Day Eighteen: And yet when we want them there.

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. 

Day Seventeen: Get off the corners

Day one with Jon in tow. We hang out for a bit in the flat this morning, taking advantage of the sunshine by smoking fags in the garden. Shit, shower, shave and out of the door for lunch. Jon forgot to bring a toothbrush and underwear, I said that he could use my toothbrush and had to draw the line there.


We went down to the Mosque Kitchen and had a buffet curry. Jon didn't like it but he prefers food that burn his taste buds in order to block any further tasting experience. We went to a meeting and spent an hour and a half being moaned about by the Scots. Many of them were moaning about the number of tourists, I think that we (the English) should take our tourists back along with the free education and very ample transport system. (They started it).


I then had to run to cover a spot at a mate's gig via Topman. When I walked in the shop, it took me a few seconds to work out whether I was in the mens' or womens' section - these days, it's not unusual to see a man with a quiff wearing a woolly jumper with a cat on it so appreciate my confusion within the Topshop/Topman vendors.


The gig was good. All of Leila's laughy and slightly drunk friends were sat at the front and laughed loudly. The was a spotlight quite close to my face and I felt like I may have received burns if I had stayed any longer than a few minute. The gig was being filmed and with lighting that bright, there's absolutely no way that my face will show up in that video.


Onwards to Slappers (I'd conveniently got out of flyering again) with a medium-sized audience, quite quiet. ANother of the Slappers team have arrived - Claire Parker from Brighton - fresh blood, not tired AIDSy blood like mine and Darren's. I started slow and didn't get many laughs. Oddly, I got a really good response from my Catholics vs Gem routine - the best I've had in or out of London for a while. That was going to be a routine I was going to scrap saving only the "YoMaMa" line. I think it still has to go.


Elaine, Justin, Jon and I had a slow walk to a terrace restaurant. Jon was getting ratty because he was hungry and I thought that at some point he may have resorted to a deep-fried Mars bar just to fill the hole that the uneaten curry had left. All four of us had steak. Mine turned up well done after asking for it to be medium-rare, I sent it back and another came back pretty much raw steak, I ate it to save the embarrassment of complaining again and comforted myself by deciding that I will never eat steak at a non-steak restaurant ever again. Time and time again, I find myself disappointed with steak. That overdone/underdone fatty disappointed ship has sailed.


It started raining as we were eating (natch) and, as I've left my umbrella somewhere, we popped home for the rape-proof. Out again and onto Gagstro. I was expecting a bear-pit tonight being Saturday an' all but actually, the gig itself was quiet. Once again, we couldn't hear a fucking thing even with the new speaker at the back. Being overshadowed by Venga Boys is soul-destroying. I tried to banter but I couldn't hear the responses of the audience so it was futile. I tried to get an Israeli couple to tell me about their engagement but they were being very guarded. The lady ended up telling me to leave them alone. The first thing that came into my head (which I would never have said) was "You leave Palestine alone first." I can't really back up my argument there. 


Our guest was Jack Samuel Warner, a proficient MC and comic. He abandoned any chance of doing material and fucked about with the audience. He climbed around them and between them and picked on a few people. I think he did well to fill the time though I was unsure whether the audience were going for it as the noise from the bar was deafening.

Tagline: Our guest spot JSW re-enacting Bonnie Tyler's Total Eclipse of the Heart video in the middle of the audience. (That's a fucking niche joke)


We left early to go to see the Horne Section again. It was fun except that the audience weren't as "up-for-it" as they were the other day. The trumpeter got injured during a dance routine and had to leave the stage for the rest of the gig so we missed out on a medley unfortunately.


Elaine went to the toilet and came out heaving saying, "How can you shit at the side of the toilet?" The heaving was brilliant because it was genuine. There is something very funny about someone genuinely heaving. I don't understand shitting next to a toilet either. I don't understand shitting in a public toilet full stop. 


Chateau Briand and Josie Long tomorrow, I'm excited about that. 

Day Sixteen: Three good days in a row Beags?

I write this to the sound of the Friday night sing-a-long to the tune of Living on a Prayer... it's like they're reading my mind. Jon's just worked out that it's a silent disco going on, why didn't I think of that? I always wondered how they could sing in harmony without me being able to hear the track. Amazing. Still fucking annoying though. Silent for whom? Bloody fucks.


