JUST had a wonderful week of gigs in four previously unvisited towns with piers.  I don’t actually collect piers — ie wander round them in an anorak with a pier-spotting book, taking down the grid reference, date I visited and amount of seagull poo deposited on my head — but, as I’m a coastal-dweller, they have a special place in my heart and I would be very unhappy with a pierless existence. 

I especially like them in winter when they are in hibernation. Not totally closed, but with most of their touristy bits freezing and off-limits, frequented mainly by bored teenagers, bickering elderly couples and sea anglers like myself who dream of the peace of the cod-which-passeth-all-understanding and actually catch vast quantities of three bearded rockling — strange beasts which resemble cold, slimy, wriggly, floppy goats’ willies. (Imagination, not empirical experience, invoked here, I hasten to add).

I started in Southsea on Valentine’s Day, fairly close to home but still a first time for a quick look at their South Parade Pier, which was basically shut, apart from a deserted kebab hut and fish restaurant. My gig was organised by the two poets in residence at Portsmouth FC and, as someone who has had the same role at Brighton, both officially and unofficially, I was very happy to celebrate my ecumenical approach to our regional football clubs:

Scummers and Skates are all my mates
I bear no hint of malice
I raise a toast to the whole South Coast
And just hate Crystal Palace

(This poem refers to the regional rivalry between Southampton and Portsmouth, “Scummer” being Pompey slang for a Saints fan and “Skate” vice versa. The former is old slang for a pirate, the latter basically an accusation of sailor bestiality. Enough said.)

From there I headed to Clacton, spiritual home of Ukip. My cycle around the town took me past Clacton Bowling Club, which would, if I had to choose, be my least favourite place to go canvassing for Labour; if this is sheer prejudice on my part I apologise, but statistics appear to bear me out. So absolute hats off to Anna Mae and Fae from Tendring Writers, who invited me to bring DIY left-wing poetry to their right-wing town and were rewarded with a full house and a very enthusiastic audience. I love doing gigs like that.  

Chelsea’s plutocrat clueless Yank owner Todd Boehly obviously thinks people from Brighton know everything about football. (He must do: he’s poached three of our players, six backroom staff and two heads of recruitment in the last year). So I thought I’d do some scouting for him. I sent him the attached picture of Martello, star of Clacton seafront, whose Italian name, granite features and towering defensive presence would make him an ideal Chelsea centre-half recruit, and said I’d throw in the shopping trolley for free for him to carry his cash around agents’ offices in. 

I await his reply.

A quick trip to nearby Walton on the Naze for my third pier — long, freezing, more or less empty — and then up the coast to Cromer, an absolutely beautiful, happening place I was astonished to have never visited before. Pier bustling, crabbers getting nipped, gig in the local community hall packed and fantastic.  

And then, last Saturday, on to Sheffield. Firstly to Hallam FC for an FA Vase 5th Round clash between the home side — one of the oldest football clubs in the country — and Lincoln United. 2-2, Lincoln won on penalties, nine scored, tenth saved by the very well-upholstered Lincoln keeper whose consumption of all the pies had been alleged all afternoon by the assembled throng. Fittingly, it hit him in the beer gut. Alleged crowd 1,300 or so, actual crowd FAR more.

Then my gig at Shakespeare’s — brilliant beer, great audience — and on to Sunday with a 5-0 win for the Seagulls at Sheffield United, and then to Hull for a gig at the Adelphi and a reunion with owner Paul “Jacko” Jackson, one of the absolute legends of the DIY music scene. The Adelphi celebrates its 40th anniversary in October, and I shall be proud to be a part of it. 

Home fixture tomorrow. In 2017 Cllr Beccy Cooper became the first Labour councillor in Worthing for 41 years. She’s now the first-ever leader of a Labour Council in Worthing. Next step is getting her elected as Worthing’s first-ever Labour MP, and tomorrow myself, Robb Johnson and Janine Booth are doing the first community fundraiser for her campaign at the Egremont by Worthing Pier. No longer God’s Little Tory Waiting Room, Worthing is on the UP in every way!

Cheers everyone!