The Big Moo

I’m back!  I have very sore feet and legs from lots of bending down and loads of walking from venue to venue (Milton Keynes shopping centre is one mile end-to-end and the Theatre District is another 500 metres from that).

I got asked to write some of my poems out in big chalk letters “all over The Theatre District”…so I did.

Literally hundreds of people watched me do it and by the end of tonight several thousand will have seen my work.  This is a very good thing.

I also did two performance sets, one hour each, on the two stages.  One stage was by the “Big Tree” in Midsummer Place and the other stage was slap, bang in the middle of Middleton Hall surrounded by all the cafes and restaurants.  I got a very enthusiastic reception and was asked back in the evening for some yummy food (from which I have returned).  I’ve been approached by a few people to do some more in other venues in the next few weeks so I may well take up the offer.

All in all, a very good day…although I am absolutely wiped out now (and a little sunburnt).

To see some of my pics go here:

http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/ian.barker/TheBigMooFringeFestivalOfArtsJuly11132008

There are lots more pictures on the way as I was photographed by the press and several friends who will send me the pictures soon.

Yes, I did read “Sleeper“, twice, and yes my dad did cry, twice.  🙂

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While you’re waiting…

Catch me in the Theatre District Milton Keynes all day tomorrow plus the Main Stage in Middleton Hall and on the Fringe Stage at Midsummer Place from about 1pm.  I will also be by “the statues” outside the Theatre and Milton Keynes Art Gallery and you’ll also see my poems and work written all over the pavements around The MK Theatre District.

Specially for my fellow bloggers here’s one of my poems currently not on the website (note to Americans – me being an Englishman obviously means that “pants” here refers to underpants/knickers/undercrackers).

Sock monster

(with apologies to Dr. Seuss)
Give back my pants you evil swine,
give the pants back, the pants are mine.
I’ve got none left but the woolly pants
and they are the itchy ones that itch like ants.
I’ve got eight socks and they are all odd
except for the two with the holes, you sod pig,
and the pair with flowers that make me look gay ghey,
give my pants back, give them back today.

What do you do with my underwear,
when you snaffle my pants to your secret lair?
Do they sit on your head like a panty hat
or do you cuddle them in bed like a panty cat?
do they fly on a pole like a panty flag?
GIVE MY PANTS BACK, YOU MAKE ME MAD!

Do you think it’s funny to take just one of each?
Do you stretch them out as towels on monster beach?
Or do you go to visit sock monster camp
and sleep in my sock
and stay out of the damp?
I’ve been searching high and low,
I’m ten minutes late and I’ve got to go.
Give my socks back, don’t you care?
I can’t go out with one foot bare!

Grantham

I am off being a proper poet right now – more blogging on this later.  Meanwhile; the overdue post about Grantham…. 🙂

So, Grantham.  A little background: my friend Gary is a DJ.  Quite a good one actually having DJ’d at various places including Pascha, Ibiza and venues locally as well as….Grantham.

He’s been trying to get me to Dj again almost as long as he’s known me.  I used to Dj professionally for about 10 or 12 years.  Lots of places, lots of different gigs from village hall to huge and swanky venue, even the Cafe Royal and The Hilton International Park Lane (where I was a DJ in a DJ if you see what I mean).

I stopped when the urge to kill all the punters got to the point where I almost couldn’t resist it.  🙂

So anyway, superstar DJ managed to persuade me to nip off to Grantham for the weekend to pull a couple of gigs at his regular haunt (The Playhouse) which is owned by a mate of his – an ex-Milton Keynes lad.

Saturday was a regular evening gig.  Lots of funky house, lots of club mix versions of chart stuff and some classics.

Weird things went on, like people in odd clothing…

and the evening wore on and on in the same vein.  In general it was fine.  Gary was amazing.  I am hypercritical of other DJs – always hate discos because I’m so arrogant I rarely think the poor DJ is doing a good job.

Saturday brought out the odd people.  Several hen parties and a group of lads in zoot suits.  We asked but never received an explanation of why they were dressed like 1920s New Orleans pimps.  Freaky.

Every so often drunken Grantham lads would try their luck on the punchbag machine.  The more drunk they get the more they try to wack this thing through the wall of the pub.  It was about 3 feet from the left-hand side of the decks.  Loud.  Loud.  Loud.

Gary punched the highest score despite being the size of a large elf.  He claims it’s down to technique and practice…but he only tells me that, he just says “and I’m only a little guy” to the lads trying to beat him.  🙂

We crashed the night above the pub with Gary having a bed and me crunching myself up on a very small setee.

Morning came and after bacon sarnies and lots of me talking to the landlord’s 4 month-old daughter Gary and I skipped off downstairs and played pool.  What do DJs do on a Sunday morning?  They play pool and beat the computer programmer…very comprehensively.  🙂

Like the Murphy’s, I’m not bitter.

We took a stroll around and went to the 3 Mobile shop and Gary bought a Skype phone from 3.  This was mainly because I’d bought one a week earlier and was extolling the virtues of being about to call “people in other countries for free”.  I can definitely recommend it if you have friends in far-flung places, America, for example, because you can literally speak to them for as long as you want without charge..saving loads of cash, which is always nice.

It was a fun weekend and next week I am *actually* going to be doing some DJing at my step-daughter’s 21st birthday – mainly a “party set”.

Meanwhile…back to being a poet…in the rain…

Hmm, 12 hours and still sleepy

The fact that I just spent about a minute staring into the inside of my cooker wondering where my freshly washed shirts have gone seems to indicate that I might just still be a little tired.

p.s. It’s ok, I’ve found them inside the washing machine now.

Le Weekend

Bonjour mes enfants.

I have returned from a bumper weekend of DJing, sleep deprivation and Skype phone battery testing.

Since I have to naff off to Derby and stand in the middle of a quarry and look all clever with some hand-scanners and GSM modems I’ll have to go but I’ll return later for a bumper blog full of photos of weirdos lovely people in strange costumes of varying brightness.

See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya…

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