The arse end of North Norfolk, Lesbian identity, survival, a long one, up Barbara's Brown Alley, and Kit's Bowie moment

Our hostess-with-the-mostest Paul Burston was in full sparkly getup as John-John, "Jurassic Paul" and I trolled into the nightclub Heaven on Friday for our first sojourn to "London's peerless gay literary salon" Polari in months...

It felt really good to be back and, as we joined our chums Emma and Toby at the front table, the air buzzed with anticipation.

After the customary welcome and intro, our first reader James McDermott took to the (dazzling) stage. Described by none other than "national treasure" Stephen Fry thus: "His eye, tone, language, wit, insights and power of expression are simply magnificent", he had a lot to live up to - and certainly did not disappoint! 

He read a selection of poems from his new anthology Wild Life, all about "the nature of queerness, the queerness of nature, and the queerness of ‘natural’ masculinity", against the backdrop of his native North Norfolk - and here are two of them:

Recentre - a poem by James McDermott

Masculinity is a Drag - a poem by James McDermott

Excellent stuff.

Diametrically opposite in tone, our next reader Lisa Luxx - poet, playwright, essayist and political activist of British and Syrian heritage, who also lectures on revolutionary poetics and queer theory - was much more intense and dramatic, reading a selection of her heartfelt poems (that were also helpfully projected on the big screen behind her) about love, longing, family and political conflict, such as this one:

we don’t make love we make live

it will be the days no one follows   I died
with   and was reborn   like they used to

the days when everyone will be drunk
            & asking each other for help

it will have been a long while since two
passers by bumped into each other

like flutes on a wind chime   knocking
accidental song out of a stranger’s body

two girls will be high as concrete
                                    summoning the moon

one will be knackered
from lugging sheet music out of rubble

the other
            will be holding up every shard
            of glass to the light
            looking for a scream
she may or may not have dropped here

with humidity blurring the mountains
            air con drip drips

                                    & I will roll
            up another one
                        stomach churning in the heat

these will be the days when bone collectors in
cufflinks order our nations to forget

            we will become sudden to remember
            one another   you & I
            a reunion resisting amnesia

then, I will be holding your small wet pulse
in my open jaw   looking at you like a dog
cradling in his mouth what he’s forbidden to chew

two startled creatures in cotton t-shirts
            practising being alive

With that one, and her equally memorable paean to sexuality Dyke, I was stunned. [Here's another one of hers - Lesbian - that is just as powerful but was not featured.]

Mr Burston returned to the stage to read a rather poignant piece - the epilogue to his memoir We Can Be Heroes, his account of survival against the odds of the combined challenges of the AIDS era, drugs and alcohol. He's proudly sober these days, and thrives on adrenaline rather than other substances, thank heavens!

Then it was time for Paul and his "partner-in-crime" Karen McLeod to announce the contenders for The Polari Prize:

The Polari First Book Prize Long List:

• Love from the Pink Palace by Jill Nalder (Wildfire)
• A Visible Man by Edward Enninful (Bloomsbury)
• The Whale Tattoo by Jon Ransom (Muswell Press)
• Whatever Happened to Queer Happiness by Kevin Brazil (Influx Press)
• Rising of the Black Sheep by Livia Kojo Alour (Polari Press)
• The New Life by Tom Crewe (Chatto & Windus)
• None of the Above by Travis Alabanza (Canongate Books)
• Orpheus Builds a Girl by Heather Parry (Gallic Books)
• In Her Jaws by Rosamund Taylor (Banshee Press)
• Is This Love? by CE Riley (Serpent’s Tail)
• No Country for Girls by Emma Styles (Sphere)
• Some Integrity by Padraig Regan (Carcanet Press)

The Polari Prize (book of the year, excluding debuts) Long List:

• Fire Island by Jack Parlett (Granta Books)
• A Working Class Family Ages Badly by Juno Roche (Dialogue Books)
• Other People Manage by Ellen Hawley (Swift Press)
• All Down Darkness Wide by Seán Hewitt (Jonathan Cape)
• Young Mungo by Douglas Stuart (Picador)
• Mother’s Boy by Patrick Gale (Tinder Press)
• The School House by Sophie Ward (Corsair)
• Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield (Picador)
• Rookie by Caroline Bird (Carcanet Press)
• Cells by Gavin McCrea (Scribe)
• Screen Age by Fenton Bailey (Ebury Press)
• Here Again Now by Okechukwu Nzelu (Dialogue Books)

 

Once the dust had settled after the break, Ms McLeod was nowhere to be found - and none other than Polari favourite Barbara Brownskirt barnstormed her way onto the stage, determined to read 125 poems from her "twenty-five unpublished works", starting (of course) with her tribute to her idol Judi! Judi! Judi! Dench!.

Other crowd-pleasers like Fabergé Eggs and Menopause were interspersed with some newer odes - including the bizarre Judi's U-bend and Sad Spare Room - from her latest anthology Brown Alley, with its accompanying launch video.

Utterly bonkers brilliance, as always!

And finally, it was time for the star turn - the artist also known as Ida Barr, Tina C, Fred Barnes and Christopher - Kit Green. A lovely person (and near neighbour to us here at Dolores Delargo Towers) we have followed Ida in particular for years - she was the pivotal moment at my sister's wedding reception!

Now a recording career in Kit's own name beckons, with a brand new album Always Here, from which they sang us a selection of fab songs.

The crowning glory was, however, a majestic cover of David Bowie's surprise 2013 single Where Are We Now? [little did we know at the time it was released that its lyrics were a portent of David's illness and death just three years later]. A tear came to my eye...

With rousing applause for Kit's excellent set, it was time for a (quite speedy, given the Friday night "curfew" - set by Heaven, so it could transform the place back into a nightclub) finale and curtain-call, and that was that for another night!

