The Decline and Fall of Ed's Festival Part V!!

Today is my last performance of the show "Better Off Ed." I wanted this show to be the stand up show I really wanted to do. I wanted to tie everything together - anger, expectations, hopes and fears. Life in a show. I think I have touched on that. I think this show could be developed and made into that. But not to four people a night. There are so many good shows, there are so many great acts. The majority have to be disregarded for a few to be selected as worthwhile.

Meanwhile, my Roman show is evolving. More of me is going into it. Previously, I complained that it's not the kind of show that can be repeated every day - but I think that's true of all shows. You just have to find a way. I am letting go of the other stuff. This is my future. I want to people to be fascinated and make them laugh. The Rome show is a harder bugger to master. On a good day it's a very good show. On a bad day, it's so difficult just to keep going. With my other stand up, I can always break off into audience banter or just try something out. With the Rome show, I can't divert much. The last few days have been a very good run of shows. But this in Edinburgh. That can change at any time. I know when things are starting to go wrong. I can feel my face freeze up. My eyebrows actually start to hurt, as if my face is trying to contort life into the audience.

Yesterday, people went away smiling widely, eyes gleaming. On Sunday, they look embarrassed or tried to smile encouragingly. One old man said: "It was great in terms of energy." There hasn't been a more damning review. Triumph and disaster. "Treat those two impostors just the same."

Yesterday was the real test. I managed to get two people upstairs to the landing to the see the evening show. A father and daughter. They were hesitant. The father was earnest: "We won't stay if it's not funny. We could get an early train back" he said quite earnestly. I sat down and talked to them. They warmed a little. Then a couple came up. One of them knew my brother. Two people from flyering. Two people connected to my brother. A PR triumph!

Introduced everyone and then waited for everyone to get drinks and off we went. Things were going well. The material was flowing the goodwill was strong. It wasn't going to be bad. I was going to make a room of 4 people playable. Then two boys came up. One of them, Ramsay, demanded a recap of everything that had happened. He was mouthy and assertive and 19 and a huge fan of himself. He listened to a bit of the show and then actually laughed. He was being won over. Then disaster. They were joined by 6 drunken girls. Ramsay lost it. He was showing off. I did my story about thinking I had contracted AIDs from a bannister aged 7. Ramsay said: "He gave his mum AIDs!" They all burst into laughter. I tried to half deal with them and half continue. Some of the material was landing but I was having to put out too many fires. The daughter and father started to shift uncomfortably. They then got up to go. They had been really enjoying it. Those bastards had driven them off.

I had no alternative. I told the 19 year olds to come up to the front and take their seats. If it was going to go to hell, better that I could keep an eye on them. One of them got up and asked if she could do karaoke. Ramsay got up and put his arm round my shoulder to suggest dominance. Ramsay was keen to assert himself as King of the Group. Some of them settled down and started to listen. One girl gave a running commentary on everything. I singled her out for a few face to face canon blasts. That shut her up. I was on the verge of bullying, but I had little choice. Some of them went. Others stayed. They listened and laughed. Then they checked their phones. I was performing to 7 people. Three of whom were also checking Facebook.

I got through the show and was relieved when they went. My brother's friends were still there. They had been loyal and laughing the whole time. They expressed disappointment that they weren't allowed to hear the whole show. But these kids weren't like the massive group of boys I'd had before. The boys were disruptive, but they weren't saboteurs. These guys were like the class from hell. I don't think they were bad people - they were just misbehaving little shits. Ramsay cam back up and felt the need to tell me about all the places he'd lived - posh places - and then said "We love you, Ed" because he wanted to show me that he was popular and handsome and universally admired and that he'd just been having fun.

That's the worst kind of dick. The one who thinks their actions are excusable. That they're decent people. I think in all likelihood he will look back at himself aged 19 and blush. Or he may not. Sometimes it feels like we are producing fewer self-aware people every year. Self-awareness and pensions. Seemingly unsustainable.