After a late one last night, I set the alarm to make sure I was up in time to Skype Jon and make sure he's packed the right things. He had. And onwards to KX for him.


I met a couple of mates for coffee down the road and we discussed how we were all feeling. One, her first Edinburgh, is going terribly too. She's almost packed her bags a few times but her husband has told her to stick at it. The other, more experienced, related her experience of previous years and said that last year, she was so stressed and anxious that she went blind. (She realised it was a migraine but blindness sounded way more dramatic!)


I wandered up the road to MC a lunchtime gig. It was an almost full room and I cracked on. I made a lovely off-the-cuff joke about no one sitting in the front row and how on Easyjet everyone runs for those seats - it got a suitable laugh. I bantered a bit, discussed what people had been up to over the Fringe, what they had for breakfast and took the piss out of a couple of guys who had driven up here and slept in their car that night. "So what are you looking forward to seeing most? The inside of a hotel room I imagine." Quite the nifty MC today, I tells ya. And I got a big laugh with my JK Rowling stuff including a new, less arrogant bit about the increasing sizes of the books as the series went on.


After a bit of washing up, I headed down to Slappers and flyered for a bit. Darren Walsh was there. One of his flyers blew away with a gust of wind and nearly decapitated a woman crossing the road. "A bit aggressive that one," he said. She was quite cross, it did look like it hurt though, the corner caught her right in the throat.


Slappers was a medium sized quiet audience. I went down ok. There were some old people in the room sat at the front, I often think that comedy isn't for them but, as my mother has told me many times, the olds have seen and done it all, it's probably just the jive talk that they don't understand (yes, I've resorted to jive talk to make people laugh, you dig?) (I haven't).


Onwards, to meet Jon off the train. He needed to smoke five thousand fags as well as change from the winter clothes he seemed to be wearing. It made me think that maybe I've been exaggerating somewhat on this blog. It was lovely to see him and I thought about maybe jumping on the train home together right then and DHL-ing my shit down on Monday.


I cooked a mean dinner in a hurry and we headed out to meet friends Elaine and Justin who are up for the weekend. The four of us sat at Costa in the station and I felt at peace. I've missed friendship since I've been up here. Sure, MJ's around but it's not the same. If only I could have transported my family and friends up here for the month like Mariah Carey does.


Gagstro was set to be wild as it's the weekend but actually, it was quite civilised. The room was full enough. The venue have kindly (read: reluctantly) put a speaker at the back of the room which helped. Except that sat next to it, RADA-trained Mark, was blowing my fucking ears off. When he said, "Pop cyclops" I nearly went deaf. "P"s bang on the speaker like no one's business. Lucky he didn't do the Peter Piper Picked A Peck of Pickled Peppers routine. He might have blown the roof off like Macauley Culkin at the beginning of Michael Jackson's Black and White video. I figured out this morning that maybe Mark isn't more angry, it's just that he hasn't had Botox for while and has expression back in his face, maybe he always looked angry underneath the injections.


The audience were lovely and I did ok. There's a bit I'm trying to develop about pre-judging people and films and books and being convinced that I'd hate them and then actually liking them. It's probably something to try out at my weekly "It's my party and I'll die if I want to" bit when I get back. It needs jokes anyway.


The four of us went for tea afterwards and then went our separate ways. Jon and I sat up talking to my flat mates about theme park rides. I think I'm too old but feel cheated out of exciting times given how far these rides have come since I were a boy. Being swung around by the armpits by a traveller for 20p a-go isn't the done thing no more, not since Sarah's Law.


Looking forward to a few days with the man on my arm. I got told off for sounding so negative on this blog. You know how this country isn't in depression? Yet. I'm not in depression, I'm in recession. But after three good Gagstros on the trot, my emotional economy may be on the up. Just call me the Mervyn King of shit comedy blogs.


Silent disco. What a crock of shit-fuck.

Day Fifteen: You Are Not Alone

I did a bit of brainstorming of ideas today. Even if nothing really came out of it, I felt good to have bothered doing something.


I did a guest spot at a friend's gig. She is having an awful time and can't stop crying. She's drinking to get through this experience, a luxury I don't have. It was an audience of eight people and she did well. I wasn't particularly well received but it's hard to judge. I'm glad that I'm not the only one feeling shit about the whole experience.