Another triumphal evening's entertainment.

We love Polari!

Butterflies, Whitney vs Allah, fisting gloves and bus stop sanitiser

It was a long time coming. Our last outing - and in fact the very last time it was able to be held - was February's "Polari in Heaven". So it was indeed a joy for all concerned that John-John and I were able to attend the re-emergence of Polari at the venerable Royal Vauxhall Tavern last night!

Our hostess-with the mostest Mr Paul Burston was thrilled, too, resplendent in his Bowie facemask and a butterfly-patterned shirt ["like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon", he observed], as he opened proceedings in the socially-distanced, table-service-only venue...

...and he should well have been proud, as we were treated to a fantabulosa evening's entertainment!

Opening proceedings in a fittingly OTT fashion was the whirlwind of energy that is Amrou Al-Kadhi, aka Glamrou.

Not only is this glamorous creature nominated for the Polari First Book Prize this year for their autobiography Unicorn: The Memoir of a Muslim Drag Queen, but also a brilliant and funny performer - as their "love song to Allah" So Emotional [yes, it is based on Miss Houston's 80s wibbler], complete with genuflection and an attempted pole-dance more than proved. Mind-blowing - we loved it!

With the applause ringing in our ears, with what could anyone follow that?

 

How about a paean to lesbian sex, and the (ahem) ins-and-outs of fisting?

And that is exactly what our next reader the lovely Kate Davies provided, in an uproarious and xxx-rated extract from her new book In At The Deep End (shortlisted for the "other" award, for established writers, The Polari Prize 2020). The book's blurb alone is hilarious:

Until recently, Julia hadn’t had sex in three years.

But now:

• a one-night stand is accusing her of breaking his penis;
• a sexually confident lesbian is making eyes at her over confrontational modern art;
• and she’s wondering whether trimming her pubes makes her a bad feminist.

Julia’s about to learn that she’s been looking for love – and satisfaction – in all the wrong places…

Quite an eye-opener, indeed. And utterly brilliant.

After a short break for a pee and a fag, it was time for a little "round-table discussion", with Paul exploring a bit more of the lives of  Glamrou and Kate, and the inspirations behind their writing. 

Both were illuminating. Obviously the harrowing childhood of a closet gayer being brought up in a strict Islamic Iraqi household makes the bravery of Glamrou's chosen career as an outrageous drag performer all the more admirable. However Kate's complex and varied history, including "a short-lived career as a burlesque dancer that ended when she was booed off stage at a Conservative club, dressed as a bingo ball", and culminating in her memorable coming-out as a lesbian when she met her first lover after one such performance in the RVT itself, was equally fascinating.

But, just as we thought it was safe...

...Ms Barbara Brownskirt arrived to take over the stage!

One of our favourites - and longtime regular "antagonist" at Polari - the "Brownskirt woman" (the creation of the adorable Karen McLeod), the "Writer-in-Residence at the 197 bus stop on Croydon Road in Penge" continues to be overlooked by all the book prizes yet keeps up the pressure by reading them to the audience, like it or not! Last night included some dearly loved favourites, including Judi (Judi, Judi) (her love-song for Britain's favourite theatrical Dame) and Cruelty-Free Shoes, but we were also treated to some new ones, including The Blackberries Are Worrying Me and a new lockdown poem The Bus Stop Will Not Be Sanitised!

Here she is, in fine form, at a previous RVT evening:

Barbara Brownskirt - Same Sex Marriage

We love her!

And, after the customary "curtain call", we made the most of the very short time remaining till the current "curfew closing time" of 10pm to mingle with some of the few regulars in attendance among the throng (Sexy Lexi and the lovely Uli from Gay's The Word bookshop among them), before wending our way back home again. I was home by 10.45pm - unheard of for a Friday night in the old days!

I have booked now (thanks, Paul!) for the next outing on 23rd October, featuring readings from Booker Prize-nominated novelist Philip Hensher, and the magnificent Diana Souhami, esteemed biographer of society lesbians such as Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, Gluck, Violet Trefusis, Radcliffe Hall, Romaine Brooks and Natalie Barney.

Can't wait!

We love Polari.

Heaven, I'm in Heaven

From the venue's gigs website:

London clubland in the 1970s was a fairly dismal place. It compared very unfavourably with New York and many European cities and the concept of ‘clubbing’ as we understand the term today simply did not exist.

To that end a group of innovative characters got together and took over the site that was a run down old roller disco called Global Village and in December 1979 Heaven opened its doors for the first time. It was timed perfectly. Six months earlier Mrs Thatcher had been elected and an era began that saw unemployment rise to levels last seen in the 1930s. The sense of decay and gloom was palpable. The ‘Swinging London’ of the 1960s a distant memory. London needed a splash of colour and flamboyance to counter-balance the otherwise grey monochrome that was the reality of the British capital.

Heaven was the brainchild of Jeremy Norman, responsible for the Embassy Club, which was seen as the nearest London had to Studio 54 in New York. Heaven quickly became the focal point for what had until then been a fairly understated gay scene that hitherto had been based in small hidden cellar bars or pub discos. When Heaven opened its doors in 1979 only twelve years had elapsed since the decriminalisation of homosexuality, and at the time there was still a lot of overt prejudice against gay men and lesbians. Heaven bore the brunt of some of that intolerance and in those days was regarded warily by the authorities.

It did however establish itself as a club venue that constantly re-invented itself... There were periodic live shows featuring bands who fancied playing an off the wall venue rather than the usual spit and sawdust live music venues. New Order played their first London show here in 1981. Bauhaus were filmed at Heaven in 1982 performing their classic Bela Lugosi’s Dead, the footage for which was used in the Catherine Deneuve/David Bowie film The Hunger – one of the original ‘sexy vampire’ movies.

