Getting my head around the idea of having to cut some of the poems... ones which mean a lot to me but nothing to anyone else... very difficult... it's a "thanks but not thanks" feeling...

OK. So I've found around 10 publishers, listed at the right hand side... some laughably big and the others charmingly small but local. Tomorrow I'll write my cover letter and stick a few in jiffy bags. I know 10 is a very small amount but you never know do you...

I don't know why but I've been working on my ukulele songbook and put an order in for one of these.

I'm on atkins... very cheesy...

I discovered a hard disk full of songs kris and I recorded a few years ago and not been able to stomach listening to. Apart from my awful singing, they're all about love going wrong really... kind of a prequel to the poems. Anyway, listening to them again got me really excited about playing again.

This one called Underground Mountain was written and recorded in less than an hour and was our first play with Garageband... It's also a poem that appears mid way through book... bad times really, listen to it, you'll see what I mean, but now this makes me smile at myself.

Had a session with Sophie being my editor. You kind of trust someone telling you something is any good when they have the balls to tell you which bits are really shit. And I guess I will probably have to cut at least 20 or so of the bad ones and rethink them slightly, not sure if I can, the subject matter is becoming increasingly abstract, fading like uninteresting dreams do. We met in VJ's, a very nice bar in York... and met a guy who must have rented the same house as me as students in balsall heath...

I was introduced to ideas about line form and narrative, which made sense and a number of trendy bars round york. We went to an usual arts/dance/intsallation thing and I felt all nostalgic about lighting. I met a guy who recognised me from playing ukulele in the shop he works in in Copmanthorpe. Embarrassingly cool don't you think? We caught the last bus home more than slightly the worse for wear, both wondering how the bus managed to stay on the road .. it was spinning so bad.

To do list for this week. Find some publishers who may be interested and send off the current versions. What the hell. Rework the crap ones. Start a new positive collection so that working on this (or the old one) doesn't feel like wallowing and drag me down and back into a past I'm trying to forget.

I found these recently... a divorce poetry blog, the unbearable bobness of being and spicy cauldron, poetry and then some and live your life as if it's real.

Dawnay Arms, Newton on Ouse, York
Monday 7th March, 2005


It was acoustic night at the "local" pub, The Dawnay Arms . I've been going to them in the hope that maybe one night there'd be someone any good playing. The first one I went to was truly truly awful, many of them have been painfully average. Still, I like the idea of it and sometimes it's wonderful.

Last night "The Dangleberries" were playing. I'd seen them already at the Tsunami gig in Linton on Ouse. They are great, they can sing (amazingly well), harmonize (well), they can play (well) they do unusual songs and keep mashing them up, suddenly breaking from a pub classic to a "Fuck The System" by Rage Against The Machine. And they are charmingly funny too.

I watched a few songs and they were as enjoyable as ever. There was a Cornish guy there, shouting out requests... he asked for "cum by ya"... and got "Combine Harvester"... (to the tune of cum ba ya) you have to be a fan of The Worzels to get that one... fuck it was funny though...

Then there was a power cut. The place went completely black. And they broke into "I Believe In A Thing Called Love" by darkness... and we all sang along as Penny the sexy landlady ran round lighting candles. They use a small PA... the electricity came back on for the solo and the last chorus. It was already shaping up to be a perfect night. I was glad I'd braved the one and half mile walk so I could stay and drink a few more pints rather than popping home after one as I usually do.

They then smashed Cher into a Pink Floyd song... They then did "Wide Open Space" by Mansun.. I'd forgotten about that song... bloody brilliant. They played a lovely Crowded House song, then announced they were gonna do a Marillion song called Kaylie... I hate Marillion, I really do. I voiced the word "Noooooooooooooooooo!"... and the band smiled... acknowledged it and said they were gonna play it anyway.

Half way through the song, Becky arrived and she was pissed as pissed could possibly be. She made her way to some bar stools near the front, went to sit down and fell over hilariously... it became awkwardly embarrassing though. Whilst thrashing around trying to get up, struggling with the heap of stools she'd created, her hipster jeans (and she's not a small woman) had worked their way down and her whole bum was now in the air. It was hilarious.

Then, the singer, who'd been doing a solo up until this point, looked up, shrieked slightly at the bum in front of him, and on the fly changed the words to "I didn't want to break your arse, but you broke mine...kaylee...". Everyone was laughing. One guy did choose to shout "disgusting" at her... he was an arse too... Then a few bars of "You Saw The Whole of The Moon" by The Waterboys.

Becky, with help from a few friends, was now sorted out and sitting on a bar stool at the front. Although most of her bum was still hanging out... She was flapping and twisting her good arm around like half a demented hippy dancer... almost like slurred sign language... dancing in tongues... loving every minute.... so was I.

Then... the Cornish got up to go to the bar with with trousers pulled down at the back with his bum cheeks sticking out.... Fuck, that was funny... seeing this huge bloke's arse... the lead singer commented on the plooker on the guy's bum and they broke into dualling banjos for a few seconds. Ah.. good old village life at it's best.

The banter between the band and becky and everyone else was fun all night, mainly revolving around bottoms and becky's loud and oft repeated wish to "have the lead singers children". She also told us all she gave good head, in case we were wondering.

At the end of the night... and what a night... the band were packing up... and Karl (the landlord) signed to everyone to sneak out and leave the singer and Becky alone... so we did. The whole pub creeped out and sniggered outside. He came running out after a few seconds terrified after he looked up and saw the situation he was in. He was moving fast.

I walked home. Laughing all the way. I'm still laughing now the next day.

Well the books have been sitting under the stairs for a few weeks now. I've given a couple of copies away to friends, but at the moment I'm having trouble finding a publisher small enough to pay attention to a jiffy bag arriving with my book in it, and one big enough to do something useful with it if they like it.

And at times, it all seems slightly petty...