During periods of high stress, you learn a lot about yourself. What I've learnt about me over the years is that I'm a big whoopsie.
I have had people say to me that I seem very grounded and philosophical about things. Yes. Out loud. That's because I have to be. If I wasn't, I'd be a gibbering wreck. I had some bad shows and a huge wobble and so I went to bed early and slept on two consecutive nights and now my shows are going fine and I seem to be doing fine. That's all it took, really. Lots of acts will be out there getting sozzled every night and saying "How's the show going?" to each other whilst pie-eyed at 3am and will just be waiting to talk about theirs, but I'm happy to skip all that. There are lots of beautiful women around, however, and while I'd love to be out carousing, I can't pretend that early nights are wrecking my pulling ratio. I only ever end up with someone out of dumb luck anyway, so I'll stick to that time-honoured policy.
My evening show isn't really happening, however. I have done it twice now. Both times to fewer than 7 people. However, both shows went really well. The material works well, I feel comfortable telling it, and it will until I get bored of it. I have to stand outside flyering for it, and that doesn't really seem to be working. People do come up and sit down before I start and then they say "Is this the improvised comedy musical?" and I say "No. That's downstairs" and then they look awkward and I tell them it's okay for them to leave, so they leave. I think this show is a bit too good for no one to be coming to, but that's Edinburgh for you. Or maybe it isn't that good. Maybe I've just had kind audiences who see my predicament. Yesterday, I did it to a sketch group who loved it, but that's probably because they are in the room just before me, so...solidarity. They have a blonde, Northern girl who I look at and feel weak. I told her that this would probably be my last straight stand up show and she said "But why? You're really good! Keep going!" and just looking at her face made me think "Oh. Okay then" but that's because I'm fickle. Or desperate.
My jaw dropped when I was flirted with by this Eastern European barmaid at one of the venues. Part of me thought "Wow! She seems to like me!" and the other part of me rebutted "No. She's just a very attractive barmaid who likes flirting." And that part won. That part, I think, is called reality.
I have reinvigorated the Roman show by putting in new stories and new angles. It's like I've been married to it for 20 years and now we are having sex in the kitchen just to mix it up. "Ooh, we should really get those tiles done...what's wrong? You've stopped." I also try to sell every section. This isn't a strategy. It's me having the energy and mental composure to do so.
My days here are more regimented than at home. I get up, have breakfast, watch an episode of Frasier, play the ukulele, write (if I have to), go and do the show. Collect money. Come back. Cook lunch. Eat lunch. Watch Frasier. Count my takings. Drink coffee. Play the ukulele. Flyer for the evening show. Wait to see if anyone's coming. Do show/ or not. Think about going out, then don't. Go home. Eat. Go to bed.
I will probably soon get bored of this. Or will run out of Frasier to watch. Tomorrow I don't have ANY shows at all. I am going out tonight and will drink and watch some comedy and probably end up in bed at 4am and wake up with a hangover, and put myself back together for Saturday. Tomorrow, I am going to the dentist. DAY OFF!
I think I've got a part of life wrong. I'm staying in this converted warehouse. The bathroom mirror plays music, the shower is a huge overhead waterfall. I walk across a bridge to get to my bedroom. The hobs are this plexi-glass convection thing that I've never seen before with a removable silver disc control dial. There is a tap that dispenses boiling water. You can play music from your phone wirelessly into the sound system. There is a motorbike by the TV.
I always assumed happiness was a state of mind. Now I believe it may be a massive warehouse conversion. Presumably it would get boring. But there's always kitchen sex. Open plan kitchen sex!
I have had people say to me that I seem very grounded and philosophical about things. Yes. Out loud. That's because I have to be. If I wasn't, I'd be a gibbering wreck. I had some bad shows and a huge wobble and so I went to bed early and slept on two consecutive nights and now my shows are going fine and I seem to be doing fine. That's all it took, really. Lots of acts will be out there getting sozzled every night and saying "How's the show going?" to each other whilst pie-eyed at 3am and will just be waiting to talk about theirs, but I'm happy to skip all that. There are lots of beautiful women around, however, and while I'd love to be out carousing, I can't pretend that early nights are wrecking my pulling ratio. I only ever end up with someone out of dumb luck anyway, so I'll stick to that time-honoured policy.
My evening show isn't really happening, however. I have done it twice now. Both times to fewer than 7 people. However, both shows went really well. The material works well, I feel comfortable telling it, and it will until I get bored of it. I have to stand outside flyering for it, and that doesn't really seem to be working. People do come up and sit down before I start and then they say "Is this the improvised comedy musical?" and I say "No. That's downstairs" and then they look awkward and I tell them it's okay for them to leave, so they leave. I think this show is a bit too good for no one to be coming to, but that's Edinburgh for you. Or maybe it isn't that good. Maybe I've just had kind audiences who see my predicament. Yesterday, I did it to a sketch group who loved it, but that's probably because they are in the room just before me, so...solidarity. They have a blonde, Northern girl who I look at and feel weak. I told her that this would probably be my last straight stand up show and she said "But why? You're really good! Keep going!" and just looking at her face made me think "Oh. Okay then" but that's because I'm fickle. Or desperate.
My jaw dropped when I was flirted with by this Eastern European barmaid at one of the venues. Part of me thought "Wow! She seems to like me!" and the other part of me rebutted "No. She's just a very attractive barmaid who likes flirting." And that part won. That part, I think, is called reality.
I have reinvigorated the Roman show by putting in new stories and new angles. It's like I've been married to it for 20 years and now we are having sex in the kitchen just to mix it up. "Ooh, we should really get those tiles done...what's wrong? You've stopped." I also try to sell every section. This isn't a strategy. It's me having the energy and mental composure to do so.
My days here are more regimented than at home. I get up, have breakfast, watch an episode of Frasier, play the ukulele, write (if I have to), go and do the show. Collect money. Come back. Cook lunch. Eat lunch. Watch Frasier. Count my takings. Drink coffee. Play the ukulele. Flyer for the evening show. Wait to see if anyone's coming. Do show/ or not. Think about going out, then don't. Go home. Eat. Go to bed.
I will probably soon get bored of this. Or will run out of Frasier to watch. Tomorrow I don't have ANY shows at all. I am going out tonight and will drink and watch some comedy and probably end up in bed at 4am and wake up with a hangover, and put myself back together for Saturday. Tomorrow, I am going to the dentist. DAY OFF!I think I've got a part of life wrong. I'm staying in this converted warehouse. The bathroom mirror plays music, the shower is a huge overhead waterfall. I walk across a bridge to get to my bedroom. The hobs are this plexi-glass convection thing that I've never seen before with a removable silver disc control dial. There is a tap that dispenses boiling water. You can play music from your phone wirelessly into the sound system. There is a motorbike by the TV.
I always assumed happiness was a state of mind. Now I believe it may be a massive warehouse conversion. Presumably it would get boring. But there's always kitchen sex. Open plan kitchen sex!
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