I ran off to do a spot at the tail end of Slappers getting lost in John Lewis on the way. I bloody hate department stores. They're like something from Willy Wonka or Hotel California, you can check out any time you want but you can never leave. The Slappers spot went well, the audience seems to picking up there. I only did a short spot of gags and the transvestites routine which went down well. I do like my one-liners, it's just difficult to know where to place them in a longer set. I should really write some more. There is a knack to writing them and it's not overly difficult.


MJ and I headed over to the same meeting we'd been to the week before. The Weegie secretary spoke at length again and I found it difficult to understand him, again. It was a meeting full of laughter and that was welcomed. I was talking to BFF Emily yesterday and was telling her that actually, all this stand-up comedy, all these gigs, watching all these wonderful comics, there's actually nothing more satisfying than having laughter with friends. It's not contrived and (mostly) egoless. 


Tasha had booked a table at a lovely restaurant with surprise menus. For starter, I had mackerel on couscous with a ginger something. They asked us if there was anything that we wouldn't eat, Tasha had said that liver was that thing. Our main course arrived, liver and bacon and ratatouille. Why bother asking us? Tasha and I heaved down the liver laughing and wondering whether the waitress had thought we'd said, "We definitely want liver." Over dinner, Tasha, Romesh and Robin were punning around food. It was great fun. Robin's "Rich people can shout but I'm too Portobello (poor to bellow)."... that was remarkable. I love punning, it's a favourite past time of mine.


I had to sprint to Gagstronomic and nearly threw up my treacle pudding on the way. I was MC'ing. There was a small audience but they were all sitting towards the front. I bantered a bit with a Californian called Chris who worked for Global Poverty (against not for but you know what I mean), a structural engineer from Manchester and (wait for it) someone who worked for the Tory party. "What the hell are you doing at comedy?" I enquired. We all had a laugh and the Tory shared that he had recently helped a Pakistani student stay in the country for her exams. Well done the Tories. Needless to say, he wasn't laughing much during the show.


It was a good show I think. People laughed including a load of Americans that were in. I was making them laugh by stopping my routines to translate certain words. 


After a second consecutive Gagstro, a few of us went out for a drink. More comics showed up and it turned into a bit of a gathering. It was good to catch up with so many people and hear how shit a time they're having too. There are certain people with the same miserable attitude to me and so I always welcome their agreement. A load of us headed up to another bar where comics hang out. I didn't stay in there long as it was busy, a wanted to sit down and I was being ignored in the trusty rape-proof jacket. I went outside for a fag and chatted to a few other comics about our jobs and missing our partners/kids/families. I thought that the whole festival was going to be more like that. I stayed too long though.


I headed off, watched six police tackle a drunken yob to the floor and arrest him as he was shouting, "You've broken my fucking shoulder." All this in the medieval-themed beer garden, you know how I feel about medieval-themed anything. I bumped into Marc Small, an ex-boyfriend of my sister who is doing a play and we chatted and laughed for a while.


And then I got home. The kettle is broken which is bad fucking new. I need my tea in the morning else I get a little bit shitty. How does a kettle break? Stupid bloody student digs.


Jon is arriving at 18.23 tomorrow. He has promised to help me flyer and be my security guard for Saturday night's Gagstro. I'm going to be dragging him round shows, he better have comfortable shoes.

Day Fourteen: YoYo

I had a wonderful night's sleep last night and slept late. I pottered around the flat for a bit, did someone else's washing, clean the bathroom and kitchen a little and did some washing. I amaze myself at how happy I am to do housework in someone else's house and very reluctant to do my own housework. I think I want people to like me. 


I headed out for a curry lunch at the Mosque Kitchen. It's canteen dining, they have it up here too. I will be going there again. They do force you to have more food than you've asked for. The man behind the counter looked at me with disgust when I insisted that I didn't want a samosa.


Next up was the Daniel Kitson gig. It's not the best I've seen him. Even his banter was thin on the ground. He talked about some ideas that he'd had and made notes to himself like "there's definitely something there." He said that he flicks through the Fringe Guide saying, "that's for cunts, that's for cunts, that's for cunts, that cunt is still doing that when it didn't work last year..." It was very funny. There were a few comics in the room who, in my arrogant opinion, are the cunts he's talking about. 


Josie Long was wonderful, doing a little play about the Brontes in which she plays every part. It was very funny indeed and I'm looking forward to seeing her.


