The Kitchen Club existed for only one night. A dark rainy night back in 1984 when four middle-aged, married, professional men, tired of London’s rat race, met round the back of the Coach and Horses pub in Streatham, South London, and read poetry to one another. That night, the shackles of routine and fashion fell from them. They read the poems as if every word were nectar dripping from their tongues.
The reading reached such a fever pitch of passion that two of the men started kissing. As dawn rose, the two men made love. Through early Romantic poetry the third man was able to transcend the material world and began worshipping the moon. The fourth drank too much Carling and puked.
That man still lives today, living in a derelict tower block in Elephant and Castle. Now divorced and unemployed, he squats illegally on the top floor. On quiet nights, if you listen carefully, you can still hear him screaming Careless Whisper from his rooftop. He is the author of this blog.
really? curiouser.