In 2008 MAMA Group went into partnership with G-A-Y founder Jeremy Joseph and purchased Heaven... Jeremy took over sole ownership of Heaven in 2013. G-A-Y was moved over from the Astoria, which was in the process of closing down, and this now occupies the main club sessions on a Thursday, Friday and Saturday and has featured notable performances since that time by Adele, Lady Gaga, Jessie J, Miley Cyrus, One Direction amongst many others.

The rest, as they say, is history.

And so it was that on Wednesday night a little gang of us joined a packed room of old regulars, together with hordes of new faces, in that legendary cavernous under-the-arches venue for a very special 40th anniversary event indeed - as "London's peerless gay literary salon" Polari joined the party. And it was spectacular!



Our host Mr Paul Burston was as proud as a new dad to be up there on the glittering stage that has previously played host to Kylie, Madonna and Britney, as he paid tribute to his experiences of first coming to Heaven as an out-of-town teen - then it was time for our first guest...



Our chum "Sexy Lexi" Alexis Gregory has come a long way since we first knew him as bar whore at BarCode Soho. Playwright, award-winning writer, and - above all, as his performance here tonight ably demonstrated [notwithstanding the magnificence of his "immersive" play Slap that we went to see back in 2015] - an accomplished actor. His latest play Riot Act is actually a completely verbatim portrayal of the stories told by three gay pioneers [whom Lexi personally interviewed]: our very own Mr Burston (who was an activist in the UK in the days of ACT-UP); Miss Lavinia Co-op, drag queen with Bette Bourne's Bloolips troupe and veteran of the 1970s Gay Lib movement; and [the character he inhabited this evening] Michael-Anthony Nozzi, possibly the last survivor of the Stonewall riots in New York [which happened 50 years ago this year].

As Trinidad and Tobago gay activist Jason Jones said in his review:

The Stonewall Riots of June 1969 are fairly well documented, but this first-hand and deeply personal account is full of subtle details and nuances that only someone who was truly present at that historic moment can capture and express.

Nozzi’s account is deeply profound as it captures the essence of what transpired nearly fifty years ago, and what the sparks were that lit the flames that night (Judy Garland RIP); it echoes today in a rather poignant manner as we see Pride celebrations across the world being mired in identity politics, infighting, commercialisation and seemingly losing relevance as to the original intended purposes.

When Alexis Gregory’s atmospheric raspy vocal of Nozzi talks about the blood and gore being everywhere, that even the coins from 'the wishing well', a glass jar that was inside of The Stonewall Inn to collect donations - which a drag queen smashed over a policeman’s head that night of the raid - had spilled out and were stuck to the pavement with blood, you are left wondering: what has LGBT activism become today, and are we too docile in fighting for our equal rights?

And so it was - I was on occasions left gasping for breath as Lexi brought this whole shocking and ground-breaking scenario to life, with the impeccably conveyed world-weary drawl of a New York resident remembering for the first time in years how empowering - if terrifying - the riot was. He still recalled: "You know what's strange, I felt safer on the night of the riots, on the sidewalk in front of Stonewall, than I did in my own home town."

Shocking yet fabulous stuff. Here's Lexi himself talking about the play:

Alexis Gregory talks about Riot Act

Our host Paul himself faced some effort to follow that! He did so admirably, of course, with an extract from his own latest novel, the psychological thriller The Closer I Get - a tantalising snippet of the tale of best-selling author Tom and his coldly obsessive "stalker" Evie; he set the scene at a stage where the obsession seems apparently to have taken them as far as the courts, yet Evie refuses to let it be:

Listening to all the legal arguments today, I was struck by a number of things. One: what a mess we've made for ourselves! Two: what clever bastards these lawyers are. They twist everything, don't they? And three: wouldn't it be easier if we just sorted this our between ourselves?

I know we tried before, that night I waited for you outside your flat. Maybe if you'd invited me in instead of freaking out and calling the police, we could have resolved our differences there and then. We still could. It's not too late. Why make is harder than it needs to be? I'm willing to forgive and forget if you are.

Promise me you'll think about it. Sleep on it and email me in the morning. And if I don't hear from you, at least I'll know where I stand.

And I'll see you tomorrow in court.

Yours,

Evie

Chilling.



An evening of such impressive stature wouldn't be complete, of course, if one didn't get "Varjacked"! And by that, I of course refer to the one-woman whirlwind that is Ms Paula Varjack, lesbian-bisexual poetry's answer to Beyoncé...

We first saw the divine Ms V yonks ago, in 2011 in fact. She stunned us then, and she stunned us again, with her vehemently defiant readings of classics such as Dear Straight Girl [follow the link earlier in this paragraph for that] and more from her vast catalogue, plus this [or at least a brief extract thereof, courtesy of our host Paul] - a sublime musical monologue/paean to her own first encounter with our host venue, created especially for the evening:

Paula Varjack - I'm in Heaven

We love being Varjacked.



We've enjoyed the complete lunacy of the "Writer-in-Residence at the 197 bus stop on Croydon Road in Penge" Barbara Brownskirt many times before, of course. However, when accompanied/introduced by her very own cagoule-clad dance combo "The Brownskirts", we were in fits of laughter! Suitably fired-up by this Terpsichorean spectacle, we lapped up Ms B's delightfully tacky odes including Fabergé Eggs (Between Your Legs), Cruelty-Free Shoes and, of course, the crowd-pleaser Judi Judi Judi Judi Judi Judi Judi Dench!

Ms Karen McLeod, the woman behind the brown skirt, is an absolute genius...



