I have had a poetic weekend. I was a poet at the Poetry Café’s Fourth Friday in Covent Garden. That was great fun. Poets gave us love, rye humour, politics and a nice tale of a gasman. There was music, too, provided by Rattle on the Stovepipe –foot-tappingly good. My poems were about people: some famous, others not and a sprinkling of fictional ones.
One of the poems I read at the Café is published today by www.inksweatandtears.co.uk It is about the time I danced with Viv Stanshall of the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band. Only afterwards did I realise that the man, eccentrically attired in a dressing gown, was the Original Urban Spaceman. What an honour to have danced with him.
I used to do PR for NME (New Musical Express), which is why I was at one of their parties. A man with wispy hair and beard, wearing a satin dressing gown asked me to dance. I didn’t say no, something about those eyes framed in round glasses, appealed. But who was this eccentric guy? I had no idea but I remember feeling quite self-conscious. To my shame! For it turned out I had been asked to dance by Vivian Stanshall, he of the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band. I have tried to write a poem about this and in it I imagine meeting him among the stars (once I, too, have died) and whispering that the honour was all mine. For he was more fabulous than a stack of Ming dynasty pots, finely cracked.