Enter the shambolic world of gonzo poetry [Scotland]:
Edinburgh night-owls trawling the less-travelled byways of the Fringe may well have stumbled on Thick Richard last year, when their brand of northern club-turned-bardery came on like the surreal and dysfunctional bastard offspring of John Cooper Clarke and Bernard Manning. [...]
"You do comedy clubs," according to Moyler, "and they don't get you because they expect you to be funny all the way through, and then you do proper literary readings in libraries, and they absolutely hate you because you're not really literature."
"Only they're really quiet about hating you," deadpans Duffy.
This entry was posted by eeksypeeksy
on Thursday, August 18, 2005 at 9:57 AM.
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