Not to be outdone, the living icon that is Neil Bartlett, OBE - acclaimed writer, theatrical impresario and director, gay rights campaigner and utterly mesmerising thesp - took to the stage of the venue that was at one time his "second home". His monologue, all about his discovery of Hi-NRG pop, poppers and sleazy sex - with three men, in a cubicle, in the club [nah, Ive never done that; much] - all courtesy of Heaven in its heyday, led to a most bizarre conclusion.

Reciting, as Mr Bartlett did, the lyrics as if they were profound poetry, the audience found themselves singing along as one to (ahem)... Miss Belinda Carlisle!

Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?
Ooh heaven is a place on earth
They say in heaven love comes first
We'll make heaven a place on earth
Ooh heaven is a place on earth

When I feel alone
I reach for you
And you bring me home
When I'm lost at sea
I hear your voice
And it carries me

In this world we're just beginning
To understand the miracle of living
Baby I was afraid before
But I'm not afraid anymore

I will look at that song in a very different light forever more.



Finally, headlining an evening of poetry, prose, drama, monologues and dance - a singer extraordinaire! Ms Adele Anderson (for it is she) is another beloved artiste here at Dolores Delargo Towers - we've seen her several times as a founding member of Fascinating Aida, and as a part of the ensemble of artistes hosted by the irrepressible Eve Ferret in her show. Now it was her turn as a solo act to provide the thrills...

She certainly didn't disappoint! Opening with a faboo "German" number - all "Marlene Dietrich-esque" growling vocals and and playing upon the homophone "Weill/Vile" - Adele just owned that stage for the next twenty minutes or so. Here's a clip [courtesy of Paul B again]:

Adele Anderson - That Old Kurt Weill Song (Ray Jessel)

Her takes on Tell Laura I Love Her, a number with which we are unfamiliar which I think was called Baby Let Me Wear Your Clothes, and - in particular - her stalker-ish take on the otherwise camp classic I Who Have Nothing were all fantastic. The audience gave her a much-deserved standing ovation.



This was just as well, as, following the customary "curtain call", the club's minions set to work collecting the chairs, and the DJ Dave Cross ascended to the stage...

...as he was setting up, we went outside en masse for a fag - and just so happened to bump into Our Sal, dragged her into the club, and we all had a bop for the rest of the evening to a load of 70s-80s-90s anthems. I ached. Oh, I ached...



It was one of the most fantabulosa nights out I can recall in a long time.

Our next outing for Polari looks particularly interesting, as the headliner is activist, writer and film producer (Milk) Dustin Lance Black. I am hoping his hubby, and avowed lust object of mine, Tom Daley turns up - I have my tickets. And clean knickers ready... Also appearing are authors Collin Kelley, Kelleigh Greenberg-Jephcott and Angela Chadwick.

We love Polari!

Dench!

Who Do You Think You Are? Barbara Brownskirt - the debut solo appearance by our favourite "manifestation of bitterness, anger and lesbian cliché, railing against her lot through poetry" - was a marvellous evening out. But what of the question raised by the title itself?

Let's let the "poet laureate of Penge" do the introductions...

I am poet-in-residence at the 197 bus stop on Croydon Road, Penge, which is the epicentre between Peckham and Croydon. I have written 21 volumes of poetry mostly at and around the bus stop or on the bus. So far all the publishers have been ignoring my work, but not for long.

Every day is inspiring and thought-provoking in Penge, usually there's a row in the street outside the Conservative Club or some kind of casual racism down the Wetherspoons, but mostly it's just like any small hamlet of London, there's art being made and discount shopping taking place. Usually someone makes an installation piece outside the Travelodge from found objects which I like to look at when going home to my lodgings.


Is this art? Photo by Barbara Brownskirt.

People say Penge is on the up, but they've been saying this to my mother, Mrs Brownskirt, who was an unfulfilled actress cum lollipop lady, since the famous gold rush in the 1980s. We like it as it is: multi-lingual, multi-sexual, working class and real.

I have noticed people with money want to live here, but I'd rather they just stay up the hill in Crystal Palace, because if they move here where will all us poets of the people go next?

Vive la poetry!

The indefatigable Barbara is, of course, the comic creation of the multi-talented Ms Karen McLeod, former air stewardess, former female drag queen(!), stand-up comedienne, author and Polari stalwart. Through her be-cagouled, uptight, Judi Dench-obsessed eyes, however, a whole new world of pithy (and extremely funny) angst is channelled, to perfect effect, complete with her "Womb Words" and in her "safe spaces".

The audience at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern was (as were Paul, John-John, Madam Arcati and I) in stitches, as she mercilessly sent-up po-faced feminists and talentless "performance poets" alike. Many of her familiar (unpublished) poems were present and correct, including Fabergé Eggs (Between Your Legs), The Publishers Are All Bent (But Not In A Good Way) and her excoriation of "her ex Susan" Cruelty-Free Shoes, plus [after a slideshow paean to her icon] the half-chanted Judi ["from volume 3, Furry Purses"]:

Judi Judi Judi Judi Judi Judi Judi Dench!
10 hours I stood there
You walked past me (on the red carpet)
I was on the pavement not red but grey
I watched you go by with yet another sigh

Judi Judi Judi Judi Judi Judi Judi Dench!
Your smile and crinkly twinkly eyes
Your little hairstyle, high on your head
Sexy Grandma
To me you are wife material

Denchy Denchy Denchy Denchy Denchy Jud-ie
How you make me want to clenchy
And I would like to travel my hand
Over your wobbly belly
To cup the young Denchy, Thirsty Drenchy
A cup full of Dench quenched. Time all spent.

Judi Judi Judi Judi Judi Judi Judi Judi Dench!

Here she is at Polari back in 2013 [with at least one familiar face in the audience...]:

Barbara Brownskirt at Polari

This was a superb show - and it seems that from Penge the world is now Barbara Brownskirt's oyster...

