This afternoon, I sat on the pavement  next to the pier and glared menacingly at total strangers, for an hour. This is not standard behaviour, even for me – I was acting as unofficial minder to my daughter, who wanted to try her hand at busking. Anxious (probably over-anxious) to encourage her musical talent and entrepreneurial bent, I volunteered to stand by whilst she sang an acoustic set.

I was worried that someone would hit her over the head (because they wanted to nick her money – not as any sort of comment on her singing). But the session passed off without incident, except for praise from passers by, and apart from the owner of the arcade making us move two step forwards, past the bollards which apparently demarcate her private domain.

To make myself feel useful once this excitement was over, I started giving my daughter handy hints about mike position and singing from the diaphragm.I should add that she does not get her singing ability from me, and is classically trained, so she was not exactly begging me for advice. In fact, she suggested that I busy myself writing a poem or something (of course, keeping up the menacing glares, in case the gold (okay – pound coins) in her guitar case attracted the attention of any magpies)

I didn’t actually do anything so productive, but I did ponder my own past, literary performances, and felt thankful that I am booked in for a Darlington Arts Festival  workshop to hone these very skills. On Thursday, I will be on the receiving end of somewhat more expert tips on how to engage audiences when performing poetry and reading stories (actually out loud). And even though, after that, I will be totally, fantabulously confident – and may even be able to look up from the page every once in a while to make (eeek!) eye contact – I don’t think I’ll be needing my daughter to reciprocate and glare menacingly at potential muggers or crazed fans for me, any time soon.