My Edinburgh Ballache. Part 3.

Thank God for Lach’s Anti-Hoot. It’s an open mic showcase which is usually on every night in Edinburgh. This year it’s only on Mondays. Last year I met a lot of great comics and performers there including Eric Hutton, Tim Renkow and Jen Carnovale. This year, I go back to see them again. Eric Hutton is a treat to watch. He’s consistently hilarious with his full blown death metal parodies, but off-stage he has such a modest, laconic, personable way about him. It’s my oasis away from the usual crowd of comics and festival nightmares. Tonight it had everything. At this point I’d put a ‘from’ and ‘to’ to conform to lazy journalistic standards. But highlights included a Korean guy talking to a toy seal, a French outfit called The Neighbours with their faltering English and songs about how Paris is shit because it doesn’t have ravioli. At one point we swiveled around to listen to the soundman sing Tony Bennett. I closed my eyes and let my scotch and coke do its work. It was a total joy. Five stars.

Today’s show was much better. I hardly left the crowd in ecstasy, but everyone had palpably enjoyed themselves which left me pleased enough to go sit in an internet café and scratch my head about a website which I still haven’t successfully fixed, but stopped being profitable long ago.

There was a guy on the Anti-Hoot today who was good to listen to (he wore a cowboy hat and played a harmonica and sounded like Jethro Tull) but off stage he kept bemoaning the fact that he was in constant demand for gigs. I sat and nodded and chipped in when necessary. He was being a self-aggrandising bore but I didn’t roll my eyes or look away once, because I’m not a douchebag. See, other people? Be decent.

Earlier I was walking along looking at Bo Burnham’s posters announcing that the guy is a five star prodigy and I thought to myself that I didn’t have that natural star quality that makes a great performer. This may be true. But it’s also true of many fine comedians. For most people it just takes work. A lot of work. Not for Mozart, or Burnham or others. But for most. I think when I was a teenager, I wanted to be exceptional at something. Now it seems pointless. You don't have to be a genius anymore. We have the internet. After I die, two people can look me up and think "I like this guy's stuff. Bookmark." That's more than enough immortality. It'll all be dust in a few generations anyway. I’m in a much better frame of mind today. I think it’s called sleep and not drinking. Now I’ve had moderate drinking and I’m planning on sleep. Tomorrow may be great or it may not, but I will have to let it unfold as it chooses. I’m sure it doesn’t matter so much one way or another. This may be the moderate amount of scotch talking. Half the fun's in finding out. The other half is in not.