No hic-hiccuping.

I then had an enjoyable evening with the two other guys. Pints and whiskies. We ended up at Canongate, where the bartender refused to serve me as I was hiccuping. It felt like I was in a Disney film. Or in the early nineteenth century. "Rough-housers, pettifoggers and personnes of a low disposition will not be admitted." Arguing your case while hiccuping is very difficult. It's like arguing that you are a really decent person whilst being naked. Or trying to convey the idea that you're a decent guy whilst heckling a stand up show to destruction.

The Decline and Fall of Ed's Festival - Part Va

I've already blogged on Thursday, but I feel I need to share this with 1) my confused brain and 2) whoever reads it.

My evening gig. There were a core group of 6 people who stuck with me tonight. They gave me the confidence to be fluent and funny. Without them the show would have been hellish. There was a group of 15 pissed up 20 year olds at the back of the gig venue. This is the problem with the evening venue. It's an upstairs bar mezzanine place that people can walk through or sit round the corner from. It's not a room for a comedy. It's not a room at all. 

The group of lads came, they shouted, they went round the corner, they sat at the back, then they left. Then they came back. They were loud, but we kept ploughing through. Somehow that made my core people more faithful to me. We were okay. In fairness, those guys could have ruined things if they'd wanted to. They didn't want to. They were just noisy. But I didn't sense any malice. I'm not sure if this is fair, but I sense I wouldn't have had such a let off in Kent or Stoke or anywhere South of the border. Sometimes the English feel more lairy, in spite of the Scottish talent for drinking and violence. But that may not be national thing at all. Maybe it's because Edinburgh locals largely accept the festival. There are plenty of drunk locals around and I barely ever hear of disruption. I have done weekend shows in the seediest bars here, and never have had a serious problem. It's the posh, drunk London venue staff who are far more obnoxious. I've seen them almost ruin a friend's gig.

So, the gig turned out to be pretty good, despite all signs to the contrary. I threw them off with a sickness story I do, which is usually the highlight for people - for the 5 people that are usually there - when the show actually goes ahead! Maybe 'usually' is not a word I can associate with that show. But generally they were very much on board.

Unusually, this Scouser man and his family said it was the best show they'd seen that day. They had £20 in cash (as they were taking the train back that night) and gave me £5 of it. He shook my hand. It felt like a biblical moment. It was lovely. He said: "You deserve a much bigger audience." He's right. I deserved more than 6-10 people, but more is no guarantee of quality. Still. Two good hours in one day. On fire. Of course, then I ended up accidentally doing two more shows. I should have gone home. No. I should have been out socialising.

Also a superb show by @edfomeara at the Edinburgh Fringe in Sportsters Bar despite the goings on. Go and see him.

— Mike Hughes (@VikingHugheso) August 14, 2014

The plan was to see Bec. I finally got hold of her and it turned out she was doing two other shows herself. I had a prop for her that she told me to leave in the admin office of the Gilded Balloon. She told me in a text that she wanted to see me very soon. When I got there, she was there. I guess she wasn't expecting me to show up. I said hi and gave her the prop. I wanted to talk to her about the gig. I wanted to ask her about how things had been. She told me she briefly about the two gigs she was doing. I said I was off to do a gig in a restaurant basement. She said "Oh" and that was about it. Bec's a very focused person. I could see her mind being drawn back to her next performance, so I slightly reluctantly cleared myself away.

On the way out I said "Hi" to three comedians. Literally "Hi." Smile, no intention of stopping, move on. Festival acknowledgement. Covering the bases. I could be commissioned one day. You never know. Doesn't hurt for them to say hi. Easier than stopping.

