1997, I think. I was one of five winners of some poetry contest. I was invited to the award ceremony in Wales' capital city of Cardiff, a half hour train ride from my hometown of Swansea. I had a couple of reservations about going. First, I knew I was not going to win. Second, what if I miss good waves? Anyway, I did end up going, as an excuse to get some beers with my little brother and his mates who lived in Cardiff. My brother Joe, his mate Dan and myself went the ceremony, which was in a large book shop in the city center. They said they were going to announce the winner and then ask him/ her to read. I wasn't too worried as I knew I wasn't going to win. First they announced the runner-up... phew not me. Then they rambled on about the winner and the potential they had as a writer... blah blah, where's the free wine? Finally, they called my name... oh Fuck me... now what? Where's the nearest exit? I'm fucked. Dan? Joe? What now? One of you want to pretend to be me?
"Is he here, is Pete here?"
I think my brother may have pointed at me.
"Oh great, What are you going to read?"
Horrror. Horror. I raced through my poem, got my prizes and went down the boozer, vowing never to read in public again.
Anyway, I was recently offered to read from Foulweather in public. Shitty shit shit. Now what? I've got to stop hiding from these things. We'll see how it pans out. Until then, if you want some beach reading there is a PayPal button to the right ----------->
In other news, we should be giving the Foulweather website an overhaul in the coming few months. I hope to add more stories and perhaps PDFs of all issues of 'Foulweather' and 'Coming To Amerika' and an updated photo page.
