Dear doughty subscriber,
Summer is over. Or at least it is for those who subscribe to a meteorological definition of the seasons. Those of a more astronomical bent still have a couple of weeks of summer remaining, presumably to make hay while the sun shines; unless, that is, they’ve already made their hay in late June when climactic conditions are optimal for such an activity. Meanwhile antipodean types are blowing out their cheeks and preparing to inform me that it’s winter or spring, or some such, I don’t know, it’s a long way from where I am right now, this time stuff is hard, and everyone seems to have an opinion.
There is, however, one thing at least we can all agree upon: it is now September*.
Poem
the calendar flipped
with a gust
of air and with august
no longer there,
in swept the song
of spry September
with its breezy back-to-school
septimbre
* with the exception of those countries whose temporal systems do not conform to the Gregorian calendar.
Regardless, time is passing, another year is speeding by, and the hidden cameras have yet to clock it.
Toby
It would soon be January again.
She did not know where the year had gone.
Eventually she found it
hidden away
in an old shoebox
under the bed,
along with 1997
and 2005.
Toby.
He had taken the best years of her life.
That poem comes from my first collection, You Took the Last Bus Home which – in another trick of time – celebrates its tenth birthday this month. I’ve been sharing poems from this book on social media over the last week or so – many of which are short and quite silly, indicative of their origin on Twitter, created in more innocent times when only one tweet in four on that platform was overtly racist.
I had no ambition to see my poems in print; they were written mainly to amuse myself or to distract from work (I used to have a proper job) and other burdens of being a grown-up. But then a crowd-funding publisher came along, suggested I scoop them up into something resembling a book and see whether anyone might be vaguely interested in the project. To my amazement and eternal gratitude, several hundred people were. The book got published and has somehow gone on to sell over 60,000 copies. It was a life-changing moment for me, not dissimilar from that experienced by Vince in another of the poems in the collection:
Invincible Vince
The day he got
the neck brace,
life changed for Vince
and he’s never really
looked back since.
Fringe Benefits
Thank to everyone who came along to my shows in Edinburgh at the end of last month. The whole experience was a joy, not least because I got to see lots of brilliant shows, including David O’Doherty, Spencer Jones, Daniel Cainer, and Flo & Joan. Another real highlight was Rob Auton’s show Jupiter, in which he plays the role of an estate agent on the planet Jupiter. He’s touring with it next year and a list of his dates is here.
I’d like to be able to share a poem with you about Jupiter but I don’t have one. The closest I can get – about 3 billion miles away – is this one, about the erstwhile planet Pluto.
A Small Restructuring
Ah, Pluto. Thanks for coming in this morning.
Do take a seat. Coffee? That’s super. Terrific.
So how are things out there on the Kuiper Belt?
Not too cold and lonely, I hope? Wonderful.
Now I know you’re a busy celestial body
so I shall keep this short. Nothing to worry about,
it’s just that we’ve been having a bit of a rethink
here at the Astronomical Union, taking a fresh look
at our options, a small restructuring as it were,
and we’d like to offer you a new role,
one which we feel might be more appropriate
for someone with your skillset and, ahem,
proportions. In our dwarf planet department.
No, no, no! You’re still very much part of the team.
It’s just that … well, the thing is you haven’t been clearing
your neighbouring region of other objects
and you’ve had a few billion years to do so.
Don’t get me wrong! Your orbiting around the Sun
has been first-class. And we have no doubts whatsoever
concerning your hydrostatic equilibrium.
No, we are not being sizeist. Times change, that’s all
and we need to be more stringent with our nomenclature.
Anyhow, best be getting on. I’ve got Earth to see next.
Now there’s a planet who does have problems.
Autumn Tour Q&A
Sadly, Pluto is not one of the places I shall be visiting on my autumn tour, although I will be going to Guildford. It kicks off later this month and continues until early December. I’ve had a lot of questions about the tour so I thought I’d pick off a handful this month with a few more to follow over the next couple of newsletters.
Q. I’ve seen you before. Why should I bother coming to see you again?
A. This is a brand new show, with lots of new poems and at least three new jokes. Yes, there will be some older poems in there – it would be remiss of me not to include a few old bangers – but the focus is on my new book, How to Lay an Egg with a Horse Inside. Also, it’ll be better this time, I hadn’t eaten properly that day and had no idea my flies were undone.
Q. You never come to Wales. What have you got against it?
A. I have nothing against Wales. In fact, I shall be visiting Monmouth, Aberystwyth, Cardigan and Cardiff as part of this tour.
Q. I mean, why do you never come to the precise bit of Wales in which I live?
A. It is difficult to visit every settlement. The size of Wales should not be underestimated; in fact, you could fit a country the size of Wales in it.
Q. Will you be reading this poem on your tour?
Remembrance of Things Pasta
She blew her fusilli,
my pretty penne,
when she found me watching
daytime tagliatelle.
Je ne spaghetti rien,
I responded in song,
but she did not linguini
for long,
just walked out
without further retort:
a hard lesson to be tortellini,
orzo I thought.
And so here I am,
all on my macaroni,
and now my days
feel cannelloni.
A. No.
Q. Is there any chance you can list all of your tour dates with convenient links so I can purchase ten tickets for each show for me and my friends?
