I found the pub without too much trouble. I was going to Kings Head for my first literature festival event, a poetry slam.
Down the main street, there were all sorts of buskers. A man played a traditional Irish song. Another man tried to get out of a straight jacket while balancing on a very tall unicycle. A girl not much older than me was singing a pleasant love song while playing guitar. One of her demo CDs was swept up by the breeze and landed by my feet.
“You can have it,” she said, still strumming. “It was meant to be!”
I smiled and said thank you, then continued onto the pub.
It was warm inside, thanks to the fireplace near the door. There tall, ornately crafted wooden chairs on the other side, where a couple sat, casually chatting and sipping their drinks. The bar was busy. I would be lucky to find a seat. As I passed the ticket people at the front of an inside room, I asked how you pronounce Cuirt. “It’s Curch,” the man said. Ah.
Actually, later, someone said it’s not Curch, it’s Crew-weet, so I reckon not even they know properly 😉
I talked to people, met some of the performers, then the event started. I thought it was funny that the MC described the poets as “pretty good.” Not exactly a glowing review. I found his judgement to be more or less accurate, though. Still, you can pick up how better your poetry through watching other people’s mistakes.
Also funny was that the winner did an anti-slam. That means you do the worst poem you can. Anna Freeman has won one of these, “which basically means that mine was the shittest,” she told the crowd at an event last night.
Sophie Aussie 