Tall Tales

You know how there are some nights which you know will stick with you for a very long time? I’ve had two of them this week. The first I’ve already mentioned (I’m still slightly on the lookout for hammer wielding lunatics every time I leave my flat), but the other one, which was last night, was an entirely different kettle of spiders.

I went along to Tall Tales at the Good Ship in Kilburn, which was billed as “a night of songs and stories, some of which you will wish were true”, and that, more or less, is exactly what it was. Our host for the evening was author Robbie Hudson, whose brilliantly eclectic blog has somehow ended up becoming one of my favourite things on the internet. I literally can’t explain how or why this happened; when I first came across it, quite a few of his posts were about American football and the rest, pretty much, were about fish. Honestly, you couldn’t pick two subjects in the world I would be any less interested in reading about than these two if you tried. The American football is self-explanatory, surely, and as for the fish, well, my mum is a marine biologist. While I love her to bits, I do tend to hear quite a lot about fish.

To be fair these weren’t  the only two things he wrote about (I am exaggerating slightly for effect) but they did feature quite heavily, and my point still stands: on paper (an  expression which  I *think* still makes sense in this context?),  I really shouldn’t have liked this blog much at all when I first found it. And yet, for some reason, I did.  I mean, I do.  In fact, if you were a fan of fish-based puns (which is everyone, isn’t it?) you might well say I found myself completely hooked. 

It's brilliantly funny and well written, and one thing I particularly enjoy is the fact that you never know what to expect next.  Mr T, the US Supreme Court and a fine collection of literary put-downs are all items which have graced the front page in recent weeks.  Whatever the topic, his lightness of touch and sense of humour make for an amusing and entertaining read, but there’s also a sense of real passion there – sometimes the words almost bounce off the page with enthusiasm. I love this. It’s something which came across on stage last night, too.

Speaking of which, Tall Tales last night.  Just like it said on the tin, there were some songs, which were mainly funny, and scattered around and between them were stories of all shapes and sizes. The evening opened with the tale of a writer-in-residence doing battle with a class of primary school pupils, and the story-within-a-story it contained was one of the funniest and most realistic examples of the kind of work which might be produced by the collective intellect of a bunch of fictional six year olds I have ever heard (case in point: there was a poisonous-spider-proof duck involved).  As the night went on we heard plenty of other stories: one which was almost, but not quite, a ghost story, predicted to “make you wish you were sitting next to someone with a hand you’d quite like to hold” (it did, but sadly (and with all due respect to the good friend who came with me, who I'm sure would say exactly the same thing) I wasn’t); we met a loving father and husband who left his family a unique and rather beautiful parting gift after his death*; and  we were privy to the early stages of an ill-fated equine love affair, conducted entirely by letters. Hints came which suggested there could be a sequel to this at some point; I really really hope there is.  

 All in all it was a brilliant event. There were some seriously talented bodies among the writers and performers, and they all made it look completely effortless. I watched in awe, and laughed, and was moved, and was entertained, and got completely swept up in the magic of it all. Most of all, I was reminded of the power of stories, and just how brilliant they can be. The ones told at Tall Tales were, quite simply, ace.

Speaking of tales, yes, I know, the Canterbury ones. I'm sure breaths have been bated. Haven’t forgotten, and they’re coming. Maybe later today, other things depending, maybe tomorrow.

*UPDATE: You can meet him too; there's a link to this particular story here.  If you don't do a little sigh when you finish reading it, you have a heart of cement.