Throwing in the Trowel Review

Gives a voice to the voiceless

People outside of the poetry world have a vision of what the poetry world is like. They probably imagine a hazy, summer afternoon, on a river bank where someone speaks with received pronunciation and is rewarded with a golfing clap of appreciation.

The Pub Crawl Poets beat that vision with a shovel, bury it under a patio and only charge you half the amount they agreed because you’re paying cash.

AP Staunton and Rob Ford tag team the audience. Staunton hits us with a chair of storytelling and poetry, while we’re still dazed Ford follows up with a body slam of song. Their work paints vibrant pictures which burn in your mind long after the show has finished. This is proudly working class. At first it takes aim at the upper class but some of the strongest criticism is for the workers who stand next to them. Men who think, as Staunton put it, “words are impotent compared to the fist.” A line which hurts. Thankfully Staunton and Ford prove why such beliefs are wrong.

We laugh at tales of flying Portaloos described as a Tardis. We cry at tales of the burning of poetry books on the embers of a building site. We learn of characters like Dave the Spread, Big Les and McNamara the Onanist. There are proclamations of love for women and love for trowels. This is Tradies, hob nail boots and Hob Nob biscuits.

Ford sings, “Enter the house in Angry Town” and the truth is we’re probably already in there. In a class war you can imagine these two as our signal officers and banner carriers. Ultimately, this show gives a voice to the voiceless. It reminds us we can stand on the river bank, drinking Snakebite and laughing like drains.

It reminds us we deserve to be there.