Edinburgh is quiet. It's the first real day and yet the streets feel empty. Obviously once it gets going, the place will be swarming but at the moment (possibly because of the early stage, or possibly because of the large sporting event down South) there is an uneasy calm over the place. It is the beginning of the festival, performers wander the streets well-rested, full of vitamins from their as yet deep fried-haggis free diet. They even smile. All this is to change of course. As such I feel a false sense of calm, we're in the eye of the storm, and yet I can already see what the place will become. The soul vaccuum, the morale dyson, the smile sucker upper. I can already the far off whistling as if a bomb has been released far above, hanging over us - promising to descend. Also, it's very hard to find pesto. Spam, there is plenty of.
The flat is like a scaled-down version of the Shining hotel. If my grandmother owned a borstal, this is what it would look like: Dark green paint on the hall walls makes the place gloomy, everything echoes, doors slam, there's no TV in the front room. You'd be more likely to expect a threadbare pool table. There's not one of those either. Still, the room's nice. I say nice. I mean that it's a room with a door. It's not a camp bed in a communal room or a blow up mattress in a kitchen, both of which I have experienced. There are wardrobes and drawers for everything. I put all my clothes away, wowed at what put away clothes look like. Luxuries I can never afford in London. There is even a desk. This is unprecedented. I set everything up to my liking and think, "If I can keep the room this nice, perhaps my Edinburgh show will go well." Pure heathen superstition, but the secret of every performer is to just blithely hope for the best, so some kind of mental shamanism seems in order.
I decided not to smoke. Then I started flyering, and then I bought cigarettes. It's my least favourite part of Edinburgh. Every year I flyer for myself is another year where I'm aware that if I were more successful, someone would do this for me. It's a false economy of course, once you take the 10 grand of successful venue hire into the balance. I would pay not to flyer if I had the money to do that. I don't. "Free comedy at 9?" "..." "Welcome to Edinburgh (fucktard)." I must not mumble under my breath. I must not get into the habit of negative thoughts. Edinburgh wants that. It wants me to embrace the darkness. The whole city is full of murder. I'm not making this up. Bodies buried everywhere. It's the Sarajevo of the North.
Flyering is hard. People don't care, the success rate of the flyer is miniscule. At least 2 people assumed it was a horror show, claiming that my design looked 'scary'. I bet a professional PR company would have spotted that. "I don't know, Ed. Our demographic may expect you to wear a Scream mask" Great. Morons will get the wrong idea and not come to the show. Still, I can see a Darwinistic filter in this. Are these people I want after all? I have 5,000 of these flyers. I hope this isn't a theme. Got to the venue. Some graffitti on the toilet wall said "My shit smells better than this place." Nice one, Ed. Excelsior. This is where you are. Grotty nightclub. 10 minutes before the show. Grotty, empty nightclub.
I started the show with 7 people. Hmm. It's Saturday night got God's sake! But then, full house! Hooray! I didn't need the horror tour idiots after all. Don't get picky, Ed. Wait til Tuesday. You'll be dressing up as a ghost to lure them in. Not the invisible kind of course. That would be counter-productive. The show went well. I rushed through it, and it didn't make sense, but there were laughs at nice points. The crowd wanted the best for me, even when I gave them a story that was too long with few laughs. £32 in the bucket. Must not spend it all on pies and fancy cereal. The week may well prove lean. Also, some shows WILL stink. You haven't cracked it. That's not how this works. Speak slower so that people have a clue about what you're talking about. Don't start too many new thoughts until you have made something of the ones you start. At least try.
The venue manager is cute and Canadian. All ample and charming. She was probably just being nice, but still. She likes me a bit, but then the show went well. I must try and capitalise on this before it starts to go badly. I will hang around and talk to her tomorrow and see if anything emerges. Not brilliant tactics, but serviceable. I guess this is the universe's cue to rain shit on me tomorrow. Come on the universe. I had a reasonable gig and a flirt. Let me have that at least. It's not much. I'm off to bed while everything seems okay. Quit while you're £32 ahead, or £1500 behind, or whatever the overdraft has racked up to now. If I fall asleep now, I won't feel hungry. I have two rolls. I will steal butter. Breakfast! It's midnight and I don't have internet access. That means that I won't accidentally stay up til 3am. Day one done.
No comments:
Post a Comment