I walked in on a very wry poem about internet- and speed-dating, and soon the evening pulled me into its flow. I can't write about everyone as I didn't catch all the names but... Alan English writes poetry about sport (apt, you may say) and gets hugely excited as he reaches the finishing post (memo to self: climax not an appropriate word here). His poem about Steve Davis being beaten by Dennis Whatsisname (insert correct surname at later date) was very funny (and exciting). Fran Locke's poetry was sourly humorous, looking at the world through a dark glass-half-empty(50 shades of sh*ite); Fran Isherwood treated us to some short, sharp shocks of humour, and Anthony Fairweather, after delivering a poem about not being able to write anything for tonight, put politics into rapid rhythm, warning us about call centres manned (and womanned) by 'some satan or some sataness' and keeping us hanging on a premium-rate line for an eternity. Ever-helpful, he included theSay No To 0870 website as part of the lyric.
I met a woman that I haven't seen for thirty years, as well.
And yes, I did play, Feathers and Daisies about halfway through the evening; regrettably, I left early as travelling on public transport is scary if you leave it too late.
This evening happens last Tuesday of every month; details below so you can put it into your diary!