On Thursday 22 October 1992, I attended an event in Crewe to hear Simon Armitage, a newly published poet, read his work. I remember the date because I still have the ticket and poetry recitals were not a normal night out for those of us who grew up in the pubs and clubs of Grimsby in that era. It was a night that changed my life as I glimpsed a possible world that could coexist alongside the heavy-drinking, sometimes scrapping, football-loving culture and the constraints men set themselves back then.
Some constraints were self-imposed, others were rooted in the ignorance and prejudice of the time. This was typified when, years later, my mum found out I liked the creative arts and her response was to ask if I was gay. A bizarre conclusion, unthinking and uneducated, but not unusual then. Simon was one of the first poets I saw – a cool young Yorkshireman who wrote about relatable issues and spoke in an accent I recognised.
