1.
It’s sometime in the late 1980s, in Corby, Northamptonshire. The Association of Little Presses Bookfair. A well-attended bookfair, at that, since this is at the height of the real poetry revolution. After the day’s readings and events and after the pub has shut, there’s Brendan Cleary and I with Ken and Judi looking for more drink. We find ourselves wandering through the darkness of a park. Ahead there’s a light under some trees. As we approach we see a parked car with its inside light on. Getting closer we notice a naked woman in the car and a man outside, also naked apart from the head, back and wings of a chicken, all feathers and looking like some kind of witch doctor from an old-fashioned western. Hastily he folds himself back into the car and shuts the door. The light goes out.
   
We are poets, unfazed by such bizarre antics. We continue our search. As we reach the exit to the park we bump into a young man who is carrying a motorbike helmet on his arm. We ask him if there’s anywhere we can find a drink. He says he’s heard of a place called Juicy Lucy’s and he’ll take us. As we stagger on we ask him if he’ll be all right drinking and driving. He says it’s not a problem as he doesn’t actually have a motorbike; he just carries the helmet to impress people. Juicey Lucy’s turns out to be a no-go and we call it a night.

2.
It’s sometime in the 1980s again, in ...