BOOK TOUR IN SCOTLAND

I have just returned from one of the best weeks I have spent as a professional poet. In association with Scottish Friendly and the Scottish Book Trust, I spent a week visiting TEN different schools across North and South Lanarkshire. I was ferried from school to school, and from hotel to hotel, by the wonderful Tom and Holly from the Scottish Book Trust, and over the course of the week I managed to perform for over 1,500 children. Here, in no particular order, are my top ten things from the trip:

'Horse'

Having collected me from the airport on Sunday, Tom taught me the very simple game of 'Horse' whilst passing through the picturesque Scottish countryside. The rules are these: if you see a horse, you have to say 'horse', and you get one point. If you see, say, three horses, you have to say 'horse horse horse', and you get three points. If you say 'horse' when there is no horse present, you lose a point. Once someone has seen a horse and said 'horse', no other participant may say 'horse' with respect to the same horse. If you see what I mean. The winner is the person with the most points within a specified allotment of time. The game is fun because horses were frequent enough to score a few points a day, but infrequent enough to remain something of a novelty (as opposed to sheep, which were bloody everywhere). Next time you are out in the countryside, I recommend a nice game of 'Horse'.

Lemur

One of my books is called Little Lemur Laughing, and I carry with me a lemur plushy when I do performance. Normally the lemur just kind of sits there on stage, not doing very much. However, at one of the schools I visited I decided the throw the lemur across the stage, to see if I could get it in the basketball hoop (we were in a school gym). To the delighted squeals of the children I managed to lob the lemur into the hoop, where it proceeded to get stuck. I then spent a minute or so chucking balls at it, in the hope of getting it down, which I did eventually. One of my favourite parts of performing is being spontaneous and weird, which is not really socially acceptable offstage. This is a perfect example of the quirkiness I try to inject into every performance I give.

Lhasa Apso

My parents' dog Winston (or Wini-Wooshus-Magooshus for short) features in every show I do. I show the audience a picture of him, and explain that he is a Lhasa Apso, which is Tibetan for 'hairy Tibetan Barking Dog' (absolutely true). I always ask the audience to guess his breed, and very rarely has anyone even heard of a Lhasa Apso. However, in Scotland I met several Lhasa owners, including one girl who came up to me after a show and angrily told me that her family had a dog and it was in fact a 'Lhapso Apso'. I told her she was wrong in her pronunciation, and we proceeded to have a semi-serious argument about it until she was whisked away by her teacher. If the girl is reading this: I am right and you are wrong. Ner ner ner ner ner.

The Van

Prior to the trip Holly informed me that I would be collected from the airport in a specially painted van. I assumed this was a joke until I was duly collected from Glasgow airport in a vehicle adorned with animal pictures, drawn by the super talented Sarah McIntyre. I spent the whole week being transported from place to place in what was effectively a work of art on wheels. I smile when I think of what other road users made of a van with a picture of a cartoon badger, sheep and ox on the side of it.

The Hotels

From Sunday to Friday, we stayed in a different hotel every night. The downside of this was not really being able to unpack, and living out of a suitcase; the upside of it was, well, staying in a different hotel every night. Some of the hotels were better than others, but all were completely adequate, with one or two a great deal more than so. When one opens up the door to a hotel room for the first time, there is a palpable frisson of excitement. This pang of anticipation was replicated five times during the course of the tour, for which I am grateful. Hell, one of the hotels even had one of them big circular baths.

Biscuits

Scots are not known for their healthy food. On the second day of the trip I happened upon something I hadn't heard of before, called an 'Empire Biscuit'. For those poor, benighted creatures amongst you who do not know what these are, allow me to elucidate. Start by procuring a slab of shortbread. Spread a thick layer of jam on top, then apply another slab of shortbread. On top of the tower, add a massively thick layer of icing, and a tokenistic cherry. Reader: I bought and ate that biscuit. And it took so much out of me, physically, mentally and spiritually, that I had to have a nap afterwards. It was worth it though.

