Just a quick one from me to say that last Wednesday I competed in Heat 2 of the Roundhouse Poetry Slam, and was delighted to qualify for the final tomorrow (28th August). It was probably the highest standard slam I’ve ever been in, so it was a real honour to get through. The final has long been sold out, but the Roundhouse are live streaming the event on their website, as well as live tweeting it. Regardless of what happens to me, I can guarantee that it will be a top class event and well worth a couple of hours of your time.
After the Roundhouse Heat I went to Shambala Festival, via my dad’s 60th in Nottingham (happy birthday dad), to take part in the slam at Chai Wallahs (‘Slambala’ – I can’t claim the credit for that pun). It was a great event, with a real mixed bag of performances – from pro hip hop artists taking part alongside doing their own booked sets to mad sleep-deprived hippies. I probably fell into the latter category. 14 performers, cheered down to 4, cheered down to 2. No final poem because time was short, so cheered down to a winner. I came second, and was very pleased, particularly given that I went on first. Lovely lovely crowd too. The winning poem was a ridiculous and fantastic rhyming list of every country on earth. Every single one. Ending with “…France. Now everybody dance.” A small but perfectly formed moment of genius. For me, though, the real winner was Johnny Fluffypunk’s little boy, who gradually took over compering the slam from his excellent dad and the excellent Dreadlockalien, and absolutely smashed it. Everyone adored him. Even the most cynical of Shambala’s hipsters.
I saw some incredible things at Shambala (poets mostly, but also spectacles in general, including a lot of glorious nudity!), and before that at the Edinburgh Fringe, both of which I will post about at length soon. For now, a small and now thankfully over slam post.