The cost of being polite

It had to happen at some point - a challenge that failed through not even taking part.

I had written two poems that I thought would at least not be considered rubbish. One of them even name checked Ronnie Rosenthal. I had practiced reading them out loud (alone) and almost knew them well enough not to need them written in front of me. I went to the venue to register at 7pm exactly as instructed. I paid £6 to go in and as I walked through to the foyer an announcement was made to queue at a table for registration. Out of politeness I let a few others in front of me in the queue, assuming we would all get to take part. I got to the front of the queue, I was told I was 14th and there were only 12 places. I put my name down as second reserve but it clearly wasn't happening. I had somewhere else I could be so stayed and watched the first couple of people and left.

Manners cost me my chance. If I had not let the woman with purple ribbon in her hair and the man with an artistic goatee in front of me I would be regaling you with a tale of how women were stunned and men swooned at my revolutionary use of a novel variation on iambic pentameter. I am disappointed, of course. That disappointment is tempered by relief. The standard of the people I saw was phenomenal and they did not read from paper. I would have been embarrassed. However, I am going to do this, it will be outside the challenge year but I am going back, this time with them properly memorised.