It was not covid
I am glad
she would have been 100
not so bad
I posted pics of her in drag
“no darling it’s not my dad”
What a party we would have had.
my mum
gone
she was not
and would not
have been there
for that party
and I am glad.
Harriet McDonald
Whitstable
Campfire
by Jane Campbell
All winter long we’d waited
frosty breath-baited, impatiently,
to be nestled in the Welsh Himalayas
sat around a hundred-log fire
feeling our favourite kind of free.
Beneath this black brilliance of stars
cheekbones lit by big flame glow
we put on our ‘just for us,’
campfire dyke-love show.
Biker dykes admire cycle dykes in lycra,
traveller dykes who park big vans at the far end
chat up gold star dykes who’ve never had a boyfriend
and hippy dykes in rainbow tents
kiss Scottish dykes with strong accents.
Here we are one crew, hair done just right
big ink tribal tattoo, recognised
as we squeeze into the cuddle of singers,
drummers, drinkers and the “I don’t do”,
eyeing some, avoiding others
all of us together- woman lovers.
The party that never was..
Was there a party?
Wasn’t it just a chat, few old muckers chewing the cake:
Ah yes sorry, I meant to say ‘chewing the cud.’
And someone bought some booze!
This wouldn’t have gone on if I was there.
I was! I was there?
Oh crikey yes…. Malbec does go to the old brain just a touch.
Just remember to keep all this hush hush.
Haha just had a sizzling thought;
Spiffing wheeze that girl pretending to be on the telly… just had to post that out to some chums; what a gas.
Just remember to keep all this hush hush;
think of the party and my PM’ship,
no rocking the boat and all that.
And when this affair is all over,
we’ll be the party to party once more!
Peter C- hill
Whitstable
Party Victoria Avenue 1982 (ish)
A Dyke History Trilogy: part three
They were designer shoes. Not top designer but still…
Kitten heels. Matched the purple striped dungarees
Bought for my first ever women’s party.
I loved those dungarees.
‘But I didn’t know high heels were a subjugating tool of the patriarchy’
I apologised to the scary looking woman.
With the close-cropped hair.
I took them off and danced and danced.
Lel Meleyal, Scarborough
Party Victoria Avenue 1982 (ish)
A Dyke History Trilogy: part two
‘Are you gay?’ Asked the woman with dangly earrings
And chocolate button eyes.
I was about to deny it.
‘Of course she is, or she wouldn’t be here!’
Said the boyish woman.
I’d never seen a woman in Doc Martin’s before.
Her words changed my whole world forever.
Lel Meleyal, Scarborough
The Party: Victoria Avenue, Hull. 1982 (ish).
A Dyke History Trilogy: part one
Party Victoria Avenue. 1982 (ish)
Everyone was singing along to Hi Ho Silver Lining.
The DJ had turned off the music when the chorus came on.
The copper came into the room, tried to make himself heard above the noise.
‘Too loud’ he tried to shout but we sang louder.
Saw a room full of women, knew he was out of his depth.
He scuttled away.
Lel Meleyal, Scarborough
Birthday parties
Leaving Parties
Summer Parties
Christmas parties
Funeral parties
Care home parties
You shouldn’t be crying parties
Because your parent is dying parties
No formal education for a year parties
Give our friends some beer parties
No more because you’re queer parties
Or see your granny shed a tear parties
Because you can’t be here parties
We just don’t fucking care parties
Kerry Mitchell, Brighton
Party
That party where we met for the second time.
You were by the fish tank at Bens.
You wanted me to kiss you… but I did not know that.
We would have had two more whole months together.
Kiss the girl
Su Middleton-Lee
Brighton
Touch typing for activists
*Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the Party*
Dress in your best, Bring a bottle. Bring hummous.
Bring a banner and a guitar. Bring a will of iron and a cheerful determination not to be overcome.
Bring a hardhat and a stabvest, times are hard. Bring a mask.
Bring a drum, spare sticks and gaffer tape for your fingers. Bring your friends. Hug them, for life is short. Cherish them. Bring the number of a pro bono solicitor.
Stand 6 feet apart. You will need more than one signaller and the basses will get out of time with the snares; but persist. Resist. Continue to exist.
Play on, play loud, but refuse to play the game. Remember Greenham. Remember the clause 28 march at Manchester. Remember when we took to the streets to protest and to party. Remember doing the Guardian crossword while blockading the streets?… with jugglers?…on stilts?
Dance- like it was breathing. Sing – like it was loving. Hold on to the Joy of dressing up and getting out there and flinging yourself into sweaty togetherness – friendship, politics, lust and life, beautiful exuberant mad life, all mixed up with a cherry on top.
Try not to be downheartened when onlookers say “They should just get a bloody job” Try not to feel smug that when the world ends in deeply polarised, abject poverty, forest fire, flood and screaming, then they’ll be sorry. Try not to say “I can’t believe Im still protesting this shit at 70”
Try to find a way in which making animations of ballroom dancing sheds and flying cactus can somehow…come to the aid of the Party?
Amazingly few campaigns feature dancing garden buildings.
*Amazingly few discotheques provide jukeboxes*
*The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog*
The quick green protester jumps over the lazy Tory.
And now is the time for all good persons to come to the aid of the Party
Fin McMorran (age 65 and 3 quarters) Eighton Banks, Tyneside
FebulousFebruary 2025: Lost and Found 