I have had a love/hate relationship with Bohemian Night. I first joined in when it was all going on upstairs after hours at Pierre Victoire’s. On those nights, in that long smoky room, individuals would play, collectives would congregate and poets would expound until at least one in the morning.

Everyone always got at least two turns and it was hell trying to bring something new each week. Unless you’re Matt Westwood who would, and still does, write what he was about to perform as he was about to perform it. But I was never like that. It was Matt who dragged me along in the first place, Matt and Clive (T.T. Youth) who was setting up a poetry event there on the Tuesday nights that would alternate with Rob’s evening.

It didn’t take long for the two to merge, for more poets to come to the music and for musicians to come along to the poetry. At that time I was running an open mic, ...and other poems, at the university on a Tuesday evening and so would often come down after that. I remember a couple of times me and Matt managed three readings in the one evening, beginning with a seven o’clock at Waterstone’s, an eight thirty to eleven at the university and then a late night at Pierre’s. And Matt had new material at each event. Bastard.

Now Bohemian night is not so smokily Bohemian, not so twisted but that’s not to say it’s not still as good. There is a wider range of talent, a larger possible audience (if only they’d listen) and a better sound system and most of the old hands still doing their things. It’s great to discover something fantastic, like Klaus and his that’s-not-really-skiffle band, or the first time I encountered Tom or Sweaty Chris with his juggling.

Before you had Desmondo with his cut up poems and Tibetan opera, now you have stand-up comedy and slide whistles. Before we had regular saxophone breaks, now we have flute solos and slide whistles. Before we had the filthiest poetry in the world from Lou Garcia, now we have Matt reading his own poetry. And slide whistles. Before we had the Matt and Ashley show comedy playlets, now we have, well, Matt and Ashley, not together so often, granted, but with slide whistles. I can see a theme forming here.

Now I am incredibly lazy, I love writing, I really dig coming up with new poems and new ideas, but I don’t enjoy it so much that I’d actually choose to do it, because I could just sit down and read a book or listen to some music instead. And it is here that Bohemian Night really comes into its own. The one time I can manage to work is when there’s a deadline. If you were a fly on the wall of my flat at about seven thirty on a Wednesday evening you would see me hunched over the computer feverishly trying to come up with something to do with some combination of musicians. I like to do something every week, sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t but I see Bohemian Night as a chance to try these things out on the theory that the good stuff will but discernable from the chaff. And repeatable, hopefully. Who knows.

At the beginning I said I have a love/hate affection for Bohemian Night and I’ve just outlined some of the things that I like, I guess, the other side of the coin is every Wednesday I’m here doing the same old rubbish, saying the same old tripe inbetween the acts and I get thoroughly bored of the sound of my own voice. I find it hard thinking of things to perform, and I know I don’t have to perform and if space is tight Rob knows I’m happy to be missed off, but I enjoy performing – it’s what I came here for first. And I get tired of the three quarters of the audience at the back who don’t give a fuck about what we’re doing and I love the front quarter who come week after week and clap and applaud and seem to have a good time. And I like the people, I’ve met talented and warm people here, made friends who sometimes cook for me and who have even been known to take me out walking on a Sunday. And quite frankly, at the end of the day, I can very rarely think of anything better to do on a Wednesday evening. And sometimes something fantastic comes along and I wouldn’t want to miss it. And if you see me smiling, then I clearly didn’t.