50 shades of Crouch End, sci-fi erotica, rude poems, multiple "Ida"s and Alan Bennett in the bath

Before I begin, if you're wondering what happened to my blog about last month's event - it is here.

So - in the words of Imelda Staunton in her tremendous performance in Gypsy - "Curtain up! Light the lights! You got nothing to hit but the heights!" And on with the show...



Thus Mr Paul Burston introduced our friend and fellow Polari regular Wayne Herbert to the podium. He opened with one of the classic tales from his blog of elderly bitchery and shenanigans in his locality of Crouch End, 50 Shades of Grey Power, in the unlikely setting of a crochet blanket stall at the local craft fair:

‘I can guarantee there are 50 shades of grey in this design,’ said Lil with a wink. Cyril disappeared behind the back boards. The potential customer didn’t know where to look, fumbled in his pocket for change, and selected a small black and yellow blanket directly in front of him.

‘That one looks like a wasp,’ Lil said through gritted teeth as she took the patron’s payment. He moved on quickly.

‘Bloody prude,’ Lil said as he walked away – hopefully too quiet for him to hear.

‘Lil.’ I placed the morning refreshments down with a start.

‘Cake – delicious.’ She accepted the napkin-wrapped item in front of her. ‘I was building up a good appetite.’

‘For what?’ asked Cyril as he emerged from his hiding place. Lil let out an enormous hall filling cackle. I noticed her customer scrambling for the door with his buggy taking the corner on two wheels.

‘Not you as well.’

‘Have you read 50 shades?’ I asked.

‘No, but I’ve heard it’s a bit saucy which I added to my sales’ banter.’

‘I haven’t read it, but I’ve heard enough to know that it’s more than saucy. It’s blue in a deviant sort of way…’ I said.

‘What sort of way?’ Lil asked as her cheeks starting to flush deeper than the already existing rouge.

‘In an S & M way,’ Cyril said.

‘Bondage?’ announced Lil loud enough to elicit odd looks from a number of others in our vicinity. Cyril and I nodded.

‘Well I never.’ She took a large bite from the cake and sat down.

‘Crochet and bondage and all before luncheon,’ Cyril said.

Fab - and followed by sneak preview of some of Wayne's "other" work (he's working on a first novel as we speak), too...



Chris Williams was next up - a newcomer to Polari [and it is impossible to find anything on the web about him] - his tale was an intriguing and convoluted (and wry) account of a writer struggling to balance his life with his writing (of what sounds like a rather dreadful pulp sci-fi slice of gay erotica). Entertaining, and well-written, but I don't think I was the only one in the audience who probably got "lost" somewhere in the middle of the reading, trying to work out which bits were the "real" story and where it overlapped with the "book within a book"...



Annabel Pribelszki concluded the first half with a very energetic snatch (and I use that word deliberately) of lesbian erotic performance poetry. It was very - ahem - "in yer face". I just felt uncomfortable.

Hey ho.

After a suitably hilarious break, bantering with Bryanne and Simon, it was time for John-John, our Paul, little Tony and I to resume our places for the second half, with our opener the very charming Ms Amy Mason, reading from her début novel The Other Ida.



It's certainly an interesting story - a wayward girl (who in the opening passage tries to drown her own sister), scarred by being named after a notorious play written by her un-motherly mother Bridie, and drawn into the maelstrom of its film adaptation. Set in several timelines, there's a hinted-at development of a lesbian encounter with the film's star, then, years later the impending doom of the adult Ida having to shake herself out of her drunken sluttery and return home to face the sister again and discover some home truths... Very enjoyable, I thought.



However, nothing quite compares with a Polari with headliner Karen McLeod! She is such a multitalented writer and performer, and, although we were a tad disappointed at the non-appearance of Barbara Brownskirt (Karen's humourless lesbian "writer-in-Residence at 197 bus stop on Croydon Road" alter-ego - probably just as well, as it might have been seen as a direct piss-take of Ms Pribelszki's poetry), it was a sheer joy to hear her read from a variety of "correspondence-based" writings, including her musings on Penge, which she wrote for local South London magazine The Transmitter. Here's an extract:

The thought of Beckenham makes me defensive. I went to school there. It was really white, well off and stiflingly suburban. David Bowie escaped as soon as he could. People from there take the mickey out of my beloved Penge. It's something to do with the word sounding like minge. I realised a long time back that the word Penge is a cross between penis and minge (coarse I know). And it's where we're all from.

She also (hilariously) recounted her habit of talking to famous people while in the bath:

Often when I am having a good soak I chat away to Alan Bennett, mimicking him and replying to myself giving advice or about some issue or other. I have a tendency to think that people such as Alan Bennett are a bit God-like and not real in bodily form. I mean I have never met him, so it is safe to think this. I know he has hands and feet, but really, letter writing isn’t as risky as a phone call in the fact that it is a monologue addressed to the person reading it. And when you address something to Alan Bennett I believe there is a back and forth going on between you. Even if he will never be there, he is the Alan Bennett version of myself. In the absence of a belief in God I have my own way of communicating.

Other times in the bath, with more female issues I have a bath-chat with Jenni Murray from Radio Four fame. She is often a bit abrupt with me. I think I am drawn to people with regional accents which are a bit more exotic than my plain South-London accent. Over and over, these wise voices tell me to get real and get on with it and out of the bath because the water is no longer hot.

Wonderful. Simply wonderful - and a great uplifting note on which to conclude another remarkable evening...



I love Polari. It may have its ups and downs, but it's an institution in my life - and an unmissable one!

It's a bit of a longer gap till the next one in 26th May, when our headline reader will be the extraordinarily good Gerry Potter. Also featured are Rowan Coleman, Gavin McCrea, Karen Campbell and Iain Finlayson.

