|Noddy Holder, the famous cow top and me|
Last night I was invited to the opening of Tate Liverpool's new 'Glam' exhibition*. In my 'what will I wear?' frenzy I discovered that my white, gold-studded 'Elvis' pants now fit me (they never have before!) but, in a nod to middle age, eschewed them for something more demur... my cow top. The arty types of Merseyside had gathered to peruse Bowie memorabilia, stroke their chins at images of androgyny and generally mingle under the lights of the glitter ball. It was great to see some poetry chums of yore (oh alright, of mine) but the highlight was meeting the very personable Noddy Holder of Slade! Groovy!
This was hot on the heals of a return to the Dead Good Poets Society open floor the previous night. I was prompted by seeing the lovely mini-documentary in last week's Guardian travel section about Marcel Theroux writing and performing his first poem at the Dead Goods - it made me miss going there, and the people involved. Having said that, my new poem about dancing in the library (replete with tongue twisters and many actions required) was a DISAAAAAASTER darlings!
*Careful of that Tate link by the way - one of the three scrolling pictures on the front page is full frontal male nude! I didn't know where to put my face.