When I first sifted through the program for The London Word Festival, almost everything in the eclectic mass of off kilter events drew me in. Victorian ghost story gatherings, DIY poetry, prints for a pound and scrabble Sundays. But for some reason, I was completed averted to the title '100 days to make me a better person by Josie Long'. I immediately pictured a one woman post-menopausal show. One filled with preachy, self indulgent anecdotes accompanied by a photo montage of an ex-poet scribbling her sestinas in tears. Even though I had pledged to attend every storytellers meet, scrabble Sunday or contemporary poetry slam on offer, I left Josie Longs 'One Hundred Days project' finale un-circled on my nerdy-word notice board.
After starting this blog, I backtracked after realising that I was lathering myself with hypocrisy. Ask any homeless man with a shopping trolley full of umbrellas and tangled phone chargers, he'll tell you, curiosity keeps you young. So I dragged my tiny friend along to the 'secret' location in Dalston. Secret indeed. After traipsing through the fish market and getting a litre of omega oils absorbed into my canvas shoes, I finally found it-the Stamford Works Warehouse. Apparently when it comes to avant-garde London, Dalston is the new Hoxton. This generally means that men sporting Burberry hats and bulldogs in the town are now outnumbered by young women with 40s headscarves and ukuleles. Even still, the Word festival organisers are veering far from trendy pretence associated with contemporary literary events. Queuing to the unknown, we were met with smiling faces offering wagon wheels and love hearts from paper plates. The Stamford works itself, with its beautiful rough-hewn structure looked like it had been frantically decorated with fairy lights and promo posters. It was as if we were being ushered into a subterranean living-room, especially since the seating area was a bundle of cushions.
The compare for the event was far from post-menopausal Josie Long. This zippy but still self-deprecating lady has a long-established comedi-en career, starting at just 17 when she bagged the BBC New Comedian of the year award. But like most of those British comedians who don’t infinitely feature on the Dave channel, her name is best known to patrons of the Edinburgh fringe. Josie became the Pied Piper of the 100 days project back in 2009, starting an online commitment to do something every day for 100 days to quash procrastination and hopefully, make her a better person. Her website, www.hundreddays.net gathered hundreds of lacklustre followers, all aspiring to better themselves. The most common self contract seemed to be that of young writers vowing to do one hour of creative writing a day. Some commitments were a little less ambitious,
‘I will masturbate every day for 100 days’ or ‘I will take a picture of my cat every day for 100 days’. But the project’s luminary had a bit more moxy in her daily endeavours, engaging in politics, exercising, writing a joke and the basis of her comedy set-talking to strangers every day. Josie’s performance had a wonderful tentative feel as she read her daily-jokes from thumbed out copy books and shared anecdotes from her conversations with pensioners and frightened boys in year seven. What is wonderful about Josie is that she is audacious enough turn someone like Cecil Rhodes into comedy, but will still read mawkish diary entries to a room full of strangers. While the style of her 100 days set may not have always evoked buoyant belly laughs, there wasn't a person in the audience without a warm, contemplative smile across their face. Personally, I think Josie should be given the Perrier award just for her derisive handling of the world’s first 8 year old heckler in the 100 days audience.
Other members of the 100 days performance collective included Isy Suttie, Sarah Pascoe and one man band with the 8 man sound, The Pictish Trail. Isy, unknown to me before the gig, is better known as my favourite Peep Show character Dobby. Her act involved surreal but still homely comedy, along with some of angst of a woman nearing 30 (i.e. all your friends getting up the spout and moving to bath). Isy use eerie folk music to pace her act and with a bellowing country voice to match Gillian Welch's, her songs about the 'Twattyside Countryside' and 'Lol love' are all the more eloquent. Isy has a wonderful Andric way about her, far from the persona of the World-of-Warcraft loving Dobby. Despite her success, she is undoubtedly the most unassuming comedian in Britain. If I could invite anyone to drink cans of white ace in Dalston Park on a sunny afternoon, it would be her
The evening had an unexpected change of pace with Sara Pascoe's set, centred on her 100 pledge to write a letter to one person every day. Sara has previously been dubbed 'the female Russell Brand without the libido' by the Evening Standard for making light of all the topics we consider 'beyond comedy'. Though erratic and breathless, Sara stormed through the 99 back stories behind her letters. For the first 10 minutes, the audience reaction ran cold unsure how to connect with something so personalised. Thankfully, by the time she had reached her contemptuous letter to Germaine Greer, it was clear she had won us over. Sara has an overbearingly cocky nature which exudes on stage, but allows a window of vulnerability to complete an unexpectedly moving performance.
Sara was followed by the reluctant Johnny Lynch, who performs under the pseudonym of The Pictish Trail. Johnny was instantaneously endearing, slugging about the stage in his joggers with a face like an abandoned Beagle. The poor bastard was suffering from tonsillitis and seemed a little bit begrudged about being pulled away from his X-box to dance for us. But Johnny soldiered on with his bizarre set of 30 second songs, all written for his 100 days pledge (reaching around the 70 mark-hopefully with a doctor’s note in hand). Johnny's performance moved away from the austere acoustic folk set to jocular bedroom tunes, probably composed on Windows 7. These varied from moments of unsettling 90s acid house to simple, resonate two line melodies. Not quite Dylan goes electric, but it was impossible not to fall for his tufty face and dry humour.
A wander round the 100 days exhibit was a crucial part of the night. This assembly allowed a handful of the 900 pledgers to display proof of their commitment. Some had examples of their one-a-day comic strips; haiku's and of course, photographs of cats. Favourites of the night were the 100 Lego sculptures (later shoved into purses and pockets) and the one hundred 100 word stories offered to the audience in scrolls. We finished the night with a conveyer belt of chocolate cake passed from person to person through the makeshift living room.
The whole event had the feel of those tranquil moments you spend sleeping by strangers in a festival Speigaltent. Regardless of everything they achieved in those 100 days, Josie Long and her comedy convoy should credit themselves with making art and comedy more accessible than it has ever been. I have no doubt that we all left that building with ethereal smiles and an urge to slip uplifting Post-it notes into a stranger’s pocket. Maybe by now we are all back to subtly giving each other the finger in tube queues. Still, if Long can manage to unite jaded Londoners, I think should deserves the title of UN Goodwill Ambassador. Pity the job is already taken by Craig David.
