The Asylum a Great Success
I claim the right to be the first person to recall the fine evening that was the ABCtales 3rd live event, latest in a long series of gigs both notable and increasingly popular amongst the rue (e accute) literati of once-trendy London.
Many pops were taken at Mr Tony of the "like me 'cos I look sincere" tendency of the Labour movement. The Horrendous Thatch came in for some grief. Peter Snow is adjusting his swingometer and his dress as we read and psephologists are examining their pstatistics.
Robert Rankin from Hove was supposed to read from any one of his five thousand books. He forgfot the plot and drolly wooed the still-sober crowd into laughing and loving his mostly true-life stories. Christopher Twigg practised a certain studied diffidence, unsurpassed until the crowd-pleaser and recent star of radio and stand-up, bobblehat 2000, aka David Floyd, aka Pink Floyd Faeries, had unsuspecting punters agog with his self-afacement. So Twigg came back for a reprise of poetry and some song. Van Morrison meets Donovan.
Fifty folk took advantage of the night's fare that also included ABCtaler, Claudia Conway whose story told of strong emotions and drugs in a world slightly later than 2001 and sub-editor and cherrypicker, Avra Kouffman with some poetic intensity.
In the time-honoured tradition of the two previous ABCtales events, Tiff came up out of the crowd to give us her poem of love and lust.
There were other ABCtalers in the crowd. We'll get them on the stage yet. The well-known spaghetti si and his mates from Sutton Coldfield (they came by bus for Crissakes) had their first night out of their 16" x 16" bedsit in 22 months and enthused that was "more fun than staying at home".
I did not wear a miniskirt and bloody Dubberley had a trouser suit on!
