Saturday with Jan Brierton: 'I’ve been surprised that my poems have landed so well with people — it’s lovely'

08.30

I get up at around 8.30am. I used to get up an hour earlier than everyone else to watch telly or carve out an hour to myself. Because my dad’s been unwell, and everything has been upended, I now happily stay in bed for an hour in the knowledge that other people are pottering around downstairs.

09.00

Tea is my engine oil. I’d love to be that person who has boiled water and a squeeze of lemon but I’ll have three cups of tea instead — that’s my meditation in the morning.

11.00

I don’t like to eat first thing, even though my husband says I should. I’m currently obsessed with bake-in-the-oven pretzels so I’ll have about three of those. It’s the same with biscuits —why have one when you can have five?

13.00

I’ll visit my dad, who had a stroke last year and who has recently been diagnosed with Lewy Body Dementia. I joke that the top seat of the bus is my writer’s studio. In a way, I’m grateful that I don’t drive because that hour on the bus is one in which I can get ideas down or catch up on admin. Sometimes I’ll jot down an opening line or a final line to a poem, which I’ll pick back up again later. I call myself an
accidental poet. I work in fashion and am used to tangible things like colour and texture, not words, but I don’t have a problem with the flow of my work — it probably helps that my poems are short and rhyme.

I’ve been surprised by the response to my poetry since the pandemic. I had no expectations of where it would take me so I just hopped on board for the ride. I’ve been surprised that my poems have landed so well with people — it’s lovely to be able to share my thoughts and feelings with others.

Poetry writing has given me incredible opportunities, like playing the Manchester Arena with John Cooper Clarke. Imagine using the same dressing room as Stevie Nicks? It’s so much fun! I know I’m no Paula Meehan or Seamus Heaney — they’re brilliant but maybe I’m brilliant too. To get to interact, share ideas, and share stages with people like John Cooper Clarke or Henry Normal has been a door into another universe of creativity in my life. I love stories and these people are incredible storytellers. It’s the best buzz and has been such a surprise to find myself here.

14.00

My daughter is 16 and my son is 13 so they’ll be busy with soccer, GAA, golf, and catching up with friends on a Saturday afternoon. When I’m with my dad, I’m still a child, even though, now that he’s unwell, I have to be the adult in the room. He’s in a transitional care home at the moment, which gives us a bit of respite to just sit, have a cup of tea, and hold each other’s hands.

18.00

I feel so time poor at the moment that cooking feels like an additional strain. Sometimes when I have cooked, it feels like a pile of emails on a plate — I don’t even want to eat it. On a Saturday, we will often opt for a takeaway — you take the breaks where you can.

19.00

If I’m doing a gig, I’d have spent a couple of hours preparing my reading and what I want to wear. It’s not really sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll when you’re doing a poetry gig so I’ll usually be home at about 10.30pm.

I’m always nervous before I go on stage but I feel comfortable there. Sometimes I get almost a tangible energy field on stage — it’s amazing. I love meeting people afterwards. They will often say, ‘I really needed to hear that today,’ which makes me think I really needed to write it.

It’s funny that all this amazing stuff sits in parallel with my normal life. When I came off stage at the London Palladium, I was looking at photos of Cilla Black and Jimmy Tarbuck and then my phone beeped. It

was the bin company reminding me to put the green bins out and a funny reminder that these two things can exist in parallel.

21.30

There’ll be no throwing televisions out the bedroom window when I’m on tour — I’ll probably be in bed with my Horlicks. I’ve recently been diagnosed with sleep apnoea. I always thought I was a great sleeper but, now that I wear a mandibular device, I’m waking up refreshed in a way that I hadn’t been before.

Dublin poet Jan Brierton and British poet and author Henry Normal take their poems from the page to the stage on a tour across Britain and Ireland this April and May. Jan will reflect on mothering and midlife, with musings on tea, kitchen discos, lipstick, and biscuits. Henry, a writer and producer on shows such as Gavin and Stacey, The Royle Family, and The Mighty Boosh, has returned to poetry with humour, tenderness, and style.

• See the full list of tour dates at exa.mn/jan