2 weeks Ago By Robin Ince
Chas & Dave are hammering away in my head as I am going “down to Margate”. Few towns have anthems filled with such joy and laughter. And they were right.
You can keep the Costa Brava, I’d rather be in Margate too, especially as my destination is THE CRAB MUSEUM – an exhibition of crab biology, history, myth and legend with some socialism placed between the lines. Crab Museum. Image: Joe and Charlotte I will be performing in front of a giant suspended crab that will swing into me on occasions, ensuring my perpetual alertness.
Should I die under a giant crab, I am sure that some will say, “It’s what he would have wanted” after the years I spent creating dramatic readings of Guy N Smith’s 1970s pulp classics Night of the Crabs , Crabs on the Rampage and Crab’s Moon (among others). A few weeks before, during Margate Pride week, the Crab Museum was taken over by London’s Vagina Museum – set up to balance the universe as the penis already has a museum in Iceland. A couple told me of their visit to the Crab Museum during this occupation with their two sons.
The seven year-old stared at a wall of images of female genitalia and then said, “I don’t like THAT ONE!” He was told that negative criticism of female anatomy was not required, so scoured the wall and then pointed to another declaring, “All right then, THAT ONE is my favourite. Poetry is perfect for my ADHD mind – one that is after endless dopamine hits Why laughter is not a perfect way of measuring the success of a comedian Before the show, I wander the Margate streets with my pal Andre, who combines his excellent pantomime dame with being a historian of comedy and variety. If you have ever seen him on stage dressed as a Brownie you will not have forgotten it and he might still run around during your nightmares.
He points to the pub which was awarded a blue plaque for being the location of Eric Morecambe’s wedding reception. A diorama featuring crabs taking part in a labour dispute. Image: Sam Bush In The Old Bank charity shop, he finds a book of Brighton Theatre Royal playbills and I find a book from 1964 detailing Wimpey Homes’ architectural designs of housing estates around Britain.
We all have our own fascinations (and I probably have too many). The Crab Museum is sold out and I am asked if it is OK if someone lies in front of me in a sleeping bag with their dog by their side. The audience member has ME and I can see no reason this will be a hindrance.
A cat may have been more distracting. At times, when I read some of my sadder poems, I hear crying coming from the sleeping bag and the lovely dog comforts. During the show, one person has a phone that keeps ringing, but I can clearly see they are struggling with it and as they have a ringtone reminiscent of a cowboy movie, it elevates me to Gary Cooper heights.
I know they are not aiming to disturb and can see they are flummoxed so explain to the audience member that it is all fine and not to worry, there is enough conflict in the world without shaming someone in possession of disobedient technology. Crabs taking part in a suffrage protest. Image: Sam Bush I receive a kind message on social media the next day thanking me for not embarrassing them.
I am happy whenever a venue tells me that they were surprised the front seats sold first, usually they are the horror seats where people fear their sartorial ineptitude or occupation will be ravenously devoured for the purpose of others’ delight. Margate is a town, like many, in superposition. It has lots of new culture, arts and cafes growing in it but it also has intense poverty and a low literacy rate.
The Margate Bookshop works hard to supply books to schools and many I meet are not here to engulf and shoo out those in the way of elevation, but to try and lift up others too. We need to see this more across the land: less of the ‘I like the look of this place, with a splash of paint and some explosion, we can make this nice for us’ and more of the ‘How can we all work together to create purpose and beauty?’ Oh, and I survived the giant crab attack; its hinges were stout and its pincers bloodless. Robin Ince is a comedian, broadcaster and poet.
His book Bibliomaniac (Atlantic Books, £10.99) is out now. You can buy it from the Big Issue shop on Bookshop.
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