Over the past few weeks, there have been a bunch of albums, much anticipated, that I’ve found hard to get into, at best, or slightly disappointing, at worst. In the midst of these frustrations, the second Fuck Buttons album, “Tarot Sport”, has acted like a kind of big, cleansing blast.
Predictably, perhaps, the afternoon’s biggest draw – so far, at least – is for Simon Armitage. At 2pm, the Poetry Tent is rammed, with the crowd extending about 20 people deep around the perimeter. One curious passer-by asks my neighbour who’s on.
“Simon Armitage,” says the guy standing next to me.
“Sorry,” says the passer-by, “I don’t know who he is.”
“He’s only the most important poet since Andrew Motion.”
“You’ve lost me. Who’s Andrew Motion?”
“Obviously,” comes the withering reply, “you never studied GSCE English at the start of the Noughties…”
