(THANKS TO ALL FOR ALL THE HUGS, WORDS, LAUGHTER, TEARS, CONNECTION AND AFFECTION)
Friday 12th September
Every time I have been to Morecambe it has rained very little until last weekend.
I was there for friends, hugs, poetry, beer and affection. I was there for the bright Popworld backdrop of The King’s Arms and the ceiling of The Winter Gardens. I was there for my favourite weekend of the year where poets gather from across the UK to meet in Morecambe Bay. I had missed the Thursday pre-festival event this year but hear that Trystan Lewis and Barney Hallman delivered great sets and it was a friendly and loving night in The Bath Inn.
Opening the festival with my show
I was honoured and felt a little pressure to storm this with Matt having placed his belief in me officially opening the festival and setting the tone at 1630 on the Friday afternoon. Lucy Power and I had arrived and checked into our digs. Then, to the venue and I met up with the lovely Chris Bainbridge who was volunteering and it was great to see Jo Jinty again too and have a hug. I admit I was gathering a few hugs to stop myself pacing in the run up to being on stage.
Well, what to say about my own show… I loved doing it. I had worried about running over time and in the end was running a little short, so added some anecdotes back in and I settled into my time on stage and had lovely feedback myself from people after and Matt let me know many audience members also told him how much they enjoyed it too.
I shared many more hugs in the Popworld space the papier mache heads having migrated from The Playhouse for the weekend too. I felt the stage was set for me and even the robot/cassette head painting on the front of the stage fitted with my theme too. Over the weekend I noticed a lot of sets mentioned music, venues or bands from the nineties and I don’t know if that was like when you buy a blue mini you see them everywhere or there were more this time. Or maybe it was friends knowing what my show was about had included music poems.
We had fish and chips and it was lovely to decompress for an hour or so, although there were many police cars and some ambulances outside the King’s Arms (not sure what went on there, still) but this was all cleared by the time we returned later.
Winter Gardens Jan Brierton and John Hegley
I was too far back to get many good photos at this event but enjoyed the start to the Winter Gardens section of the evening. It was the first time I had seen Jan and hadn’t seen John since the Morecambe Poetry Festival back in 2023. I am pleased with the Guillemot shot I captured and I had a chat with Robin Ince who apologised for missing my show, he said he was somewhere bad. I asked him if it was the pub, he told me it was ‘worse than the pub… the Pier Bookshop'(bad, as in more costly…) Robin is one of the loveliest, most open, honest and vulnerable, joyful humans I know and it was great to catch up briefly.
Luke Wright (back in the King’s Arms)
By this point I was flagging quite badly after 4 1/2 hours sleep, had hung around in The Winter Gardens too long and got back to a very busy King’s Arms. I was glad to catch Luke’s set as I remember when he came to Manky Poets, in Chorlton Library just after Mondeo Man had come out, which we worked out was about twelve years earlier. He owned the stage and his words were well-chosen and crafted. Bought my first book of the weekend. I was going to leave after the first couple of pieces but stayed for his set. I was sad to miss Lisa Moore’s set but I needed to rest due to lack of sleep and crashing after adrenaline high all week ahead of my show.
Saturday 13th September – Word Walk, King’s Arms, Winter Gardens
I woke up slightly too late to get to the Word Walk in time and then decided to get up and ready and to see if I could catch them ten minutes too late (and if I couldn’t I would enjoy the walk along the promenade while it wasn’t raining anyway.
The Word Walk with Big White Shed (Anne Holloway)
We heard stories about an art boat, where you can swim out to see the art, a semi-submerged boat, the murals and street art and we wandered in the graveyard and through the grounds of the Town Hall.
King’s Arms afternoon
Robin Ince
I made it back just in time to get a front row seat for Robin Ince, who was returning after visiting the festival last year and having written poetry for just over a year and realising it was a method of expression he wished he had discovered sooner. I bought a handmade scrap-book of his poetry last year and it was lovely to be able to buy his first bound poetry book and get photo with Robin. I love the excitement with which he shares his poetry and how it is evident he wants to share everything at once the chaotic joy that comes across in this set.
I then missed a few sets because of 2p arcades and catching up with friends over a couple of pints but we thought it was reasonable to start drinking at 2pm.