Top Tips

Every day, I was whisked to a special location to shoot a series of 'top poetry tips'. I got to go to some awe-inspiring places, such as Cumbernauld City Centre, which won a Carbuncle Cup award in 2001 and 2005 for its stupendously crap architecture. I did actually think twice before mentioning this in my video, but I was reliably informed that Cumbernauldians are in fact quite proud of their hometown's notoriety. Here, then, are the little videos I shot during the tour:

Day 1: Whitelee Windfarm (UK's biggest onshore windfarm. Whoop whoop!)

Day 2: Bothwell Castle (a big ole pile of ruins)

Day 3: Some kind of Museum

Day 4: Cumbernauld City Centre!

Meeting New People

The life of an itinerant poet can get quite lonely. I was very lucky, therefore, to be accompanied by the aforementioned Tom and Holly for the duration of the trip. As something of an introvert (when I am not performing!) I was slightly anxious at the prospect of being with two other people almost the whole of the time, but I needn't have worried: Tom and Holly were excellent company, and I am really grateful to them for facilitating such a wonderful trip!

Renewed Appreciation for Job

I am extremely lucky to be able to do what I do for a living, and the tour helped reinforce quite what a weird, wonderful job I have, which leads me onto:

Fantastic Schools

The best thing about the trip was undoubtedly visiting the schools. Along the way I encountered extremely enthusiastic teachers and children. The schools I visited were as follows:

- Libberton Primary School

- Underbank Primary School

- Udston Primary School

- Mount Cameron Primary School

- St Charles Primary School

- John Paul II Primary School

- St Patricks Primary School

- Plains PS and St David's RC School

- Ravenswood Primary School

- Ballmalloch Primary School

Especially gratifying was the effort taken by many schools to research me and my poetry prior to the visits. This helped build up a great sense of enthusiasm and anticipation. Special mention goes to the pupils at Ravenswood school, several of whom learnt and recited poems by me! Here is one of their fantastic videos:

BARNEY

For the first time in ages all the family is together.

Everyone is together, and I’ve had my favourite meal.

They are fussing over me, tickling behind my ears

like they’ve done a thousand times before.

These ears that have pricked at a thousand doorbells

don’t hear so well anymore.

These legs that have chased a thousand squirrels

have lost their zip.

This nose has sniffed a thousand bottoms

but now mostly snuffles against warm blankets.

These paws are losing their grip

but this heart still pumps with the love it has felt

for sixteen years, since they brought me home.

This head is misted with memories:

bounding through snow that first, excited winter;

lapping at the sprinkler when summer licked the lawn;

yapping on the stairs every morning at dawn

and leaping on the couch

when I knew that I shouldn’t.

For the first time in ages all the family is together.

Everyone is together, and we’re in this room.

I’ve been here once or twice before

but this time it seems different.

This morning the woman with the white gloves on

is not adorned with her usual smile.

This morning a heaviness hangs from the walls.

The faces around me are puffed with apologies

as clouds collect outside the window

but  through the clouds I can see the sun

with a whistle in its mouth sounding notes for me.

I can see the trees waving silently

and the birds dancing with something like joy.

The sky is calling me:

‘Good boy! Good boy!’

The sky is calling:

‘Good boy…”

For the first time in ages all the family is together.

Everyone is together, and I’m getting tired.

I’ve just eaten my favourite meal

and they’re fussing over me.

There’s the woman in white, with the white gloves on

and my family are tickling behind my ears

and their faces are swimming  out of focus

and I think I can smell the salt in their tears

and although these ears don’t hear so well

I can hear the love of sixteen years

and I want to tell them I love them too.

I want to tell them I love them too

but I feel tired now; so tired so tired

I feel tired now. So tired

ON LOOKING JEWISH

One of the most infuriating questions I get asked on a regular basis is “where do you come from?” When I say “England” people are never satisfied; this wasn’t quite the answer they were looking for despite the fact that I was born here, as were my parents. Their question, rather, is code for “why do you look like that?"