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I had been asked to do this other gig by a guy who often asks me to do gigs in Exeter. I had some time to kill so I went to a bar on my own. I made sure it was a venue so that I could be reasonably waiting for a show or to meet someone. I'm not above having a pint on my own in a pub, but it's more difficult during festival time. When, I got to the restaurant, the promoter wasn't there. It was a particularly uninspiring room with a fairly uninspiring crowd. I did what I thought was a set. They laughed hot and cold. Patchy. After, I asked the MC if he was going for a drink. They were headed to the Library Bar. It's a place for open spots who are having their first few Edinburghs. Then they graduate to the Loft, which is the same thing except they have door staff checking passes and it feels more desperate. You get to see minor celebrities, chain smoking, looking weary and laughing too loud at nothing.

I had texted everyone I felt like I could. That changes year by year. This year it was about 4 people. No one was around. I started to walk home. I got to a place called Canon's Gait which is the PBH Free Fringe hub. They had a showcase there so I thought I would go in and watch it and have a beer. I got one and went downstairs. The showcase was MCd by an atheist political feminist who talks about her TV appearances quite a lot. She is someone who gives her opinion for a living. No condemnation. Nice work if you can get it. Meedya.

I went and stood by the bar at the back. When she had finished her bit of MCing and got the first act on, she came up to me and said "One of the acts hasn't turned up. Can you go on?" It was a big, full room. The people seemed reasonably good-natured so I said "Sure." She came back after the second bit of MCing and said: "Right. You're the headliner unless they turn up. It means 15 minutes, but you know, 10 or something." By now, these were statements rather than request. Like it was expected of me. No criticism of her. She was in the lurch and was spinning plates, but I had just walked in off the street. I went along with it. What if no one else was around? What would she have done then? The room wasn't exactly electric, but it seemed okay. There was no reason to suggest it would be difficult.

It was difficult. 

Not disastrously bad. Worse. Reaaaally underwhelming. I felt like a new act. Staring people. Maybe three people really laughing. It wasn't silence, it was worse. A smattering of laughter. Some murmuring. Occasionally I would hit upon something that challenged the scepticism, but not for long. A general sense of weariness. The material I was doing was easy, but it was low status stuff. The MC talked about her TV appearances and newspaper articles. I talked about flyering and temping. THIS IS NOT A HEADLINER! WE DIDN'T NOT PAY FOR THIS! (It was a free show.) I left quickly after. I saw people not putting money into the bucket. Somewhere between the MCs media career and my lacklustre performance, there didn't seem the will. 

I left immediately. I hadn't planned to be there anyway. I felt like maybe if I moved fast enough, I'd escape being caught in the amber of historical events. I should have had a beer elsewhere. But that's disingenuous. If it had gone well, I would have thought "Good beer! Just popped in and ended up bringing the house down!"

The truth is that it's a festival gig. These things happen. It's not gutting. More than that, I don't want to do 10 or 15 minutes of a club set. I don't want to do club sets. There's nothing in it for me. I'm bored of saying nothing. I like doing my evening show sometimes. There are little jokes about jobs and girlfriends and such, but it's part of something much bigger. Club sets are not. They feel like condiment packets. I don't want a condiment packet. I want a jar of mustard.

Tomorrow is my day off. I am torn between just getting out of Edinburgh and going somewhere or just seeing some shows I haven't got round to seeing. Nah. Fuck that. I don't want to hear any more words. I want to see some action: wildlife or landscapes or castles. I'm a gonna buy me a train ticket somewhere. At least if I go on a tour, no one will ask me to take over if the guide doesn't show up.

It's almost 3am now. I am eating into my day trip. Bed.

Note to self: Don't go on a walk and the drop your phone in a field full of slurry like you did last year.

The Decline and Fall of Ed's Festival - Part V

It's been a weird old time. It's always weird up here. Today the sun came out and shone brightly and then it started raining. It's some weird unsettling pathetic fallacy. I remember describing the weather, as a young teenager, to my uncle on the day of my grandfather's funeral as pathetic fallacy. I remember him saying, "Good Lord. Are they still teaching you that in school?" Not in general. Just one teacher called Reverend Chidlaw. It's amazing what stays with you, and what doesn't. My past is shudders and trivia.

