7.10: A plague of poets
A week later, the telephone rings in the hallway area of the Pointing Shed, in the draughty bit near the front door (where telephone landlines tend, by sensible convention, to be located). It is the Barman. He asks if Alcock can come over to the Swan Hotel. “Things have turned a little strange” he says.
When Alcock arrives, he finds that the Swan Hotel is surrounded by old men who somehow give the impression that there were once young. Some are wearing donkey jackets. Others have scarves. There are discreet badges advertising 1980s popular bands. One or two have an earring which perhaps looked better forty years earlier. The scene looks a bit like a campsite although there are no actual tents.
“No,” the Barman reports “They all go home when I call time. I think they are staying in bed and breakfast accommodation or hotels in the town. They aren’t young! But I told them that they couldn’t stay here. They just stand around shouting ‘Play us a song, Nick!’ One of them has a guitar and they gather round to hear him croon melancholy pop songs, plucking carefully at the chords as if they meant something. Dreadful racket. Quiet though. There is an awfully irritating earnestness to everything they do. Fix you with a quizzical poetic eye. Frankly, makes me want to punch them.”
“Are they mainly singing Nick Drake songs?”
“I’m afraid so!”
Lottie tugs at Alcock’s flipper. “Isn’t that Shipley’s King of Poetry? It’s that Mike Farren! He’s got his head at a slight quizzical angle and he’s wearing a badge in classic Bradford City / forced rhubarb claret and gold. Farren colours! Can we get him to sign a copy of ‘Forcing Rhubarb in Bermuda? Lamentations for the West Riding’? And ask what the title means?”
“There do seem to be a lot of minor poets here” agrees the Barman sadly. “They keep giving impromptu readings. That Farren is one of the worst for all that! Disgusting! Wait here a minute. I’ll get my shotgun. That usually scares them off for a bit, but they always creep back.”
There’s has been no sign of the Minkey but he emerges briefly to collect used glasses before scurrying back to the scullery. Lottie notices that he is wearing a Nick Drake: Posthumous Encore Tour badge. But he does not seem to be enjoying the attention of the intense poets gathered outside.
***
Rare viewers who recognise Farren, who is, after all, merely an undistinguished minor poet from a forgotten northern town, may be wondering at his seamless and natural appearance within the popular JugginsVerse itself. The answer: Excelsior Level Patron Subscription.
In an addition to the already superior benefits of Gold Standard Patronage, the Excelsior package includes digital incorporation into JugginsVerse storylines and even, in Farren’s case – the wellsprings of his creativity having long since run dry – JugginsVerse script writers actually writing his last collection, Forcing Rhubarb in Bermuda? Lamentations for the West Riding, which has won so much critical acclaim.
We breach no confidence in reporting this as it takes Excelsior Plus Patron Subscription for the addition of the standard gagging clause that would have prevented such a disclosure. Sadly Farren’s ‘northern’ pockets short-sightedly ran dry. (See the poem ‘False economy?’ in the first part of Forcing Rhubarb…? Lamentations… for those in need of a dose of poetic irony.)