9 shiny facts about my time at Shunt.

1 – I stood on a bar and shouted poems at people who weren’t listening. Why aren’t these people listening, I thought, Tom Cruise never had this problem when he destroyed poetry for everyone ever in cocktail*, perhaps they’re all wankers, I mused. Then it occurred to me that they just wanted to buy a drink and that I was the dipock standing on the bar preventing them from doing so by shouting poems in their ticket buying faces. On reflection it became apparent that given the situation it was definitely me that was the wanker.

I AM A MASSIVE POETRY WANKER, I thought to myself as I launched nasal couplets into the shouty ether. It was a liberating epiphany.

2 – Occasionally Joe Hakim made *Bowie Noise* come out of his face. If you ever meet Joe Hakim, get him to make *Bowie Noise* come out of his face. It is an uncommonly satisfying experience.

3 – On my first day, I got off the tube at London Bridge station and headed for the venue (also in London bridge station). Three quarters of an hour later, I arrived at Shunt HQ, disintegrated Google map in one hand, rain sodden suitcase in the other. I was half an hour late, but still the first poet to arrive. If you are thinking of becoming a live literature promoter you should know this about poets, we’re rarely on time.

This is because we’re too busy scanning Pret menus for univocalisms to be punctual. Nothing can be done about this; it’s just how we roll.

4 – I spent the week holed up in a Trevelodge at Aldgate East. If you give them some pounds, an appropriately joyless Eastern European lady will give you a plate of microwaved chicken nuggets. They allow you to ingest these in your appropriately joyless room whilst watching an emotive Danielle steel adaptation on channel five. If something isn’t done soon, I fear we will eventually all live like this.

5 – Molly Naylor incorporated glitter and paper planes into her performance, it was ace.  I made approximately ten million paper planes for Molly Naylor. It is the only manual job I’ve had that I wasn’t fired from.

6 – I totally fell in love with the venue. A sprawling labyrinth of beautifully dank Victorian railway arches, dotted with makeshift performance areas. There are rats and it smells a bit of nana wee but these are minor issues when you consider the vast gothic phantasmagorical feel of the place. It’s a sort of grimy yet stunning subterranean playground for art loving haircuts to get banjaxed in. They put on a good show too, there are musicians, DJ’s and live performances every night. During my time there, I saw greased up beardy pole dancers giving it large, played with a light organ, fondled an art installation; they had a facial hair workshop, discussion groups, a cinema, a games room and a genuinely eclectic program of music and performance. Sadly they’re soon to be booted out to make way for a McTescos or summat, so if you get the opportunity, go and have a look before they Starbucks the gaff, it really is an awesome space.

7 – When we realised the nature of the event, watching the reality of the situation paint itself across the faces of the gathered scribes was priceless. Not only did we only have one day to write and rehearse our piece, but when it was ready, the audience would probably be ignoring us. Despite outward appearances most performers are walking bone baskets of fragility and neuroses. We’re needy,  often striving to build a tenuous relationship with our audience so that their approval may light the dark and empty cavern of our souls. How would we cope with this mass rejection, it would surely be like being dumped by a roomful of people all at once. There was soul searching aplenty, existential examinations of what motivates us to do this thing we do. Then they told us we’d be getting free beer and sandwiches and the whole thing didn’t seem so bad after all.

7 – I had a radio mic, one of those Matrix style jobbies that hooks over your ears. I thought it was switched off as I bounded up to Apples and Snakes’ Sarah Ellis and shouted, “Look at me, I’m Britney Spears”. My voice boomed around the bustling catacombs like that of a whiny Northern sky god. Oh dear.

8 – On Wednesday, I told the audience that they were beautiful and unique, like a slutty unicorn. I stand by this claim.

9 – Everyone did a dead good job under what were unusual and challenging circumstances, so big ups to Josh, Molly, Helen, Joe and everyone involved. That’s my incestuous, back slapping, poetry jerk circle moment covered. As you were, readers.

*Click here to watch on youtube, if it doesn’t make you gag, remove all your clothes, scale the nearest tree and stay up there, as you are no longer human.