Today I woke up with a sense of resigned feebleness. I didn't want to do my show. I didn't want to walk into the lights and do that tangled mess of words I've said too often. I was also aware that there was a slim chance that there just might be a good crowd in and it just might be fine. And it was. It was seriously okay. The crowd weren't laughing all the time, but they were with me. They never lost faith, and that's everything. I'll share a nice moment, because it's important to mark them too. Though they don't linger in the memory like the bad moments.

Anyway...

I do a bit about Shakespeare saying that "Nero fiddled while Rome burnt" and I say he played the lyre, so if anyone says "Nero fiddled while Rome burnt" you can say "LIAR!" and you'll be right on two levels, which is the best way to be right.

Later, I do a bit about how Diocletian killed a man called Aper after receiving a prophecy that if he killed a Boar, he could be emperor of Rome. I then tell people that Aper is also very conveniently a type of creature and ask them to guess what type of creature it is.

Someone said: "Boar!"
And I said: "Was that a heckle?"
They said: "Yes, but it's also the answer. I'm being right on two levels, which is the best way of being right - as you said."

He did my callback for me! I was overjoyed that not only was the guy listening but he was totally engaged with the show.

He said: "I may not have been laughing all the time, but I've been really enjoying it."

That's really the point. It's not always easy to make Roman history laugh out loud funny every day to a different mixed crowd in a nightclub at a free show. In fact it's bloody difficult, particularly for me. I don't need them to validate me with laughter. I need them to be engaged with the show and for them to understand what I'm doing. This guy did. Completely. Lovely.

At the end of the show I had got almost £100. Yesterday it had been £30. Same sized crowd. Same words. Completely different result. Festival comedy. Hard. Really hard.

I have not been checking for reviews. I don't want to know. A good review is nice to have. A bad review is too much a punch in the balls. I will check them after Edinburgh once I'm back in Sanityville. Last year, a one star review almost floored me. I don't want to be target practise for a 20 year old. My friend pointed out to me that my Chortle review is still the third result when googling my name. They advised I get it removed using the google 'right to be forgotten' thing. I tried, but Google said it was still relevant and in the public interest. It's 7 years old, it was judging new material from a brand new comic. It said I was borderline racist. It has followed me ever since. 100+ supporting comments have been removed when they revamped the site so it stands unchallenged. A friend of mine said about my blog that I'm unfair on critics. This is one of the reasons. Here's a weird thing. I remember talking to Jack Whitehall about it years ago. He said, "You sound bitter!" and then he cocked an eyebrow. Of course I'm bitter.

<meta name="keywords" content="Fuck, Jack Whitehall, Steve Bennett, dicks">

Hopefully that'll come up in a google search. Probably not. I don't have the money for SEO.

Anyway, I know it doesn't really matter. I'm not even massively annoyed about it. It is what it is. There's no sense to this life. There are just things that happen. People may think that's unsettling and nihilistic. I find it extremely comforting. You are born. You die. Enjoy of it what you can. Thank God for that.

I'm waiting for my jacket potato. I'm always most bleak before lunch. I remember I was in a car with a girlfriend once and she saw me staring off into the distance and frowning.

"Let's stop at this cafe."
"Why?"
"I can see where your mind is going. You need to eat."

Bless her. If our relationships was simply based on blood-sugar/ mood ratios, I could have married her.

My evening show is not going to suddenly become great. The venue is just terrible. Everyone who uses the space says as much. I am directly competing against an improv musical in the venue at the same time. I had to cancel the show yesterday, so I went to see them. Bearing in mind what I have said about critics, if you like improvised musicals, go and see them. If you don't, don't. The audience seemed to. They had the most enthusiastic young crowd whooping their way through the whole thing. The performers talked like Transatlantic DJs even when ushering people in. "Okay guys, fill up from the front and that'll be totes amazing!" They say it again and again like they have pull strings on their backs. After that they switched to not having any punchlines as such but putting on wigs and saying everything very loudly like actors - which seems to work just as well.

