The Verb

IanMcMillan, photo from Norwich Arts Centre website.

Last night I went to see Ian McMillan doing a recording of The Verb at Norwich Arts Centre with my pal Heidi Williamson, that talented poet.  I'm not much one for poetry, I have to admit.  I find a lot of it hugely pretentious.  Studying Wordsworth for my degree probably didn't help.   But  I love Ian McMillan because of his voice and his dry humour - his work is full of wit, he makes the ordinary beautiful without sounding poncy and I adore that, which is why I wanted to go.  (He also has the most incredible voice and Barnsley accent - I could listen to him read the Phone Book for the rest of my life and be happy!)

At the beginning of the evening, I sat there listening to a discussion about performance poetry, thinking 'why the f**k am I here, this is awful'.  I could hardly follow what was being said, it seemed so ridiculous to me.  And then the guests started reading their work.

Mind-blowing moment.

I had forgotten language could be so amazing, such a dazzling tapestry of image.  'Grapefruits and trombones'.  Breathtaking.

So I'm not going to slag off poets anymore.  I'm going to learn from them.  Look at the way I use language in my work.  Listen to words, fit them together in as many unexpected combinations as I can, expand my vocabulary.  And maybe I'll got to a few more poetry readings.   I know, its daring, but it might just work....

If you want to listen to the edition of The Verb which we witnessed, and hear me whooping in the background, its on BBC Radio 3 on Friday night, 14th October 2011, at 10pm.  You could probably also get it on BBC iPlayer.

Fingers

Its the little things that count.  This morning he was puzzling over something, working out where a lecture would come in the semester, frowning over which week.  Counting on his fingers.  Apparently, even when you have a Ph.D, digital counting still means counting on your fingers!

So he holds out his left hand - because he is left handed (I've never been out with a right-handed man, isn't that interesting?).  Then he holds it with his right hand, pressing his right thumb into the palm.  He unfurls a finger for each count, and as he does, he bobs his hand up and down, only about a centimetre, a little dip, and then brings it back to where it was.  When he runs out of fingers, he turns to his right hand and frowns at it, keeping the fingers of his left hand splayed out.  And unfurls a new finger on his right hand for each continued number.  When he's done counting, he examines his fingers, and those little puckers above his nose get the slightest bit deeper while he is thinking. 

Those slightly curved, tanned fingers with their blunt ends and shapely nails.

Then he curls his hands up, and starts jabbing at his laptop again with his index fingers.

It's when he does the little things like that, that I know how much I love him.

Frock

I've been at it all day, and I am now utterly certain. Shopping for a dress is the definition of HELL!  I've been everywhere, in Norwich and Beccles, and there is nothing, and I mean nothing, that either a) I can afford, b) is suitable, by which I mean doesn't make me look like a whore,and has sleeves of some kind, and c) doesn't make me look like a camel in a frock.  Or my grandmother. 

Why is this so hard?  I mean, I've even lost a whole dress size in the last three months, for Gods' sakes!  Oh, well. I suppose I've got till the 23rd of October.  And there is always ebay.  Or the Boden catalogue.  Which no doubt everybody else will be dressing from.  Does anybody know a good dressmaker in the Norwich area for the next time I am invited to a big event, because I'm not going through this a third year running...