Polari website

Elderly drug-dealers, monsters, a Brownskirt, a psychopath and an heir to Virginia Woolf

"The Polari First Book Prize is for a first book which explores the LGBT experience and is open to any work of poetry, prose, fiction or non-fiction published in the UK in English within the twelve months of the deadline for submissions. Self-published works in both print and digital formats are eligible for submission."

So it was with antici...pation [again!] that John-John, Paul, Jim, little Tony, Wayne, Emma, Jayne, Lexi, Val, Simon, Bryanne, Anni, Lauren and a horde of other keen readers thronged to the rather posh venue of the Purcell Room in the Southbank Centre for the gala evening to announce the winner of the Prize. Mr Paul Burston, as nervous as a first-time Dad, was, as ever, Master of Ceremonies, and artfully steered us to welcome our readers to the centre of a much larger stage than is normal for our intimate event.

Absolute sweetheart and Polari regular Justin David had the unenviable task of being first to take the stage in front of that vast, echoey hall, to open the show. However he confidently leapt straight into a passage from his début novella, titled The Pharmacist; the tale of amateur photographer Billy and his growing entanglement (with less-than-fatherly motives, one is led to suspect) with his eccentric, mysterious elderly neighbour Albert, and his unlikely and rather surprising way of supplementing his income:

"...he's gripped by this debonair gentleman. Billy disregards the transaction he thought might have taken place. It's the old man he's interested in. He must live locally. Billy's seen him at least three times before, here on this street. Unmistakeable. When the old man walks, trailing rich aromatic smoke from his pipe, he holds himself taut and regal. This graceful image of a man is enough to spark Billy's interest for unconventional behaviour, and he manages a couple of good shots of the man, amid his photographs of the flowers.

From his place in the sunlight, he observed the old man doff his hat and say goodbye to the flower seller, punctuated by a flourish of his hand.

Look at that, thinks Billy. The flair, the twirl - he loves that the man doesn't conform to any normal code of behaviour. Swanning swiftly through the crowds of fashionably dressed people carrying freakishly cut flowers, the old gentleman disappears round the corner into Laburnum Road. Billy follows quickly to see if he can get another shot to take back to the studio. The old man fascinates him and he wonders if he may have found new subject. The gentleman heads down the east-end street towards the Victorian maisonettes where Billy lives. It's a great surprise to him to see the old man take a key from his pocket and slip into the communal entrance of his building; Billy's building. 'Oh my God!' Billy can't help saying out loud, before reaching the front door. 'He lives upstairs.'

All rather enthralling, we thought...



Trapeze artist, aerial acrobat and award-winning author - and another familiar face from Polari - Mr Will Davis was up next with a very odd short story indeed, all about a neurotic and distinctly un-monster-like giant sea monster, titled I Eat People(!) Quirky, funny and completely off-the-wall - one of his early works, it was long-listed for the Fish Publishing Short Story Prize 2012/13, yet remains unpublished. Instead, here's a little potted video all about the man himself:



Cute.



All twirling and quirky literary thoughts were rudely brushed aside in a thrice, however, when the grandiose stage was invaded once more by the Dame-Judi-obsessed and self-proclaimed "Poet-in-residence at the 197 bus stop", Barbara Brownskirt, with her "menstrual fuelled words". Poems, actually. Well, sort of. More like rants, really:

Barbara Brownskirt - The Normal Day

Barbara Brownskirt - Big Day Out

Unstoppable as always, she progressed through several classics from her as-yet-unpublished eighteen volumes of poetry, much to the delight of the audience. We congratulated the lovely Karen MacLeod (for it is indeed she) later for making us once again roar with laughter, and for being possibly the first person to say "vagina" on stage at the Purcell Room.

After the break and a little smoke'n'drink-fuelled promenade on the Thameside terrace of the Queen Elizabeth Hall, it was time to reclaim our seats and on with the show!



Mari Hannah is a class act. Winner of the Polari First Book Prize in 2013 for her first novel The Murder Wall, she's certainly a prolific writer - she's already published her fourth book (all featuring the lady lesbian DCI Kate Daniels), with a fifth apparently on its way.

It was from her latest, Monument to Murder, that she read a gripping extract - flick-flakking between the edgy scenario of our heroine facing a potentially lethal encounter (alone, on a wintry Northumberland beach, site of the recent discovery of two murdered children's bodies) with a psychopath on the loose, and the book's other female lead character (prison psychologist Emily McCann, who is being stalked by said sex offender) as she returns home to find her daughter apparently missing...

It's all heart-stopping stuff. No wonder that the rights to her novels have been optioned for a future television adaptation - by none other than Stephen Fry's production company, Sprout Pictures!



Our headline reader, the wee Scottish academician and author Ali Smith ("an heir to Virginia Woolf", according to the Telegraph) must be waiting with bated breath at the moment - for on 14th October she will find out if she's "third time lucky"; having been twice previously short-listed for the prestigious Man Booker Prize for fiction, her novel How To Be Both is on the short-list again this year!

And it was from that very book that she read us (at breakneck speed, without losing any clarity) a most wonderful passage - just one snippet from this much-lauded "multi-layered" story that simultaneously charts the modern-day life of recently bereaved pubescent George(ina) and the 15th century fresco painter Francesco del Cossa, and how they (figmentally?) actually get to meet. In her piece, she hilariously related an account of the remarkably successful trip by young Francesco (in Ms Smith's version of this real-life character, "he" was actually born a "she") to a Florentine brothel where, rather than be "entertained" by the prostitutes, "he" ends up painting them (and, in a twist, the girls pay him for this service)... It was utterly superb. She deserves to win. Here is Ali Smith talking about the book on BBC 2's Newsnight programme this week:



Miss Smith was wildly applauded for her reading, but it wasn't over yet, folks!



