I write to you from my August bed for the last time Mother. It's late as I thought that I should probably socialise a bit while I'm here.
I packed a little prematurely this afternoon and found myself sat on the end of the bed expectantly like a little evacuee. I did some washing up which involved washing every single fork in the house. I was content listening to Absolut 90s knowing that I would be on a train at some point soon heading south.
I had agreed to flyer and MC a gig for a bucket split this afternoon which I duly did. In the three and a half weeks that I've been here, I've never got the knack of flyering. It probably involves smiling and be enthusiastic which is where I fall short in life not just in trying to give something away for free. The gig was full, there was a 12-year old boy in the front row who looked thoroughly pissed off, he would only shrug, nod or shake his head so I asked him questions and established that he had been dragged away from his X Box to come to some shitty comedy and he was annoyed about it and couldn't wait to get home. I sympathised with him. The crowd didn't really like me much, don't know why. I managed to raise some laughs out of bantering with a scientist who had recently analysed some methadone. I called him Methadone Man, nothing. No Wu Tang fans in then? I got £15 out of the bucket anyway.
I then joined Jude for dinner at an awful restaurant. I really haven't eaten well this month, the food here is shit apart from the odd something 'n' chips. I popped home just to feel some warmth (it's been raining again today) and then headed out to Gagstro for the final time.
Hannah was flyering the corner when I got there. We started shouting in pretend languages throwing in the odd English words. I raised a few chuckles by shouting "last chance to see us before we join the dole queue!" There was enough of an audience to get started, Mark MC'd brought me on and I tried to do as long as I could bear as I only did eight minutes last night apparently. The front row were shit but there were definite pockets of audience that enjoyed my set. I asked the audience if there were any feminists in and only one (a regular at my Stockwell gig) said yes. We bantered a bit about what feminism means to us, probably not interesting for the rest of the audience. I'd like to work more on that. And that was it, the last Gagstro, one of the better ones but same old same old.
Tagline: Either painted on smiles or genuine relief.
I had another gig booked in for an all-female line up at midnight. In hindsight, it was really fucking stupid of me to book it. Anyway, I had a hot chocolate because Starbucks had run out of tea and then headed over to the gig. It started late, as if midnight isn't late enough as it is. There were some really bad comics on some of which I'd seen before. I didn't exactly smash the shit out of it but the MC wants to book me for some of her gigs which is handy. Anyway, my final gig in Edinburgh was luke warm, a beautiful reflection of my whole experience here.
Some of the comics were heading over to the Loft Bar where you need a fucking lanyard to get in. I was given a pass by one of the girls and walked in. I looked at the pass and it belonged to someone in the industry that I really fucking hate. Bittersweet that I should be going somewhere ghastly with a pass belonging to someone ghastly. The place wasn't all that. It was a bar. There were a few comics I recognised but no one very impressive. I spoke with an open mic comic who has had a smashing festival with a show that he's proud of. I'm not a fan of the comic but am pleased for him that he's had a good time. It is possible, I thought. The bar had a one-in-one-out policy to go outside onto the balcony to have a fag so I left. Fuck that.
I went down to the Library Bar where the nobodies are and had a chat with a few people including Phil who is having a similar Edinburgh experience to me. We spoke about sharing shows, living arrangements, horrible audiences, other people being happy. I left the bar happy, knowing, once again, that I wasn't alone.
Into bed for the last time, my flat mate had a house guest by the sound of it but they left pretty quickly. I wonder why.
Tomorrow, I will post my final entry and try to summarise what I've learned and what I'd do differently if at all. Goodnight Mother, see you in that there London.
Tagline: "Come and see my comedy show. You prick."