most unusual).
Lucy did her bit riding the faders and even mopping up someone’s spilt beer (she likes to muck in!) and I bought a copy of Ambit, after hurling all sorts of unveiled hints about when I might hear about my submissions (I should never have had that, um, 2nd glass of wine). With a 9pm end we sauntered back to the station and had a very civilised ride home bypassing Victoria. And I didn’t get rained on. Result!
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