And so it came to the climax of the evening's celebrations - as the very lovely panel-member Matt Cain took to the podium to make the announcement we had all been waiting for. The winner of the coveted Polari First Book Prize 2014 is Diriye Osman for his seminal Fairytales for Lost Children, an anthology of tales of "people constantly on the verge of self-revelation; these characters - young, gay and lesbian Somalis - must navigate the complexities of family, identity and the immigrant experience as they tumble towards freedom."

Mr Osman was obviously overjoyed at his success! We congratulated him (clutching the award to his chest, together with his £1000 prize money presented on stage by the hunky "Men-At-Play-type" Vincent Francois, Chair of the UK LGBT Network and Regional Head of Audit at Societé Generale) in the lobby afterwards, and he was still out-of-breath but (as always) smiling. Bless. A deserved winner.



Thus, it was all over for another glittering evening (and, in the case of the Prize, for another year) bar the schmoozing...

Our next outing will be to wish "London's premier gay literary salon" Polari a happy seventh birthday in the esteemed company of Neil Bartlett, Ben Ferguson, Sarah Bramley, Niven Govinden and Alex Marwood on 26th November. Once more - I can't wait!

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New Romantic slap, Judi, green VPL, Scottish lesbian secessionists and a "Fuck It" list

So there we were (our Paul, little Tony and I; and Emma, Toby, Bryanne, Simon, and Lauren/Rebecca and her coterie of "safety gays" including songwriter Jake Hook), on Paddy's Day at Polari ("London's peerless gay literary salon"). And Paul Burston, our host, was all in green - in a suit with trousers so tight one could see his Leprechaun. A perfect start to another evening of cultural wonderment!



Our opening entertainment was from Mr Carl Stanley, former New Romantic and make-up and hair artist to the stars, who read for us from his as-yet-unpublished memoir, punningly titled Kiss and Make Up, from whence comes this small extract about his (ahem!) fabulous mother:

“What’s a hysterectomy?” I’d asked.

“Somethin’ I should’ve `ad twelve years ago,” had been her flippant comeback as she’d pinned her commandments to the cork note-board.

Later, I’d trawled through the ‘H’s in my Collins Gem: hysterectomy n. the surgical removal of the womb.

"Hang on a mo’, if I’m eleven an’ it takes nine months to have a baby..." I’d thought...

Frosty and irascible, she’d never been especially likeable, but that’d been the cherry on a gateau of dislike that’d started two Christmases earlier in 1978 when the Girl’s World I’d written Santa for wasn’t under the tree. I’d hunted high-and-low lest he’d hid it elsewhere, and she got so annoyed with me badgering where else could it be that she said nowhere because he wasn’t real.

I should’ve known really, as she’d never have allowed anyone in Wellington boots to step on her Axminster, not even a saint...

The book sounds a hoot, and I hope it gets a publisher soon. You can read more at his Authonomy page.



The charming Nicolas Collins - a man whose online profile is practically invisible, sharing as he does a name with a popular electronic musician and the son of 80s pop-shame Phil, and the title of whose book of poetry is more a topic of conversation on MumsNet than findable on Google - was next onto the stage, reading a selection of pithy and sometimes rather wonderful poetry from his (self-published) anthology Washing the Duvet, tackling love, sex, relationships and everything in-between. We loved it.

Nevertheless, no matter how excellent our first two readers were, they were about to be upstaged! Forcing Paul B's hand once again to allow her into the limelight, everyone's favourite Barbara Brownskirt arrived - virtually at first, on her Big Day Out - a tribute to Judi Dench:

Barbara Brownskirt's Big Day Out

As she continued ("in the flesh" this time) with her deadpan readings about failure and obsession, we laughed till our faces hurt! Always a joy, Miss Karen McLeod's "miserable militant lesbian" creation appears to have developed a rather wonderful life of her own. And more power to her cagoule-clad elbow, I say...

We needed a fag and a drink break after that.



Actress, producer and writer Miss Angela Clerkin opened the second half with a corker of a reading, first from her short story The "Fuck It" List. It's a brilliant tale, and was one of the highlights of the compendium Men and Women (edited by Mr Burston), the launch of which I went to way back in 2011. And here she is, reading from the story, at that very event:



She's a great storyteller, to be sure. And a great dancer of the jig, too!

However, our "leading lady" on this occasion was a pioneer who has been creating stories for a little while longer - Ms Maureen Duffy.



The first gay woman in British public life today to be open about her sexuality (on TV as well as in her work), before homosexuality was decriminalised at the end of the 60s; she was an early participant in the CND marches; first president of the Gay and Lesbian Humanist Association (GALHA); is a staunch campaigner for the rights of gays, women, and oppressed minorities in general (and animals); a fellow of King’s College London and a Vice President of the Royal Society of Literature; and the author of 33 published works, including seven collections of poetry, non-fiction and 16 plays for stage, screen and radio. Quite a record.

She read some extracts from one of those works, her latest, In Times Like These - a lesbian love story set in a dystopian future following a successful independence campaign by Scotland from the United Kingdom and the havoc that it wreaks. And it was enchanting to listen to her.



This was yet another evening of first-class literature, and I had missed it terribly - having been in absentia for the last one (and I was told off by that event's headliner Val (VG) Lee for not being there!) thanks to its clash with the end-of-LGBT-History-Month ball in Camden.

Next month's is quite a line-up. On the bill on 28th April are Sophie Ward, Rebecca Chance, LaJohn Joseph, Kiki Archer and Booker Prize-nominated author and journalist Philip Hensher, and I can't wait!

