Jenn Ashworth

Last night was very fun. I think Sally and me were both a little bit worried that an audience who had come to see a musician would expect, well, music for the support, and not us, reading stories and resplendent in short skirts, coloured tights and unsuitable shoes.

But in fact, they were very nice and clapped and chucked in all the right places. Which was a relief. We were only sad we had to sneak away early before David Ford’s gig was finished to get the train, although we were presented with a CD each so there’ll be chance to listen to the songs we missed.

I like doing readings. Live Lit. I’ve done lots of them, and get less and less nervous the more of them I do. But I’ve never done one in a church before. It felt a little bit sacrilegious to be reading the bad words out in church – and we were, amongst a mess of wires, mike-stands and pedals, between a piano, a couple of guitars and a strange carpeted platform that plays the drums (not a lie) standing on an altar, after all.

There was a bottle of communion wine in the dressing room. (I didn’t, don’t worry.)

Here is David’s myspace. Thank you for having us. He’s going to be in Nottingham tonight, and the rest of the dates are on his page. Ace.

Other interesting things that have happened include the Official Launch: hosted at No Point 9 in Manchester. Also appearing at the night was my former MA tutor Geoff Ryman, who gripped the room with a reading from an historical novel in progress. The new quarterly lit-mag Bewilderbliss was also launched there, and is still for sale here.

Thank you for having me there too, and thanks to all who came and clapped and bought books. I got to sign books with my special fountain pen. If you’ve not sniffed my signature yet (what is WRONG with you people?) then sniff it now.

That smell, my friends, is rose-scented ink. The very same that Duncan Cheshire kindly sent in exchange for (I can’t remember what now) as part of the Essentials for Life project.

I am off to Derby tonight, for Hello Hubmarine. Haven’t decided on what I’m going to wear yet. If the truth be known, I am very, very tired, but that trip along the A6 through the Peak-District and towards good friends, good writers, good poets and good dancing, will no doubt perk me up.

Finally, the polishing.

A review of A Kind of Intimacy here, by Max Dunbar – and another one here, from The Guardian and written by Stevie Davies (when he says Alice, he means Annie. I am almost certain.)

See you when I get back!