21 August
I walked around with a little over 1,000 flyers in my bag today. I still have a lot left and I don't quite know what to do with them. I also had my laptop in there. It was a pretty heavy load. I went to the Museum of Scotland, which was amazing. I only saw a small amount, and will have to go back there before I leave. There was an animal exhibit where you climb on some scales and it tells you how heavy you are compared to the animal kingdom. A guy got on the scales in front of his kids. He weighed the same as a chimpanzee. Then I got on there with my burden and was delighted that I thrashed him. I weighed the same as a pygmy whale. In your face monkey man! I made a clicking, squealing noise of triumph and sauntered off whistling out of my blowhole. Part of the museum is dedicated to Medieval Scottish history. There was a Latin statement made by Robert the Bruce which apparently “still rings true to this day” which basically says “Fuck the English.” I wonder how that museum is funded.
I went to see Yianni's show. It was very popular and has loads of four star reviews. It's extremely well put together and Yianni deserves all the praise he gets. He's also a terrific person. I enjoyed his performance and take my hat off to his writing, but am never so enthralled by his subject matter. It was about numbers. I like hearing about fanciful nonsense and insecurities. Still, you learn a lot from looking at a different approach. It strikes me that Yianni has been putting on good quality, critically acclaimed shows for years without getting to the next stage. It's scary how much it can take to make it on to radio or TV – or sometimes how very little.
I had a good crowd in and got some decent laughs in the first half. In the second half, I felt my energy starting to flag and my delivery suffered. After the show, no one seemed to mind. Audience members bought me drinks and I made £30 from the bucket, so I was pleased with that. A hot but obviously terrifyingly flirty blonde girl sat enraptured as I did my set. After which she came up and made terrifying advances and pelvic thrusts. A largish man came over and ushered her away. I couldn't tell if he was boyfriend or someone she'd just picked up. I guess the latter. Flirts are flirts I guess. I know that other comics in my situation would have smarmed up to her, but to be frank I was tired and frazzled post-show and not entirely comfortable with the carpet bombing technique she employed. It was not with much regret that I scooted outta there. Effective flirts are always quite hot, but almost always never worth the entrance fee, if you catch my unnecessarily graphic drift.
After some umming and ahhing I went to the Anti-Hoot. It was a good lineup, Eric Hutton was being brilliant and I wasn't sure if my pedestrian brand of comedy would dazzle. By the time I got on the audience had pretty much gone, but I was well received. Lach pulled me aside and said that next time I went he'd put me on earlier so I could play to a bigger crowd, as he's obviously enjoyed my set. I think my policy of doing jokes that mean something to me might start to pay off. I want to do stuff which makes sense emotionally as well as is funny. I think one will enhance the other. It might be the closest to growing up that I can muster.
A friend of mine talked to me after the show. We had been drunk the week before and we had kissed. She apologised for throwing herself at me. I didn't mind one bit. Partly, that's what festival time is for. More importantly, if nice girls throw themselves at me I won't complain. It's the soul-destroying ho-bags I'm sidestepping. I seem to be attracting more women at the moment, and by more I mean I mean more than none. It may be the slightly calmer confidence that comes with a good run of shows or just having something worthwhile to do every day or it might be that my beard is growing out and I'm turning into a sheepdog. Who doesn't want to french kiss a sheepdog? The uber-flirt suggested I should trim my beard. This is what happened to Samson.
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