Write Out Loud 20 years celebration
Then back upstairs to catch 20 years of Write Out Loud and I was asked (at very short notice) to read a poem about conflict written by a 12 year old poet from the Together anthology. As someone who had regularly been to Sale and Marsden Jazz Festival Write Out Loud events and had also had both my books and Quiet Compere shows reviewed on the website. It was lovely to hear about many other experiences of Write Out Loud too and to see many friends on stage as well, including Julian, Julia and Dave and Joy. I seemed to have deleted my photos from this event.
However, I have just noticed there is a write-up on Write Out Loud here:
Speech Therapy – Nottingham takeover 1
This was fun. It started with a dance on stage and with the audience out of their seats too – I returned from the bar to find everyone dancing to ‘Poetry in Motion’. I am not sure if they always do this or it was just to break up the fact we were sitting down a lot of the day as audience, either way, bonus dancing always sounds good to me. A fun and varied selection of poems in this hour. I was right at the back for this one so didn’t take photos.
Then a break for food – pie and chips this time. Brilliant food King’s Arms and a quick catch up with Dave Morgan and Julian Jordan.
Winter Gardens evening
Henry Normal and Nigel Planer
To be honest, I was far back for this one after the King’s Arms being really full on the Friday evening and I had had a break in the afternoon because the two poets I wanted to see the most on Saturday were on after hours in The King’s Arms.
I did try to take some photos but they were too blurry that far back. I enjoyed Henry’s set (and was happy to see him in so many crowds supporting other poets and the festival, not going to lie, I did an anecdote about my first gig after lockdown being Henry at The Playhouse and it did throw me for a second when I saw him and wondered if he had heard that bit…) and caught the first few pieces of Nigel’s but then left to make sure I wasn’t late to see good friends, Rowan and Jonny, and it was good to catch them briefly for hugs and good luck wishes before they went on.
Saturday Night King’s Arms
Rowan McCabe
Everything was a little delayed so their sets were cut a little shorter. I could have listened to either of them for hours. Rowan has been an online friend for years but we only actually met last year when he opened the festival with stories from the Door to Door Poet art project. Instantly likeable and I see how the project works because of this personal quality. I was delighted to buy one of his books pre-launch and he was evidently excited to be holding and gazing on these volumes with them being so freshly unboxed. He beguiled us with more stories of adventures and trying to find anyone who had heard of a limerick in Limerick.
Pick a book up here or other places online or in store: The Door-to-Door Poet
Jonny Fluffypunk
Now, Jonny, I remember clearly having a conversation with Jonny when we were both newly single parents and were sitting on the edge of swimming pools waiting for lessons to be over and I seem to remember we were putting the world to rights and decided we wanted the lessons to go on another hour or so! This may have been a dream (actually, I just scrolled back on Messenger and find I slightly mis-remembered but Jonny was waiting for the end of a gym lesson and reading my book while I read Matt Nicholson’s book at pool side waiting for a lesson to be over 7 years ago). Connecting through paper copies of us continues as I now have a copy of Jonny’s book ‘Poundland Rimbaud’ and am enjoying the stories, poems, humour this is bringing to my days this week as the post Morecambe dip starts to creep in. (typing this blog is also another attempt to keep this dip at bay and to relive it a little and share that with others who were there too and keep a little bit of the warmth, the love, the connection and share it further so more people will know about the festival for next year).
Many hugs and many catch ups and stayed up too late drinking and grinning with and at other poets! More photos…
Sunday write-up coming up, but first a poem…
Another Morecambe love poem…
Two new Morecambe love poems were written in the early hours two days this week. I haven’t written new pieces outside workshops for ages. This is partly because I have been focusing on crafting the show (especially as that has meant memorising poems) and partly because I haven’t been inspired but the Morecambe buzz never fails to fire up my muse.
The Cumbrian sky across the bay is inky with promise and threat
On the final day Hannah reads a poem
about Manchester moving on
without her
about how she couldn’t revisit it.
It had changed.
Matt and I had this exact conversation
just after I moved to Huddersfield
and he to Morecambe.
I told him it felt like it no longer belonged to me.
He helped me feel that was alright
because we had moved on too.
This poem made me cry
for the place in my mind
that no longer exists.
Jilly’s Rock World.
The Venue.
Tiger Lounge.
This is the second poem
that made me cry today.
I am aware it is the final day and,
even though I can’t take more,
I don’t want the weekend to be over.
The third poet who makes me cry is Beth
who thanks the audience for being her home.
Yes!
And it reminds me of a moment on Friday
when I tell Robin I am going home
and he knows I don’t mean back to Yorkshire,
he knows I mean where I will sleep when in Morecambe.
