Reading things out loud

I spent last night in Derby at an open-mic poetry event. Now, it’s funny, but, even as someone who loves poetry, I can feel the weight of the pejorative misconception that that conjures up. But, I’m delighted to say, it was really good! There was very little in the way of tortured metaphor and esoteric, unintelligible introspection, and instead some good poems – funny, tender, concise – from a wide and surprising range of people.
I’ve been writing for years, but never read any out loud to anyone before, and I thought it was about time I did. I chose three I thought would go down well and, well, they did, with some lovely comments from some of the other participants.
There were about 25 of us in total, but it was relaxed and informal and good fun, apart from the end when the last chap to read misunderstood that if you’re using a mic then there’s no need to shout as well. My ears are still ringing. I’ll be going again next month – it’s held at déda (Derby Dance Centre, as was). You should come too (if you live near to Derby, I suppose. You might not find it worth the effort if you’re in Inverness).

Today’s Strictly Come Dancing spotee was Len Goodman, in the changing rooms at the gym.

IN SUMMARY: I’m going to be reading more things out loud in future. I really must recharge the batteries on the Gethin Detector.

“Would you mind awfully if I – ” THUD.

My arms are shaking. Not wildly and madly, like I’m on children’s television. Just continually, like I’m coming off heroin. I had a ‘personal trainer taster session’ at the gym today. Thankfully, that description wasn’t taken too literally.

I’ve recently joined the gym and the chap who inducted me, John, was keen for me to take advantage of this free session, despite me making it clear that personal finances (lack of) made it highly unlikely that there’d be subsequent bookings.

So, today I’ve been holding weights at angles above my head that I could barely sustain, pulling things that didn’t want to be pulled, pushing things that didn’t want to be pushed, and getting myself into odd positions on large bouncy balls. At one point, he was talking to me, after having made me walk in a line with a kettle ball – kettle weight? kettle drum? kettle? – in each hand that I was holding above my shoulders, alternating with – oh, this is too difficult to describe. Look, I’d been carrying some weights, and then he wanted to explain something to me, and I seriously thought I was going to faint. And I had that lovely English feeling, of not wanting him to notice that I was going slightly cross-eyed, of not wanting to cause a fuss, as his voice faded out while his lips kept moving, and I started to wonder how unseemly it would be for a man in his thirties to be carried out of there by paramedics. I did recover, a minute or two later, at which point he was asking whether I wanted to do another set of the indescribable weight-walking thing, and I had to admit defeat. The memory of PE lessons of yore flooded back at that moment, and my adult self coalesced in a puddle round my trainers.

Oh, and at one point, I was performing core-stability exercises next to Bruno Tonioli from Strictly Come Dancing, which was a first for both of us.

IN SUMMARY: I’m knackered, but I saw a man off the telly.