'Ello Beverley: The Wordy Side of the Beverley Festival

'"Ello Beverley!" begins Rory Motion as he steps into the pink-yellow glow of the acoustic stage lights. "It feels quite intimate, saying 'ello Beverley," he continues in his familiar, friendly North Yorkshire accent, referring to the town as if it were an old mate of the same name who had, perhaps, been waiting there since last year's festival. And as Rory begins shuffling his scraps of paper and nudging his guitar, harmonica and vibraphone into position at his feet, one feels almost compelled to respond with a jovial "welcome back" or a much more suitable "how's tha been, feller?"

The intimacy of the Beverley Festival, with its palpable sense of community and warmth, is very much a part of the lure. The festival has, in recent years, enhanced this vital element by creating a 'festival village' - complete with assorted eateries, shops and a village green – all situated within the grounds of the town's Leisure Centre. The acoustic tent is located at the heart of the village and, from the Friday to the Sunday, is the setting for a plethora of diverse informal concerts, not only boasting folk, acoustic and roots music but also performances from poets, authors, comedians and storytellers. Thanks to the people behind the festival, the layout of this year's acoustic tent has been arranged to complement the intimacy of the event, the stage being at the centre of the space rather than at the far end, and the ambient lighting heightening the cosy informality of the concerts.

Rory Motion, of course, is an old friend of the festival and, for those of us who've seen him here before, it feels only correct that he should begin the proceedings of this year's wordy side of the Beverley festival in his own inimitable manner. In what could be described as a cosmic weaving of true stories and surreal musings, interlaced with outlandish passages from his family history and peculiar tales from his caravan in York (so crap they named it once), Rory Motion delights his audience with his spoon-reflection accounts from the life of a man whom we presume to be a human being (a status that is soon thrown headlong into doubt as he shows us his staggeringly accurate tree impressions). Rory's one-line observations of life's peculiarities, peppered with ingenious puns and wily word-play, not only amuse the festival-goers who have spent much of the day grappling with cumbersome and complex camping equipment, battling to put up their tents in the exceedingly strong Beverley winds, but also warm them up for a weekend that promises to be nothing short of marvellous. What's more, Rory even plays a vibraphone with his head.

Hot on the heels of Mr Motion is Mitch Benn, a man of whom the pocket-size programme says "is one of the best writer/performers of comic songs in the country". What the programme neglects to mention is the fact that Mitch Benn is clearly the result of a genetic fusing of Jack Black and Bill Bailey, with any of the 1970s British Saturday afternoon wrestlers thrown in for looks. His delivery is as eloquently aggressive as a restored 19th century steam engine careering through the crowds at a village fete. His songs are reminiscent of the American rock band Boston, had they decided to write on themes of spontaneous combustion, murdering schmaltzy chart-topping singers and adopting African babies. All of the above, of course, makes for a riotous night in a blustery tent in Beverley, but it isn't until Mitch performs his Jeff Wayne-inspired rendition of The Very Hungry Caterpillar that the festival crowds realise exactly what they're seeing – a world-class comedian with enough comic-energy to keep the Beverley Leisure Centre's swimming pool heated throughout the weekend.

On Saturday morning, after a cheap and cheerful cup of tea from Big Al's, it's back to the acoustic tent to find a living legend testing her microphone for what promises to be an intriguing hour-long interview. From the folk clubs of the 60s to the theatres of the 70s, from hit singles that made her a household name to appearances in dramas that delivered her to the screens of millions of household televisions, Barbara Dickson seems to have done it all. And despite the bulging luggage of her success, Barbara is by no means the diva that, by rights, she should be. On the contrary, her presence puts one in mind of a friend who has popped in for one of Big Al's cups of tea and a light-hearted chat about her dazzling fifty-year career as one of Britain's most cherished entertainers. Incredibly, one can even detect a nervous shake in Barbara's hands as she picks up her guitar at the end of the interview and sings, with an impeccably beautiful voice for such an early hour, her rendition of The Recruited Collier.