I am sometimes told that I ‘look Jewish’. Whilst I cannot recall anyone ever having said this to me with the intention to offend, I am extremely uneasy with the idea. Saying someone ‘looks Christian’ would be entirely nonsensical: Christians come from all over the world. Saying someone ‘looks Muslim’ or ‘looks Hindu’ doesn’t make much sense either - outside of religious dress, what would be the uniquely identifying characteristic distinguishing one from the other? Yet somehow there is deemed to be a Jewish look.

I suppose one might say that it is better to use nationalities rather than religions as an analogy. Whilst there is no ‘Christian look’ there is, say, a typically Scandinavian look (blonde hair, blue eyes, etc) or an Italian look (olive skin, dark hair, etc). But this won’t really do either. Jewishness is not a nationality - Jews come from all over the world.

Jewishness, then,  has no parity with Christianity or Islam when it comes to phenotype, and it is not geographically oriented in the same way as Swedishness or Italian-ness. What, then, is it? You might say it is a ‘race’, but this just pushes the problem back a step: what is a ‘race’, and how is it different from religion or nationality? If ‘race’ is defined with reference to outward phenotype then it turns out that Jewishness is not strictly a race: there are in fact blonde Jews, black Jews, Chinese Jews, and many other flavours of Jew that deviate from the ‘typical’ Jewish look that people have in mind.
So part of my problem with the idea of ‘looking Jewish’ is to do with the problems inherent in delineating what this really means: it doesn’t make sense to talk of religions as having a ‘look’; Jews come from all over the world, and they do not exhibit enough physical homogeneity to count as a ‘race’ (assuming that this is what 'race' means).

You might say that whilst there isn’t homogeneity, there is nonetheless typicality. If this is the case, then ‘looking Jewish’ should be read as meaning ‘looking stereotypically Jewish’ and herein lies the second part of my beef with being told I look Jewish. It is generally considered bad form to rely on stereotypes. Being told I look Jewish is, to my ears, like being told that I look like someone off a Nazi propaganda poster. Historically, the role of the Jewish stereotype was to cast the Jew in the role 'other', as 'not one of us'. So when I'm told I 'look Jewish', it is this sort of image that I have in mind:



I have, perhaps, a lot of internal wrestling to do when it comes to working out my own identity, but I'd like to leave you now just by ringing a note of caution: whether or not you happen to be Jewish, please don't assert that someone else 'looks Jewish'. This pronouncement is way more problematic than it might first appear.

THE DAY THE INTERNET BROKE DOWN

The day the internet broke down

saw couples sit in icy gloom.

Kids ran feral through the town

as cities bathed in icy doom.

The day the internet went blank

saw toddlers scream (their parents too)

and bored teenagers robbing banks

with simply nothing else to do.

The day the internet conked out

saw gormless creatures stare at walls,

and people couldn’t get about;

they couldn’t find their way at all.

The day the internet went bust

saw everything come to a stop.

No one knew whom they could trust.

They couldn’t browse. They couldn’t shop.

The day the internet dried up

saw people freeze in sheer despair.

Some tried to talk, to open up

but others simply didn’t dare.

The day the internet went wrong

saw zombies shuffle through the streets.

I couldn’t go on rhymezone.com

So this poem was left with an unsatisfactory conclusion.

WHAT'S THAT NOISE?

There is squawking, there is squalling

and a lot of caterwauling.

There is bellowing and bawling

and it’s driving me insane.

There is shouting, there is shrieking

and a lot of rowdy squeaking

and it sounds like someone freaking

out in catastrophic pain.

There is screaming, there is crying

and it sounds like someone’s dying.

There is growling, there is sighing

and it’s gone on for an hour.

It’s a racket like no other

but don’t worry, you’ll discover

that it’s just my silly brother

and he’s singing in the shower.