A. Okay, then …
September
20th MORECAMBE POETRY FESTIVAL Tickets
23rd: MONMOUTH: Savoy Theatre Tickets
24th: ABERYSTWYTH: Arts Centre Tickets
25th: CARDIGAN: Mwldan Tickets
26th: WINCHESTER: Guildhall Tickets
27th: GUILDFORD: Yvonne Arnaud Theatre Last Few Tickets
30th: HARPENDEN: Eric Morecambe Centre Tickets
October
1st: COVENTRY: Warwick Arts Centre Tickets
2nd: DARWEN: Darwen Library Theatre Tickets
3rd: ILKLEY LITERATURE FESTIVAL Tickets
4th: MALTON: Milton Rooms Tickets
7th: CROYDON: Fairfield Ashcroft Theatre Tickets
8th: DEAL: Astor Theatre SOLD OUT
9th: NORWICH: The Halls Tickets
10th: COLCHESTER: Arts Centre SOLD OUT
14th: LOUGHBOROUGH: MMC SOLD OUT
15th: MANCHESTER: Stoller Hall Tickets
16th: ULVERSTON: Coronation Hall Tickets
21st: KIDDERMINSTER: Town Hall Tickets
22nd: GLASGOW: Mackintosh Queen’s Cross Tickets
23rd: ABERDEEN: The Lemon Tree Tickets
24th: STIRLING: Tolbooth Last Few Tickets
28th: STAMFORD: Corn Exchange Tickets
29th: BURY ST EDMUNDS: The Apex Last Few Tickets
30th: CORSHAM: Pound Arts Centre SOLD OUT
31st: OXFORD: The North Wall SOLD OUT
November
4th: WORTHING: Pavilion Tickets
6th: BELLAGHY: Seamus Heaney HomePlace SOLD OUT
7th: BELLAGHY: Seamus Heaney HomePlace SOLD OUT
11th: LEEDS: City Varieties Last Few Tickets
12th: SUNDERLAND: The Fire Station Tickets
13th: HELMSLEY: Arts Centre SOLD OUT
14th: POCKLINGTON: Arts Centre SOLD OUT
15th: SHEFFIELD: Memorial Hall Tickets
18th: OXFORD: The North Wall SOLD OUT
19th: STROUD: Sub Rooms Last Few Tickets
20th: BRIDPORT: Electric Palace Tickets
21st: EXETER: Corn Exchange Last Few Tickets
22nd: BUDE: The Parkhouse Centre Tickets
25th: NEWARK: Palace Theatre Last Few Tickets
26th: BAKEWELL: Town Hall Last Few Tickets
27th: CHORLEY: Chorley Theatre Last Few Tickets
28th: LIVERPOOL: Tung Auditorium Last Few Tickets
30th: BRISTOL: St George’s Last Few Tickets
December
1st: CARDIFF: Glee Club Tickets
4th: LONDON: Union Chapel Last Few Tickets
And finally …
By the time you’ve managed to plough your way through this month’s newsletter, September may very nearly be over. But before it is, pause for a moment on 27th: that’s Tourism Day, an annual event aimed at spreading awareness of the importance of sustainable tourism. Here’s a poem to accompany it.
Short Poem for Tourism Day
Tourists wait in line
to enter Machu Picchu.
Oh look! A high queue.
I’m very sorry about that.
Until next month,
Brian
P.S. If, for some strange reason, you would like to subscribe to this newsletter and get future editions delivered to your email inbox, you can do so here: https://brianbilston.com/newsletter/
Discover more from Brian Bilston
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
To anyone who has not seen Brian live on stage I have to tell you he is brilliant and very funny. We saw him in Wrexham (which IS in Wales, just) and it was the best night out for a long time. So do book a ticket to see him if he comes anywhere near you.
Thank you, Jan. What a lovely thing to say.
What a delight to read your beautiful, wise nonsense in this crazy world where smiles and chuckles are hard to find in the media. Wish I lived in the UK and could see you. Heaps of admiration and thanks from the Big Olive (Athens, Greece), Diana
Thank you, Diana!
I had an Alaskan husky named Jupiter (we called her Jupi). She had one golden eye and one ice-blue.
Ah, beautiful!
She was, in spirit as well as in body. I’d send you her picture if I could find a way to do it. She had a remarkable backstory, too. And she came into our lives after we had already adopted my first puppy, my heart dog, named Yoda, a gorgeous Keeshond-mix who saved my life more than once. I think I returned the favor once or twice. Jupi was a white Alaskan husky, while Yoda was a black fluffer with cream mask and boots. When Jupi joined the family, we thought how remarkable that we now had two space cadets! I had actually hoped for a Samoyed, but I still got a salt-and-pepper team without half trying. Jupi and Yoda were completely different in personality, Jupi quiet and reserved, sometimes timid and petrified, but steely in courage, while Yoda never knew an enemy and was always exuberant, overflowing with joy he would bestow on anyone and everyone indiscriminately with total abandon. Yet he could approach food with the delicacy of a gourmet and bodies of water with tiptoes, while Jupi was whole hog about dinner (until she learned to trust that in our house, she never had to worry about when her next meal was coming) and took like a merganser baby to water after watching her mama leap in.