The Decline and Fall of Ed's Festival - Part !X

My last show at the Edinburgh Festival says something about my shows in general and my performance problems specifically. I had a totally full house. I started off with welcoming stuff and the laughs were big and the atmosphere was great. If I had then done "Better Off Ed" to them, it would have been a roof raising hour. But they weren't there for that. They were there for the Rome show. It wasn't roof raising. It was underwhelming. I brought it back a few times with banter and other remarks - but the Rome material was not delivering. Not that I blame the material. My delivery was tired and stilted. Friday's performance on Saturday's crowd would have been electrifying. It's a shame and a few people left, but the bucket yielded £110 and people seemed happy enough. It's just one of those things where you see what you could do with a crowd. There was so much to work with there and I started off with such big laughs. Still. Live comedy.

I went back to the house after that. My housemates were cutting windows into the front of their house. They had put up dust sheets the day before, cutting the size of the place in half. It looked like there had been a murder. I offered my labouring inexperience but they asked me if I could cook dinner instead. I went to the supermarket and bought sea bass and wine and other stuff. It cost £40 altogether. Not bad for three weeks rent I suppose! I made them dinner. It came out very well. They looked happy. We ate and chatted and then ate cheese and watched people getting killed by a plague on TV. It really was a lovely evening. I felt useful. Sometimes they call me "the boy." I'm only a year or so younger, but I feel like a boy around them sometimes. They have their own place and plans and disposable income and yet retain a huge sense of fun. I have rent I can only just pay and a haircut I'm not sure about. It's not the same. Cooking good food suggests I know what I'm doing. When I cook, I do know what I'm doing. I think some people have jobs that make them feel worthwhile and grown up. I don't. When people say things like "I find this very fulfilling" I think they are saying "This makes me feel worthwhile." I think as a species we are constantly fighting to find purpose. Animals still have this inbuilt. At least, I think they do. I'm sure there are loads of depressed elephants, however.

I want to just exist and not be defined by one thing or another or to derive validation from one thing or another - but I am only human. People can get very distraught when they don't achieve their goals because too much of themselves is defined by the goals they set. If they fail, they take it personally. The universe will not bend to my will and I don't expect it to. Be bloody nice if it did though, eh?

On Sunday I went to see "Dawn of the Planet of the Apes." It was great. Escapism. I felt incredibly relaxed after. The guy I went to see it with owns a company. He worked bloody hard for two years and now works ordinarily hard and still makes excellent money. He said "I'll buy the cinema tickets if you get the drinks." The tickets were a tenner each. We had our drinks in Wetherspoons. A lot of my friends are smart, fairly successful people. I'm a bit of an anomaly in that respect. Success is relative of course, but I am more than relatively unsuccessful. Increasingly I find that my close friends pay for my dinner once in a while or just keep buying me drinks. I don't feel ashamed, really. There have been times where I've had excess money. It's nice to spend it on people you like. In my bag, I have a tupperware box which had £700 in it from the shows. I will put it in a bank. But at the moment it's a nice thing to have. It looks like Scrooge McDuck's packed lunch.

I picked up my remaining flyers and posters from the venue. No one said: "Why didn't you do a Sunday show?" No one cares. I put up about 5 posters. I have about 45 left. Note: Fewer posters. I met up with some friends and had a few too many drinks. The film had put me in a good, neutral mood. I was being silly and playful. Then we talked comedy and I felt the weight gather on my shoulders. A few Edinburgh's ago I slept with a comedian. She approached me and said "hi" and hugged me then went back to her table. I stood there and wondered who she was sleeping with for a while and then decided to go home.

I had an 8am train. Everything went smoothly. I got on the train. It was comfortable. I felt like I was leaving Edinburgh. I didn't feel regret. It felt like the least substantial Edinburgh. In the past, I would go up there and just be glad to be gigging and coming up with material. I thought it was all adding to something. I thought that something might happen, I might be spotted, I might get booked for other things, I might get a good review that would really help me on the circuit. Despite the meltdowns and terror, there was always a point. This year, the point hadn't been so clear. I was happy to get away from it.

In London, it was raining hard. I got to my flat at 1pm and fantasised about a bath and tea and Fraiser and cooking. I couldn't get into my flat. The landlord had locked the bottom lock. A lock I don't have a key for. I called my flatmate and sat on the stairs eating a sandwich. I met my friend in a pub for some drinks and food. My flatmates thought of an ingenious scheme to send the key down with someone else and I could meet them at King's cross. That person was on a train that got delayed and then more delayed. I had too much to drink and slept fitfully on a sofa bed at my friend's house. He's a doctor, but decided not to go into work with his hangover. We administrators are made of sterner stuff.

I felt tired and a bit hungover and really didn't want to go to the place I knew I had to. Edinburgh wasn't ready to relinquish its grip immediately after all.

This is a thing.