Q & A with John Wycliffe Primary School

The children at John Wycliffe Primary School in Leicestershire, where I am delighted to be Patron of Reading, have sent me a list of questions. I am delighted to be able to share the (sometimes weird) questions, along with my answers, on this blog. Enjoy!

How old is Winston?

Winston is my parents' Lhasa Apso dog. He is nine years old, which means that, in dog years, he is a basically a grouchy middle aged man. 

Do you have another dog and if so how old is it?

I have no other dog, and have never had another dog. My dog that I don't have is 7 years old. 

Why did your Mum call Winston Ooooshus Magooshus?

My mum always gives silly nicknames to things. For example, she calls my 'Joshy Poshy'. Winston has many nicknames. It started off as 'Wini', and then gradually transmogrified into 'Ooshus Magooshus', which I think sounds like the name of a monster, not the name of a dog. 

Do you have any pets?

I have a wife, which is similar. 

How can a pancake fly without wings?

I always say that if you ask a silly question, you need to be prepared to get a silly answer. So my answer is this: pomegranates. 

Can penguins fly to your house?

Spoons. 

How do you know all your poems off by heart?

Interesting question. I do not quite know ALL of my poems off my heart, but it is true to say that I know quite a lot of them. I think there are two main reasons why this is the case. Firstly, I visit loads and loads of schools, and give masses of performances, and the more you recite a poem the more you get to know the words. Secondly, I find the process of writing and editing a poem involves going over and over that poem, and when I do this the words kind of get lodged in my memory. I find it much, much easier the memorise my own poems than I do to remember other people's poems. In fact, there are only a couple of poems by other poets that I know off by heart. In order to give a good poetry performance, I do not believe that you have to know a poem off by heart. 

FANTASTIC POEMS BY SUFFOLK STUDENTS

One of my very favourite poems is 'On Turning Ten' by Billy Collins. Yesterday I worked with a group of students in Years 7, 8 and 9 at County Upper School in Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk, using this poem as a starting place to think of issues surrounding growing up and getting older. A fantastically broad range of viewpoints and emotions was expressed, and I'm delighted to share a selection of the wonderful poems that were produced!

Growing Up by Evie

Growing up is like a piece of paper,

Filling up with the words of your life.

Everyone says that you’re the one who controls it,

The one who grips the pen.

When we are younger we make our adventures

But they’re not real.

Travelling round the world as we charge round the playground.

It gives us a wonderful feeling.

Now we can actually make it a reality,

We finally have the chance.

But will we finally follow these dreams

Or change the steps of life’s dance?

It’s down to us

But what should we do?

Which way is right

To get us through?

We’ll have to see what happens.

I Want to Be by Rowan

I want to be an astronaut

to explore the deep, dark space.

I want to be a fisherman

to catch millions of plaice.

I want to be a scientist,

to find out where and when and why.

I want to be a doctor,

to help people live and not die.

I want to be an artist,

to create to my heart’s content.

I want to be a therapist,

telling people it’s OK to be spent.

I want to be a florist

to watch the flowers bloom.

I want to be a vicar,

to get rid of the doom and gloom.

I want to be a chef,

putting food on others’ plates.

I want to be successful,

but for now I’ll have to wait.

Growing Up by Anika

I used to think that growing up

meant being big and strong.

I used to think that growing up

meant never being wrong.

I used to think that being old

meant following your dreams,

but now I know that growing up

is just not what it seems.

I used to think that growing up

meant never feeling sad.

I used to think that growing up

meant never being bad.

I used to think that growing old

made money grow on trees,

but now I know that thinking that

brings your whole world to its knees.

I used to think that growing up

meant getting rid of toys.

I used to think that growing up

meant hanging out with boys.

I used to think that being old

made troubles go away.

But now I know that everything

led to me today.

The Good Ole Days by Anonymous - the poet forgot to put their name on it!

As a baby I screamed

As a toddler I cried

As a child I whined

As a teen I moaned

As an adult I grumbled

As an elder I reminisced

About the good ole days...