I look out for tears in others
and we hug it out.
I saw friends, across rooms bright with words and fabrics,
and ran across to greet them
and those I had never met
but felt I knew from Messenger heart-to-hearts
and we are both equally giddy
about having met in the flesh.
The Manchester Tribe
are inhabiting The King’s Arms
and I feel I am back in The Green Room in 2006,
at Freed Up
or in a Chorlton Festival tent
next to an amped up stage,
shouting words to the three people
who are close enough to hear you.
The accents embrace me
the performance styles are like familiar jumpers
and these friendships
two decades old are rekindled.
The poems were glorious and raw
we were delirious with laughter
and buzzing on each other.
I was bathing in mention of my places –
Chorlton, Moss Side, Old Trafford.
It was like sitting in a bath of Polos,
fresh, surprising, necessary and bright.
Barney hugs me
asks me if I know The Hugging Song
and he sings it to me,
grinning and hugging me long again at the end.
And my self-belief in my own show
is fortified by positive comments
and sincere words shared in stairwells
and while sheltering under awnings from rain.
Another Morecambe Love Poem 
…
Sunday – later start than planned
I was intending to be up and at The King’s Arms in time for John Osborne. I hear his set was great and I was sorry to have missed it as we had a few good chats over the weekend and I would like to have heard it.
I caught the very end of Chanje’s set and then, a poet I chatted to lots over the weekend, Steph Chan/Dogfoot…
Steph Dogfoot
First of all, a mention for the best jacket of the festival, even with the cameo from Walter De Forest leather jacket Matt was sporting at some point on the Saturday!
Steph’s set was sharp and precise and honed. Loved it and I have the book, which I actually bought for the cover on the Saturday morning. I hope to stay in touch with Steph as we spent a lot of the weekend writing, talking, connecting.
Poetry Cocktail
A fun over-arching concept with tips for cocktail making and ingredients and poetry about and around these along with other subjects. Three sets delivered well and an enjoyable rapport between the three performers, Sue Allen, Clare Stewart, Gail Webb.
Next up was…
Best of Morecambe
These were winners from The Bay Fringe Slam – Rosemary Drescher, Peter Kay, Jane Allsop and Hannah Wood. (apologies for Jane for not getting a photo, I was probably carried away by the poetry).
Two of these poets made me cry and all four were well deserved winners of the slam. An enjoyable and emotional hour. I was very tempted to leave for some fresh air and hugs and chats in the pub downstairs at this point but I knew Beth was up next and we had chatted a lot and become friends over the festival after meeting at the festival back in 2023. I couldn’t miss her set. And she made me cry again. I am such a delicate mess by the last day, knowing it is almost over for another year is hard when so many friends are there and the festival is something I look forward to for so long, it marks the end of summer and beginning of my favourite season, the season of blankets and jumpers, dark nights, long, hot baths and cinema visits.
Beth Hartley
Beth introduced her set by talking about home and temporary homes and thanking us as an audience for being her home. This set me off all over again. And she is totally right. I said in my Facebook post from last year (that came up in memories today) that part of my heart always remains in Morecambe. A brilliant set and I am looking forward to reading the book too.
I then really needed a break from words and tears and had macaroni cheese and garlic bread and a pint with Beth and Lucy and a catch up with Louise Fazackerley. This did mean I missed the Hovis Presley Memorial though the poem that Matt shared on Decadent Airwaves radio show made me decide I am going to search out more Hovis poetry online. I am sad I missed the Booming Lovelies as they have been Morecambe Poetry Festival regulars and I was looking forward to seeing them but I felt I needed a little time to decompress if I didn’t want to be a teary sea for the whole of the Sunday.
Next was the start of the Manchester Poets section…
John Darwin
First up, my good friend and ex-host of Write Out Loud Sale, John Darwin. It had been good to see him for some hugs and grins across the weekend but we hadn’t had much time to chat between the sets. I enjoyed his poetry set and it was good to see him at the festival. I would love to see him back next year with a slightly longer set.
Andy Bennett
I remember Andy from Manchester days too and he delivered a great set, another poet who seemed to be around a lot of the weekend, supporting and watching many other sets.