Maz and I then rushed across town for me to open Mae Martin's gig. She had a full house and my stuff went down well. She had a great gig. Everyone was having a good time and I think that Mae was having more fun than anyone. She had a reviewer in from the Gay Times so let's hope that he enjoyed it as much as we all did. Mae loves me because the first time she saw me, I managed to banter with and calm down a couple of drunks at the beginning of a gig. Well, I am good at that.


We had booked tickets for Bob Downe from ITV in the 90s. It was awful. He is an overtly camp Australian who sings songs in a funny way and wears polyester. There were loads of old people there. It reminded me of Barrymore, the old dears laughing at the crass Larry Grayson type jokes. I think Bob would do well at the Slappers gig in the shopping centre.


Onwards to Gagstro. The dreaded Gastro. We had a front row of bankers who were ready and raring to laugh which encouraged the rest of the room. And everyone had a good gig. I did some material and a little bit of banter. We were competing against European football which was fucking noisy but we got through it successfully and got £40 in the bucket - the most we've done.


Up and down, up and down. I don't know what to think of myself. I know what I need to get rid of once I get home, I certainly know that much. If only I had fifteen minutes of "armbands" jokes, I'd be fixed.


Here is a photo of a cat that was meowing and exposing itself outside my window this morning.

Day Thirteen: Oh right, the GOOD show was a fluke

The rain came back just in time for me to head over to the Assembly Gardens where I had been invited as a token woman to do a spot at the launch of the Leicester Square New Comedian of the Year. It was in a big top but a small one. A tent essentially. Throughout the gig, you could hear the rain hitting the roof and the audience were sat on cushioned benches. The floor was made of slats of wood which I don't like. I've always been fearful of being able to see beneath. As a kid, I thought that I would fall through the railway bridge steps. I never did.

The audience were bored by the time I'd come on and I didn't have a great one. I was performing in front of some big acts who I'd like to have seen me have a good gig - and there's you thinking that it's about the audience, not about what other comics think of you. Wrong.

I headed off to Slappers and flyered for a bit. I actually did it with some enthusiasm today and we had a fuller room than we've ever had. There were a bunch of Edinburgh ladies in who were up for laughing and I didn't have too bad a gig there. Possibly the best I've had there so far (that's not saying much in that room). Darren Walsh did really well too. He's using Slappers to try new stuff rather than his own gig (fair enough).

Tagline: There are three punchlines in this photo of Darren, can you spot them?

Maz arrived after Slappers and we walked down to Pleasance to see David O'Doherty who was brilliant. I was quite sleepy and drifted off a few times but he had some brilliant stuff. I'm hardly ever a punter these days and am always watching the styles, material, timing and themes of pro comics and relating them to what I do. There is absolutely no use in comparing myself to anyone, from the new comer doing their first gig all the way up to Izzard and Pryor. But I find it interesting. 

We then headed down to Gagstro reluctantly. Maz flyered for us and got a few people in. The bar was quiet despite football being on. It was ANOTHER typical Gagstro. Quiet audience just staring, Mark getting angry and me bumbling around trying to get laughs out of talking to them. They were pretty unresponsive. One guy walked out because (Mark found out later) I had told off the other acts for talking at the back: "You shouldn't slag the other acts off." What does he fucking know eh? 

Once again, I struggled through. I asked them if they wanted me to do some material a few times to which they all said yes. I then started and stopped a few times just because it was hopeless. Someone from the crowd ("crowd" is an optimistic word at best) said that the best thing they saw was someone that clashes with our show, I called it and said that we would clash every day except Mondays. 

"Why not Mondays?" said someone.

"Because of the volume of the laughter, for the protection of our ears, we have to take one day off in seven. Any more questions." That got a laugh as did my bankers.

Our guest, Kishore didn't do badly. He didn't refer to the quietness at all. I wondered if that was the best thing to do or not. Really, I call it because I feel awkward. There is the possibility that these people were enjoying it but just weren't laughing and so to call it is confusing for them. I need to speak to someone more experienced about that really. 

Before I talk about me more, I went to see Nellie Wight's One Handed Show, the History of Pornography. No need to ask what it's about. It was 40 minutes long, it was interesting and funny and there were only four of us in the audience. There was more laughter from this audience than one three or four times the size at Gagstro. The four of us and Nellie had a lovely chat afterwards about porn and other fringe shows and what makes someone choose what shows to go to. That was a great hour to spend. 

