Mother’s Day

In a falling-about bit of life comedy, I’ve got my very first paid-for gig at The Station, Framlingham, to do some stand-up/performance poetry/songs without music to introduce and close the Mother’s Day lunch.

Ahahahahhahahahahahahaha. As they say.

Do they know anything about my relationship with my mother? I mean, anything about it?

I think I’m going to have to write some new stuff for this.

To be fair, they did say I could read someone else’s stuff, but that always seems like cheating, to me.

The fee is in kind, which is nice, so next time I want someone not to talk to me I can at least give them a decent lunch and a bottle of wine first. So ladies, any offers? You don’t have to talk to me for long, honest. Just do that eyes and clenched teeth thing and grind up the napkin and I’ll keep talking a bit longer, then you’ll have an excuse to flounce out. If we plan this properly you could have a taxi waiting and I haven’t had that done for about three years. It’s got to be overdue.

Meanwhile, I need to start writing some Mothers Day stuff.

A Mothers Day Poem

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day

Or rather someone who made me feel I’d have to pay

For your mistakes the rest of my life as well as yours?

Isn’t that right? And is that farmed salmon in the hors d’oevres?

It’s not going well, is it?