Last Thursday was the 17th anniversary of Oxford’s legendary Catweazle Club. This is a semi-prose poem I wrote specially for the occasion.
There is an open mic.
There is an open mic in Oxford.
The planet Oxford that orbits the Sopdet binary star system in the western arm of the Eesar galaxy.
Today, the Kaddiska Mu-Stellar Club is 17,000 years old and is thought by many to be the longest-running open mic in the local cluster.
Or at least this side of the Chiltern nebula.
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Well just Alderney so far, which is in the Bailiwick of Guernsey, but we’re on our way. The trip to Fort Clonque – a mid-nineteenth century British coastal battery connected to the mainland by a narrow causeway – was a resounding success. Eleven of us, connected to one degree or another through Oxford’s famous Catweazle Club, flew out there at the beginning of October to enjoy some sea, sand and songwriting, and to play a gig at the Campania, a pub in the main town, St Anne.
The gig went down well and was a good chance to meet some locals, who were friendly and welcoming, if slightly bemused by our performances. But we were also charmed by the lanscape, some of it picturesue like the craggy cliffs and beautiful white beaches, some of it post agri-industrial like the abandoned farm machinery, steam cranes and water pumps, and the extensive Second World War coastal fortifications. (more…)
The next moogieman gig will be at a more far-flung location than usual. The Campania pub sits high among windswept rocks. The cracked baroque facade is occasionally hit by spray from the crashing waves below. On clear days its haughty turrets are visible from the coast of France.
But inside there is an ocean of calm … until, that is, moogieman performs his song about the International Obfuscated C Code Contest – The Apostate Priest Of The PDP-11. (more…)