Polari

Ghost stories, 60s queens, a pre-menstrual terrorist, Bright Young Things, Miss Hepburn and a singing Xmas tree

The gang (John-John, Paul, Jim, Ange, Little Tony, Alex, Emma, Toby, Wayne and I) gathered in style once more on Monday for the final outing of "London's peerless gay literary salon" of 2013 - A Very Polari Xmas, indeed!



Paul Burston had decked his proverbials with tinsel for the occasion, and without further ado welcomed us all with mulled wine and mince pies the first guest to the stage.



Ann Mann has had a long history in entertainment - she sang with The George Mitchell Singers (who were most famous, nay notorious, for being the mainstay of The Black and White Minstrel Show), and has worked for Disney, Hammer and the BBC. Now she's turned her talents to writing, and has come up with a fabulous story indeed.

Understandably already in the planning stages for a possible film, the extracts she read from her debut novel The Impersonator opened dramatically with the murder of a couple in rebellion-riven 1960s Rhodesia, which led to the surviving teenage daughter having to be placed in the care of her uncle in London. The twist, of course, is that the uncle is a closeted (by necessity in that day and age) gay man enmeshed in the world of showbiz - and the "impersonator" of the title? That is the mystery figure whose intervention in this fragile situation causes emotional mayhem for all concerned. This is definitely a book worth further investigation, methinks...



Next up was the exceptionally attractive Mr Neil Spring (shades of Montgomery Clift, we thought). His first novel The Ghost Hunters is a spooky tale (and another, like Miss Mann's, with filming rights optioned already) based upon the true story of the 1920s ghost-hunter Harry Price, the "most haunted house in England" and the media frenzy that surrounded his investigations, as narrated by his (now elderly) assistant:

"...the Society for Psychical Research also has its doubts due to the discovery of yet more inconsistencies in the evidence Price amassed: missing details, ill-substantiated facts and accusations. They are certain their investigation will bring them to the ‘truth’.

Well, let them look, if they dare. They already know that at the moment of his death Price was writing the opening chapters of a third book on the haunted Borley Rectory. What they don’t know is that Price died in very mysterious circumstances and that in the months leading up to his death he was troubled with the worst nightmares imaginable: he thought he was being followed and he received something rather mysterious, rather dangerous, in the post.

The world would be astonished to hear it, but I know that these events – his greatest investigation and his death – were connected.

I know that his pursuers will find me. They will want my story."

We were as transfixed by the tale as we were by the reader.



Closing the first half on a musical high, we were overjoyed to have our friend Marcus Reeves ("A new Tim Rice", according to Elaine Paige) take the Polari stage once more. Arriving resplendent in a voodoo headdress ("made with the skulls of former lovers", he quipped) and departing as the "man behind the mask", in between he treated us to a fab selection of tunes from his newly-launched album Quicksilver: The Masquerade Macabre [I couldn't make the launch party itself, more's the pity], including this one - Mad, Bad World:

Marcus Reeves - Mad, Bad World

After the fabness of Mr Reeves and the chance to grab a ciggie and a drink in the interval, it was back to our seats. Paul began by solemnly singing the praises of the renowned author Karen McLeod, when the stage was invaded - again! - by none other than Barbara Brownskirt ("Poet of the People").



In her trademark cagoule, swigging from her bottle of sherry, and despite all protestations, she launched into a selection of her "poetry", including this one - The Publishers Are All Bent But Not In A Good Way, from one of her 18 volumes of (as yet, unpublished) work: this one is from Volume 6 Pre-Menstrual Terrorist:

Barbara Brownskirt - The Publishers Are All Bent But Not In A Good Way

Miss McLeod (for it, of course, was she) is a downright bloody genius, and Ms Brownskirt is one of her most hilarious creations.



Speaking of genius: our star reader Mr Philip Hoare, on taking to the podium looked rather nonplussed to follow that! Mr Hoare is a very well-respected researcher and storyteller, and, as it seems from his anecdotes, mixed in some very glamorous circles indeed. Writing his biography of the brightest of the "Bright Young Things" Stephen Tennant, he was actually granted an audience with the grand old queen herself [I'm not envious, of course!], corpulent and bedridden (by choice it seems rather than for any physical reason), surrounded by his menagerie of exotic lizards and other creatures he had transplanted from tropical climes to his crumbling family estate in Wiltshire. Stephen, Mr Hoare explained, was one of the "three loves of his life".

The second of these loves - and the subject of another biography he wrote - was dear Noël Coward. Apparently many of the stories about Mr Hoare's encounters with "The Master" are too smutty to be revealed to a literary audience [make of that what you will!], so instead he treated us to his meeting with another legendary creature - Miss Katherine Hepburn - and the conversations they had about Noël. [I was green with envy by this point.] Completing the circle, Mr Hoare's third love - and the one writing about which he won the greatest accolades including the Samuel Beckett Prize - was of course, the whale. So successful indeed was Leviathan (his book about the great endangered creatures) that he was asked to create a series of films for the BBC's "Whale Night", among other blubber-related projects, and has returned to the subject for his latest book The Sea Inside, from which he also read a couple of extracts. Utterly fascinating and entrancing, I could have listened to him all night.



Alas, it was almost time to go, as Mr B rounded up our participants for the obligatory on-stage line-up and tumultuous applause from a very appreciative audience of literati.



But it was not quite over yet... It is that time of year, of course - and onto the stage in a shower of baubles and glitter, we welcomed the return of the amazing Singing Christmas Tree! (Marcus Reeves again). Mere words cannot describe the wonder in our eyes and the joy in our hearts...





Sad to bid farewell to another year of brilliance, courtesy of Polari. However, the whole thing is back at the Southbank Centre on 24th January with readings from Christopher Fowler, Joelle Taylor, James Maker, Keith Jarrett and Anya Nyx.

Roll on 2014, I say!

Polari