Darius Davies once got a review that said his act was "gold-plated garbage" which was meant as a slur but I told him he should take as a compliment. He's hilarious because he talks about plug sockets with the same kind of passion and conviction as Chris Rock talks about racial inequality. What's not to like? Gold-plated garbage. This improv show is the same. There's bugger all substance, but it's very well delivered. The improv guys fill the place every day with sheer enthusiasm. After the show they say to each other "Good show guys!" They deserve it. We both have the same book on comedy, but we're just underlined vastly different bits

Tonight I'm going out again as tomorrow is my day off. I'm due to meet with my flatmate Bec and see what someone having an extremely successful Edinburgh looks like. It's nice to wish someone well who is doing well. I admire her a lot. See? Not bitter, really. Credit where credit's due. Almost £100 worth of credit in ma bucket today.

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

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!

The Decline and Fall of Ed's Festival (Prologue)...

'If I get things right, I may not have to come back and do this festival again.' This is a very stupid thing to be thinking when you're preparing to go to a festival. The Edinburgh Festival should be a bucket-load of fun. It should be a massive ice-cream scoop of delight. It should be. But isn't. Mostly what it's about is feeling that everybody is doing better than you and feeling a bit lonely and suddenly realising you don't want to do it at all but you have to do it anyway. It's just hugely condensed life.

Yet, I'm not feeling very negative about it all. I'm really not. I'm just wondering what exactly I'm doing here. In previous years, the idea was to come up here, get better, improve my craft, get gigs, try and score some reviews, try and advance on the circuit. But now I don't want to advance on the circuit. I always have, and always will, want to write. I'm in a BBC comedy scheme. It doesn't really mean or guarantee anything - but it does show that I am good with ideas, can turn them around quickly and can be original. On my day, I'm a good performer. But so is every performer. When the audience are in a good place and they decide to like you, you can't help but ride the wave. It's cheap. You turn up the next day with your surfboard, and the sea is flat and grey...and then you think you must be a rubbish surfer. But it's not true. You're just not brilliant either. What I'm saying is that a few performers can surf on ponds and most can't. It's a strange sentence and I'm not sure how I got here. I'm not a pond surfer. Clear?

I'm doing two shows this year. I'm almost setting myself up for meltdown. Stay tuned! I wanted to do my Roman show again. That's the future for me, I think. It's a niche I can develop. The other show, the stand up show, is my last go at me doing a fringe stand up show (that's not legally binding). It's got a lot of stories I want to tell in it. It was going to have a big, profound meaning and now it's not. I will get a two star and a three star review for it from ijustsetupablog.com. It's worth 4 stars, but I can't surf ponds. I'm not a pond surfer. See? Good writer.

The Edinburgh storm clouds gathered early this year. I went home for a relaxing weekend and did the Better Off Ed show to my family. I included about my brother Tom. He died a few years ago. I wanted to include it to make a point about happiness. Instead it just made everybody sad and it felt exploitative. I hadn't figured out my ending and just ranted. Everybody looked bored and annoyed. I had been drinking all day in the sun. There was a paddling pool in the garden. I didn't try surfing that...all right. I'll drop it. The Tom thing too. I know that a normal audience wouldn't react so emotionally, of course. It's not unusual to talk about quite personal experiences in Edinburgh shows - but I'm not sure it fits my style. I think my style is *GRIN* "I hope you don't hate this next bit..." *GRIN.*

That evening, my friend told me that our other friend had been arrested for having indecent images and videos of children on his computer. My friend said he wouldn't talk to him again. I said I would. We argued about that. Then he said "Next thing you'll say Israel is wrong bombing Palestine." I said "I do think that." He said "Why are we friends?" I said "Because we love each other." He didn't look convinced. It was a perfect end to a really horribly tarnished day. The perfect foreshadowing to the Festival.