So, they say that Edinburgh will make you or break you. I feel more of the latter. Dying on a daily basis is hardly esteem-building stuff. But maybe I need to be broken so I can build something else. Maybe it's time to put everything on the back-burner and start afresh. That's what Mark Stephenson did last year after Edinburgh.

All I know is that I'm happy to have buddies around at the moment and I'm happy to be seeing a load of good stuff. Tomorrow is Kitson and I may be reviewed by the Gay Times. I know, right?

Tagline: Happy birthday to the cutest flat mate ever! Romesh's kid, Theo is ad.dor.a.ble.

Day Twelve: Here's how it should be done

After two days off and one on, I had another day off. I don't do Mondays.

Today, I set out to enjoy myself and that, I did. 

One of my favourite comics on the open mic scene, Mark Stephenson, is doing a show round the corner from the flat and so I walked round. I had caught the show on a good day and the guys said that it was the best one they'd had having changed the running order. Mark Stephenson has ideas that I've had but never explored comically. Namely about Channel 4's newly found bigotry in Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. It's inspired me to think comically about anything that I feel strongly about. At some point, I should write this shit down. I still want to explore my idea of what feminism means to me and I want to write about acceptable forms of bigotry such as laughing at the poor.

After Mark, I went over to see Hatty Ashdown's debut show, Nanchild. Hatty is another favourite of mine. I loved her from the first time I saw her. She is, possibly, the only really good CLEAN female act on the circuit and delivered 40 minutes of fun, accessible, clean comedy. I was asked to recruit a clean female comic a few months ago and when Hatty dropped out, I was struggling to find someone else. I feel that if I can build ten minutes of clean, good material then I'd be happy. I've been cringeing at some of the afternoon gigs when I go into the dirty stuff. I feel that saying "spunk" before dark is unacceptable.

My comedy buddy Tom has now arrived in Edinburgh so I met up with him for a catch-up and we went to see Tom Binns as Ian D. Montfort. Tom Binns is a character comedian and this invention is a fake medium. He has learned how these people do it and has mixed his new "gift" with some really sharp stand-up. Tom got chosen for a reading and was spot-on. Really good stuff. It works on two levels, magic (sort of!) and comedy. I imagine that he could run this show for years as each show would be different. 

Following a burger, I went home for a Skype date and headed back out across the road to watch Alex Horne's: Horne Section. It's Alex Horne as the band leader with a fantastic five-piece band doing various songs and silly games with the audience. It's an anything-can-happen show and I laughed out loud nearly crying at one point. He pretty much blew me away. It's cabaret at its finest and Alex Horne is a wonderful Freddie Starr/Les Dawson/Eric Morcambe bumbling comic. Really very good and the best ninety minutes I've had at the festival so far.

However, the lanyard people nearly ruined it for me tonight by coming in late and taking ages to get their seats. Not only are they getting something for free that I've paid £12 for but they're making a fuss about it. The venue was in the Assembly Gardens which was full of wankers. By wankers, I mean people that dress better than me with their trilbies and George Michael designer stubble. They were sat on astroturf trying to out-wanker each other. Man, I need to work on not judging people by their trilby hats and designer stubble. I had my rape-proof jacket on the back of a chair last night and someone said to someone else, "Is that your coat?" The person looked at it, screwed up their face and said, "Ugh, no." And so confirms the rape-proofiness of it.

There's not much to report today. I've been thinking about the importance of having a theme for the show so that it can be pitched/marketed. A gang show has no theme. There's an open mic guy doing a show called "The 90s in 30 minutes". Bang. I know what it's about and it will attract an audience that are going to be interested. Well done that man.

Everywhere in Edinburgh smells the same and I managed to put my finger on it today. It smells like the inside of a hoover bag. Musty, slightly acidic and not wholly unpleasant but very much unclean. Edinburgh has also run out of toilet roll already so cue me carrying around tissue in my rained-on hand bag.

Back to gigging tomorrow, I've got two on before Maz arrives, heading off to Josie Long and then on to Gagstro. I've also got a gig where I seem to be a token woman. It's a day time gig and there may be "industry" people there. I will do a clean 5. I am worried, there are really good people on who will make me look shit. Will report back tomorrow.