Unaccustomed as I am...

The monthly spoken word open mic nights have resumed in town. I nearly went to the first one to see what it's all about, with a tiny thought at the back of my mind that I might take my courage in my hands and do a turn. In the end, I didn't make it, but I gather it was a great success: standing-room only! I'm probably not quite ready for that.

My mother has no such qualms about performing. She is quite a regular on the 'circuit' and can be seen reciting monologues and doing poetry readings at various gatherings in north Staffordshire. One such recent engagement was at a harvest supper, where she had been requested to read a little something to the assembled villagers.

She told me. 'It was a nice meal, pleasant company, and they seem pleased with what I'd selected - a mixture of the profound and the humorous. In fact, they were rapt! As well as polite applause between some of the poems, there was some good clapping at the end.'

She was brought back to earth, however, when no sooner had she sat down than a chap (the church warden or some such) leapt to his feet and announced: 'And now we come to the moment we've all been waiting for: we will now draw the raffl1e!'

Ah, fame is a fickle mistress.