Writing Competition / Open Mike Night

Are you a writer who could use a platform?

Read out a short piece on a weekly topic, loosely

based around the theme of shame, embarrassment

and general cringe. A burden shared is a burden

halved, they say. Judges will choose the best of three

events and winner gets a column in The Star.

First theme announced next Friday!

First show the Saturday after Halloween!

‘Open mike,’ Lucas shudders. ‘It’ll be slam poetry and men in black polo necks doing experimental comedy with no jokes. Mental New Agers asking you to try to touch your third eye.’

He’s feistier than I remember.

‘No one’s expectingyouto get involved. Do you know any writers?’ Devlin says to me. ‘Areyoua writer?’

This is a kind thing to say to a woman in garish faux fur who’s paid to pull pints of Stella, and I want to honour that.

‘Erm not really … I mean … I’d like to write, actually, but I don’t think that makes me one.’

The grin that transforms Devlin’s face is one you can’t help but smile back at. ‘You’d be ideal! It’s for new starters! You can have time to do it during work and everything. Can’t she, Luke? We’ll easily cover for half an hour. Encourage our staff to get their faces known, help us launch ourselves into the community.’

I laugh, nervously. Not only write, but perform it?

And I’d thought Lucas McCarthy would be above the customer facing stuff. He would spend his time striding around in Belstaff coats, with a pack of fox hounds at his heels, carrying an oil lantern.

Devlin turns back to me.

‘I’ll give people trial shifts but I won’t set anyone on permanently unless you feel you work well with them. I think good chemistry is vital. You have power of yay or nay.’

Devlin’s head jerks up and his eyes narrow and I know without a doubt, over my shoulder and behind my back, Lucas made an: OH THE IRONY face at him.

‘Come on, Keith,’ Lucas says. ‘You alright to see Georgina out?’ to his brother. ‘See you Monday,’ to me, and I nod.

This is more gracious than I expected. I sense the McCarthy brothers, despite the casual manner and attire, have quite considered manners.

‘You’ll get used to that surly wretch,’ Dev says, after Lucas has rounded the bar and a door has closed.

‘Do you both live above the pub?’ I say, to distract, as my getting used to the surly wretch is something I need to process when I am alone.

‘No that’s a one-bed flat, Luc is up there and I’ve rented round the corner.’

So Lucas is the one who’ll be on site, most of the time.

‘What sort of things do you think you’ll write about?’ Devlin says, nodding back up towards the poster. ‘Shameful things is the brief? I’d be buggered as I’ve never done anything shameful in my life.’ He grins.

I gulp.

‘Yeah, same.’

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