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Sherbet lemons: ‘punishing yourself is what it’s all about’ – Ann Widdecombe at Swindon Festival of Literature

6 May
Ann Widdecombe speaking at the Swindon Festival of Literature ©Calyx Pictures

Ann Widdecombe speaking at the Swindon Festival of Literature ©Calyx Pictures

Last night I was held spellbound by the contradictory tale of a tenacious, ferocious, grey creature with a mixed public reputation, today Swindon Festival of Literature presented Ann Widdecome in all of her similar guises.

Ostensibly in town to talk about her book Sackcloth and Ashes, the former MP made it clear right from the start that she was happy to talk and take questions about any aspect of present day politics or her often controversial stance on religious issues.

This was one intimidating, charming performer with no need for protection as she slickly moved from one topic to another. At the centre of her 28 minutes (exactly) presentation was the idea of penance and where does it fit into our modern ‘me, me, me’ society. Continue reading →

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Philip Lymbery and Laurens de Groot, Swindon Festival of Literature

6 May

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Danger, murder, anarchy and Hollywood-style celebrity – the audience was in for a roller coaster ride at this evening’s Swindon Festival of Literature events at Swindon Arts Centre. And an unexpected endorsement for fast food chain, McDonalds. Continue reading →

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Wildflower Story Hunt, Swindon Festival of Literature

6 May

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Or: blowing flowers up with TNT.

Following in the footsteps of one of Swindon’s eminent writers and Victorian naturalist, Richard Jefferies; Milo, Sydney and I hunted for wildflowers and their stories, planted potatoes and peas and ate cream teas. Continue reading →

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TB or not TB? That is the question.

5 May

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Badgerlands author Patrick Barkham and some heavy Brock at Lower Shaw Farm

TuBerculosis or The Badger? Is the same question put another way and it’s this  dilemma that Patrick Barkham admits he makes no attempt to resolve in Badgerlands, an immersive tunnel into the strange set of people and places that surround this elusive and controversial mammal. Continue reading →

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Dawn Chorus, Swindon Festival of Literature

5 May

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Apparently there are plenty of morning people in Swindon. Or maybe, like me, they like the Dawn Chorus so much that they forgive the early rise. Or maybe, just once in a while, it’s great to make the effort and see the early May mist, hear the joy of the birds as they wake and see the day slowly easing in with a beautiful red, stretching across the line of artfully arranged clouds. And then think, wow, Swindon can be really quite picturesque. Continue reading →

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Swindon Festival of Literature Launch 2014

21 Mar

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The Death Cafe. “Everyone welcome but not recommended for anyone recently bereaved.” I’m wondering if I should go to this on Monday 12 May as my cat died a few weeks ago.

She was twenty years old and this was, I’m told, a ‘good innings’. But she was part of our family for nearly half my life so our cat-lessness is making us sad.

But what’s this got to do with the launch of the twenty-first Swindon Festival of Literature, yesterday, noon, at Swindon Central Library?

Funny you should ponder. Sandwiched between Nathan Filer (The Shock of the Fall) and Kate Adie (Needs No Introduction), is the Death Cafe, a discussion about death and dying. You may partake of rich tea but perhaps not sympathy. Bring not your raw nerves; bring instead your pragmatism. Continue reading →

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Swindon Festival of Poetry Finale

12 Oct

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Claire Trevien. A beautifully spoken poet in holey tights. Professionalism stripped when asked to speak in French on stage. She’s been in a Best British Poetry 2013 book, so, class act. I liked Introduction to Love, which was what would happen if the rules of writing a thesis were applied to a romantic relationship. You can probably guess.

(I missed Kim Moore. Soz. Apparently she was rather good.)

Elvis McGonagall. Richly deserved one-time World Slam champion. Hilarious lefty comedic political rantings. Harpooned the Queen, Prince Charles as ‘Prince of Biscuits’, Iain Duncan Antoinette ‘Drowning in debt? Then give us a wave / Sell yourself in Poundland. Try to save / Dance as you dig your own pauper’s grave / On 53 quid a week’, and Margaret Thatcher in A bed at the Ritz. Really doesn’t like Tony Blair either. Continue reading →

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Bardwell O’Neil are Game – Swindon Festival of Poetry

9 Oct

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Bardwell O’Neil are Game turned out to be the perfect format for a seven year old to write poetry. Basically: a running around game, followed by writing down words about it, followed by another running around game, followed by more words, then poetic genius, followed by more running around games followed by more poetic genius. Wears me out just remembering it.

Yes, I’m probably biased because it’s my seven year old writing the genius poetry. But here’s the evidence: he’s had a story blog since he was four, loves to recount tales (and is addicted to Doctor Who and most other things that happen to be on TV), and going without his bedtime story is the ultimate punishment. However, by the time he’s sat down (what seems like the whole day) at school, and has done his homework (still getting my head around homework at his age) he doesn’t want to concentrate on any more writing.

So Sue Bardwell and Heather O’Neil, both with young sons, embarked on this experiment on Sunday (Broadgreen Community Centre at the Swindon Festival of Poetry) to get kids, boys in particular, writing poetry. So – by way of playground games such as Fruit Salad, Chains, Bulldog and What’s the Time Mr Wolf? – they get kids energised, then thinking about words associated with their actions and emotions, then writing them down into verse and stanzas. Continue reading →

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Roger McGough – Swindon Festival of Poetry

6 Oct
Roger McGough

Roger McGough

Roger McGough’s Friday event at the Swindon Festival of Poetry, As Far As I Know, was a masterclass in brilliant delivery.

Much of the time I was laughing out loud, which made his more thoughtful pieces hit even harder. What I really like about Roger’s work is that his poems at first seem really straight forward and easily understood, but then Roger plays around with the words like a Wimbledon champion, slicing and top-spinning until they flick a winner over the net when I was expecting a passing shot.

Such as A Fine Romance which is about dementia, Alzheimers and, er, love.

Or in As Far As I Know, where he lists the awful things he hasn’t done, before comically mixing them up: ‘molested a bomb soaked in voicemail.’

Poet Laureate Carol Anne Duffy called Roger the patron saint of poetry, so he wrote a response to her best known anthology, The World’s Wife (see post), by way of, for example, Mr Nightingale (spouse of Florence Nightingale) and Enid Blyton’s husband. Mr Blyton is fed up with his wife’s fictional characters supplanting him in their marriage, so he wishes that a haunted cave would collapse on the Famous Five or ‘five famous skeletons wash up on some distant shore’.

And I think I’m with him on that.

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Sliproad Poetry – Up the Junction! at Swindon Festival of Poetry

6 Oct

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Yesterday I went down the M4. Well, physically I crossed the great divide of the M4 from the Marlborough side to the Swindon side. But poetically I travelled from Bristol to London, being a bit late for Swansea and Cardiff.

Up the Junction!, part of the Swindon Festival of Poetry, was the loose theme for sticking a bunch of poets together in a room (at the impressive youth centre The Platform) for a large chunk of the day. And it worked in the same way cabaret works – some you like, some you don’t and some passes you by.

At this point I must share that I took my (almost) six month old along and, as any parent will tell you, things tend to revolve around them. Sometimes because I have to tend to her needs, sometimes because I realise I’ve been stroking her head and not paid much attention to anything else.

Heather, who had her third child a couple of weeks after mine, was there with baby in tow. We are both pretty tired. ‘Are you getting much of this?’ I think she asked me, or I asked her. ‘Sometimes I catch a line I like, or one I don’t. Both good,’ she said. Continue reading →

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