Actually, I'm not meant to tell you that. I'm actually not a very good writer either. I'm not supposed to tell you what I'm trying to achieve. I'm just supposed to do it and let you work out and think "I see. Foreshadowing. Clever. Clever me for seeing it." This is what's wrong with my comedy. I talk around it rather than just doing it. If I were Charlie Chaplin I'd say "I'm about to slip on this banana skin, so watch out for that." I don't like saying MY comedy either. It sounds pretentious. Also, I don't want to be associated with my terrible comedy. I wish I had Richard Pryor's comedy. "What I like about Richard Pryor's comedy is that it's made ME successful."

I got on the train to come up here. I had a very uncomfortable seat. I had booked quite a nice seat, but there were a fat couple in it an I didn't want to disturb their fat coupliness. I'm not really an "Excuse me sir. I believe that's my seat" person. However the train took 6 hours. Every hour I resented them more. It's my own fault.

I'm staying with nice people in a nice place. Today I don't technically have to do anything. That's how I'd like to take this whole experience. One day at a time. The point of my show, if there is a point, is to actually try and live in the moment. Like the comedy. Don't build a narrative around it. Either positive or negative. Just do it and let others build their own narrative or take their own meaning..."1 star. I didn't see any point in it at all!" 

Right now I am drinking a cup of coffee in a big warehouse. I can't complain about that, except I need to go to the shops and I have a hole in my tooth fixed. As soon as I leave this sanctuary, I will see the plastered posters and desperate flyerers and the real festival will begin. I'm going to stay here for a bit first. Refusing to leave this moment.

If I stay here, nothing bad will happen.

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.

My Edinburgh Ballache Part 2: The Big Whinge.

Today I woke up hungover and demoralised and gave myself an impromptu day off to really get to grips with how shitty I felt. Yesterday’s show was yet more hard work. It’s all very well me concentrating on the show and not worrying about people’s reaction, but when the people are straight in front of you, that’s something else. One man on the second row was actually stifling laughter. He was too uncomfortable about laughing in a quiet room. That is the true Borg mentality of an audience. There is probably a psychological study about this. Audiences have no idea how much they can alter a performance. People seem to have an idea that an audience will laugh when something is funny. That isn’t the case. They will laugh when the collective mood allows them. The audience do not play a passive role in a good performance. They are its fuel. They sit there in silence wondering why they are sitting there in silence. Okay, it wasn’t silence. But it was underwhelming. And it made my material feel underwhelming. And it isn’t. With the right crowd it’s funny stuff. I felt the energy draining from me. Someone from the Theatre Royal in Nottingham asked me to email him after Edinburgh has finished to talk about the show. I don’t know what will come of it. What was worse is that firstly, someone was taking pics of me on a big SLR, which suggests press. On the strength of that show, I’d be lucky to get 2 stars. Again. Unless the reviewer can see passed the audience. They rarely can. Even worse is that two hungover girls came to the show. These girls saw my show last year and have stayed in touch since. Last year’s show was about insecurity, and they laughed like drains. (Strange expression. Don’t drains just drain?) This year, they sat at the back and mostly looked bored and hungover.

After the show I changed my pound coins from the pint glass for notes and looked around for the girls. They had gone. I hate feeling shit after a gig. It pervades everything I do. I imagined they had hated the show and fled to the hills, then I found them outside. Festival paranoia. I may not come to the Edinburgh Festival next year unless I have something to gain. So far, it feels like I have gained nothing at all. Sometimes the show feels like it's better but then I have a bad day and it knocks me over. Especially with the reinforcement of bad reviews. In London during August, there are more gigs available and mini-fringes. I may do one of these instead. I can spend money and feel tired and ignored and then go home on the tube.

On the plus side, I had Ron Swanson's favourite whiskey. That was nice.

*Note from August 2014: I edited this blog a lot. I talked about going out with these girls and how I ended the night feeling annoyed and disappointed. I guess I hurt the girls feelings. One of them got in touch, so I removed some stuff.