I love the fact so many poets want to be part of the festival as much as they possibly can be. I know I missed a few sets but felt this year was an even more packed schedule than other years so had to factor in some come-down time as that much poetry for three days in a row can become too much at times. Another poet did tell me I seemed to be everywhere and he didn’t know how I managed it. I think the fact I had cherry red hair and a bright bobble-hat on most the time probably helped with the visibility! Oh, also, someone said I should photograph myself with the frame of roses behind me, so I did!
Louise Fazackerley
Louise is one of those poets whose sets I look forward to because as well as being a brilliant, thoughtful poet and a single parent and an excellent human she also moves a lot so is fun to photograph too.
Closing Night at Winter Gardens
Clare Ferguson-Walker and Michael Rosen
Okay, I was pretty far away again. The venue is great for the ceilings and the restored hallway floor is looking fine but my photos are always a bit rubbish in here. Clare delivered an humorous and polished set and Michael also let us know we were in safe hands immediately and wove stories and poetry and jokes together seamlessly. A great evening to close the Winter Gardens section off.
Jackie Hagan’s Manky Mates
So, yes, this is how the festival was signed off last year too – I think there were more audience this year for this finale though and I had already done all my crying earlier in the day – now was time for laughter, accents, delivery styles and some of the poems that take me back to my many years on the Manchester poetry scene before I moved to Yorkshire in 2017. So much love for these poets and it was ace to catch up with them around the poetry too, they are great company!
I am still laughing from Thick Richard’s set. He was one of the first poets I met when I moved to Chorlton and the first time we met we were in a poetry tent about 20 yards away from a full-amped music stage (and I will keep telling this anecdote because it is as good place as any to start a friendship!) and since then we have bonded over our utter adoration of Jim Bob and Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine. I think being able to prescribe Thick Richard should be possible as you are laughing so hard you can’t breathe or think or despair, your main concern is not wetting yourself because you shouldn’t have had that extra pint when you knew there wouldn’t be time for a toilet break!
And finally… to thank Matt Panesh
It has been so good to watch Matt actually be able to enjoy and watch the shows and sets this year (and last year) and that is partly because the brilliant and dedicated Jo Jinty was on board and the team of volunteers who were all friendly, helpful and cheerful. I did offer hugs to the volunteers when any of them looked like they might need one.
Glad to hear a new Matt poem in his set and Thanks to Matt for pulling together such a brilliant festival and for all the encouragement, support and belief he puts in so many individuals and troupes at The Morecambe Poetry Festival, Morecambe Fringe, The Playhouse and events and festivals across the year.
Oh, and one more Morecambe love poem…
Fire-starter
We cannot claim
we didn’t start the fire
as we were aware
of our incendiary actions.
Friends label us fire-themed nicknames,
Flamey, Spark, Inferno,
and we dance through days, through crowds, through lives,
spreading our joyous chaos,
like friction-ridden sparklers, we are rarely still.
We start many small fires
which lead to words being written,
shows being started,
next creative steps being taken.
And there is power here
and we respect that.
We could use this
to control and influence.
We could use our charisma for evil.
We could become politicians or culture leaders.
But if this is a cult
and those afraid of us expressing ourselves may call it such.
If this a cult
it is one of friendly encouragement and hugs
one of lifting each other,
looking out for each other
and showing what can be done when you run with
what has often become guttering embers,
lighting our own Olympic torches from these,
some tiny, some elaborate, some lighting the whole bay.
But all seen and acknowledged,
all valid and valued and precious.
Some of these torches
are in corners
or doorways
or stairwells
shared with one or two people
and with listening
these become steadier
more sure of their light.
Or stuttering flames
given Playhouse stages to learn how burning can be
how to realise you may not burn orange, yellow, red
but may be many shades of purple, magenta, green,
and still burn, just differently,
and light up rooms in a way that is human,
tells stories and dances with less experience
and with a tempered confidence.
And you will be changed by this exposure,
sometimes a little charred
by your own burning
or that of others,
sometimes burnt out
by prolonged illumination
but then
there is always the possibility
of becoming a phoenix.
Next year’s festival is 17th-20th September 2026 (this will be almost my 50th birthday) – so I expect to celebrate even more that weekend. Be there!
The love followed me into the week – the last chocolate in the box at work was a heart and the conker had heart shaped marks. Writing this blog has helped hold off the post-festival dip and made me smile, hopefully it will do the same for some of you who are missing it!
Thanks to Ailsa Morrison, Chris Bainbridge, Sharron Green and Mary Ringland for the photos of me. Please let me know if I have shared your photos and forgotten to mention you here.
Sarah L Dixon Writer 
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