Later, it's over to the club room, another of Beverley Festival's intimate venues, to poke my nose into the Larkin Project. As a life-long fan of the poet Philip Larkin, I'm already aware that this year marks the twenty-fifth anniversary of the poet's untimely death at the age of 63 and am excited to see his life celebrated here at Beverley. Although Larkin's memory has been preserved to some extent around Hull, where he lived and worked for most of his life, it is only in this anniversary year that we are beginning to see an appropriate appraisal of the man's life and work. Today's session begins with three astounding short-films inspired by Larkin's poetry, featuring narrations from the brilliant Hull-born actor Sir Tom Courtenay and Bob Geldof – a choice of voice that, at first, seems bizarre but one that soon becomes wholly justified. The films then give way to a live performance from Peter Knaggs who reads a handful of original poems that celebrate the mundane details of domestic life. Peter's poem in praise of tin-openers is most certainly a highlight.

It's always with held breath and white knuckles, however, that one approaches a tribute to Larkin. It's well-documented, by now, that Philip wasn't exactly a cheery poet, nor was he the kind of community-spirited poet that this country seems to insist on producing these days. Larkin is the figurehead for all misanthropic poets who was happier to report on what he saw from his window, be it that of his flat or the carriage of a train, than actually mingle with the people that populated his work. A roomful of poetry and music lovers in an East Yorkshire leisure centre would, perhaps, have terrified Larkin, especially as a handful of them attempt to put some of his poems to music. Strangely, however, some of the songs seem to work well and have been compiled on a CD that is available to listen to in full at www.allnightnorth.com. A duo going by the name of Man Made Noise turn Larkin's Mr Bleaney into a dreamy, Pink Floyd-esque song that manages to capture the dusty, post-war England that Larkin described so well. Kristian Eastwood's rendition of At Grass is also a refreshing reading of Larkin's work, as is Edwina Hayes's This Be The Verse, but, perhaps, neither are as refreshing, nor as strange and otherworldly as Far Out by the band Awash with Antler – three young ladies who appear to have overdosed on an almost lethal cocktail of Bjork, The Unthanks and Philip Larkin's Collected Poems. If it wasn't so intriguingly entertaining, I suppose I could simply sit and listen to the distant sound of Mr Larkin, spinning wildly in his grave.

One of the huddle of poetry lovers that gathered in the club room in memory of Larkin was Miles Cain, a familiar face at the Beverley Festival and a man who appears to inject more energy into the event than the Saltend Power Station. York-based writer and entertainer Cain not only presents the late night festival club in the Wold Top tent from 11 until 2am on each night of the festival, but also finds time to perform some of his own poems and songs throughout the weekend. Shortly after the Larkin event, I head over to the acoustic tent to catch Miles as he entertains a very appreciative crowd with his agreeable blend of Americana folk and imagery-laden poetry. Whilst his songs charm the crowd, it is his poetry that leaves Cain's audience enchanted. In his poem about the summer of 1977, Miles writes "We were eighteen…full of bones and sex…four letter words fermented inside our cheeks…our bodies grew chains overnight", encapsulating a whole generation in just a few lines. His poems sprawl like landscape paintings, but possess all the vitality of abstract expressionism. In his poem The Devil Invents Fast Food, Miles delights us with lines such as 'the brief adoration that burns human fibre' and 'dentists shoved metal into addicted molars' – lines that are, themselves, good enough to eat and extremely moreish.

On the final day of the festival, two more British institutions set foot onto the Beverley stage. Roy Bailey and Tony Benn have been touring theatres and festivals across the country with their show The Writing On The Wall and, as a special treat, have come to Beverley to show us what all the fuss is about. And it's a quiet fuss, a gentlemanly fuss, a fuss into which one can't help being absorbed. Sitting in and, occasionally, attempting to get up out of their armchairs, seventy-five year old Bailey and eighty-five year old Benn serve up a mixture of songs, anecdotes, snippets of great speeches and oodles of political philosophy in order to paint a clear and truthful picture of our country's political history. Letting those two voices rest in one's ear for an hour and a half is to receive great wisdom and to see the current political climate with new eyes. And though it might be tempting to use the word 'lecture' when describing this unique travelling show, its use would be completely inaccurate due to the fact that both Bailey and Benn simply present their material, allowing the audience to make up their minds. Of course, there is nothing more powerful than that. And even if we weren't to stay around for this evening's festival finale, to go home after Bailey and Benn's set would be to leave Beverley 2010 with a sense of immense satisfaction and fulfilment. Bravo.