There was no milk when we woke up this morning (I've become and we and will be a we until Tuesday). Since giving up Red Bull four months ago, I insist on having tea within one hour of waking. Just a simple cup of tea, that's all. I'm no diva, I'm not insisting on a dressing room full of hookers so that I can snort cocaine off their thighs. Just a cup of tea. I managed to keep my cool on the promise that I would have tea at some point.
I was looking forward to my Chateau Briand today. When we arrived at the restaurant and sat down, we were giving an A4 sheet of paper with a list of simple foodstuff on it. At the top of the A4 sheet of paper, it said, "Our regular menu is also available at lunch." I requested the normal menu and was told that it wasn't available for Sunday lunch. Sunday lunch being, in my regular-person opinion, the best lunch of the week. I was disappointed as I have been several times with food during this festival and opted for some kind of beer-battered fish I'd never heard of and hand-cut chips. It comes to something when I'm eating at a restaurant that has waiting staff and wishing that I was at the Toby Carvery in Mitcham eating any number (four) of types of meat and a mountain of vegetables. Fuck you for the second time this week The Cellar Door.
The hot chocolate was very good as advised. Jon asked if it was the best hot chocolate I'd ever tasted, I was unable to confirm that as I haven't seemed to have documented all the hot chocolate I've ever had in my life. I know that it was better than when we were kids and we tried to make it at home with water and no milk... so yeah, why not? It was the best hot chocolate I've ever had.
Elaine and Justin left us for London (lucky them) and Jon and I went home for a sleep. I went home for a sleep and Jon just listened to me snoring in his arm pit. I woke up grumpy and we went off to see Josie Long down the road.
Josie was brilliant, I didn't laugh out loud as much as I have done but I just really enjoy listening to her speak. A joyful hour. Steve Bennett from Chortle was there reviewing her. She said hi to him when he walked in, I wonder if it phased her. I guess that she has a following and reviews don't really affect that. He took a few notes and I noticed that he turned to look at Tom when he let out one of his ridiculously loud laughs... I wonder if Steve will note that as a good thing or a bad thing.
We wandered along to Gagstro, bumped into a few comics who were in the standard open-mic downer, wanting to go home and possibly kill themselves. As previously mentioned, I am not alone (I don't want to kill myself, but if I did, I would do it spectacularly on stage. Not in my venue though, no one would hear the audience's calls). One comic who was in a two-hander has fucked off back to London, he's had enough. Good for him.
Mark had a night off Gagstro so it was down to Hannah and I to steer the ship alone. Both of us were hoping that no one would show so that we could pull the gig, we didn't flyer, we didn't do a shout-out in the pub. We were having a lovely time just hanging out with a few comics. Then a hungover stag-do showed up. Bastards.
I was MC'ing, the stag do just wanted to sit in silence, a drunk guy who was talking about the La Liga strike even fucked off after five minutes. Everyone went on, no one got a great response but we got through it and got £5.80 each - not exactly a box of fags but nearly.
Jon and I came home and chatted to Romesh for a bit about the industry and the egos and the struggles. Romesh believes that if you're good on stage and you're reliable, it doesn't matter what you're like offstage. Not many people I've talked to enjoy the networking but then I wouldn't really speak to anyone who did enjoy networking because they're probably wankers anyway. No judgement.
This is my last Sunday night here in this awful damp-ridden flat. I am eating berries, Jon just nibbled the end of some very rich chocolate fudge (that's not a euphemism). Day off tomorrow, three comedy shows to see and my last Monday morning in Edinburgh.
I have a new carpet waiting for me to stand on at home. And a new radiator to look at. And clean drains and pipes. This fills me with joy. I even can't wait to get back to my shitty photocopier and binding machine at work and my uncomfortable chair that facilities have told me must be replaced. I've spent five and a half years imprinting my arse on that chair, I don't want to give it up. Except that I have been 10kgs heavier in the time I've been there and my arse probably doesn't fit it anymore.