IT won't to surprise you to learn I felt dreadful this morning, but what surprised me is how dreadful.
I'm not going to fill this Blog up with hangover stories, I'm no student, it not big and it's not clever, but I really was in a bad way today. My liver felt tender as hell. It hurt to put my hand to my side.
Obviously, this isn't just the result of yesterday's excesses, but a boozy couple of months in general. I must cut down, not just for my health but my appearance. I'm getting a gut. It's quite pronounced too. That's absolutely no good, and it's back to the gym as soon as I get back to Liverpool.
Not that you need a gym here in Edinburgh. It's built in on two sides of a dramatic valley, with the train station down the bottom, the New Town up on one side, and the Old Town up on the other. Walking anywhere involves a decent pair of hiking boots and some Kendal Mint Cake.
Marching around feeling like death is even harder and painfully sipping on a bottle of water wasn't helping. I needed a damn good comedy show and found one in the shape of The Little Howard Appeal. Little Howard is the cartoon creation of Howard Read, and his show this year is so mind-bogglingly clever and arse-achingly funny it almost defies explanation. It's incredible - I haven't laughed like that in ages. Ironically, because of my liver, my sides were aching when I went in, but not nearly as much as when I left. Does that sound corny? Yes it does.
Basically, Howard Read the human stands on stage with a white screen behind him, onto which Little Howard, a cartoon of a six year old boy, is projected. Together, they do the show, with human Howard or 'Big Howard' unobtrusively moving the action along using a handheld remote device that's controlling the hilariously animated Little Howard, plus an assortment of other characters, via his Apple Mac laptop. It's flawless, smooth, and dazzlingly inventive. The man must have practised this for months. The timing is split second.
Howard Read must be one of my favourite comedians in the world.
It was the ideal tonic for an ill man but unfortunately only a temporary one as I felt like crap again all afternoon. Tried having a few pints to kick-start the day but they went down like a finger.
Having not eaten, I decided a healthy meal would be the most sensible thing and went alone to a seafood restaurant on Rose St called the Mussel Inn. Get it? I sat there feeling horrible (I'm a moaner, I know) and when my food arrived, I felt dizzy, the room zoomed towards me and I just about passed out. A waitress came over and got me a glass of water, the nice couple at the next table also asked if I was okay. I had to just feebly ask for the bill - having not touched a bite - and staggered out into the fresh air.
This was awful - I was in a right state. With a ticket to see Jason Byrne in my pocket I had to decide what to do ... There was really no point in going to see a comedy show so I shuffled back to the hostel where I lay down on my bed and tried to relax. What the hell was wrong with me? One day in Edinburgh and I was already burnt out? Pathetic! How could I deal with a month?
Woke up at half past midnight and felt fine and wide-awake. I'd been looking forward to a new comedy show over at The Café Royal which was debuting tonight called The Wheat From The Chaff. It was being billed as a late show with a difference and that's precisely, gloriously, what it was. I missed the opening act, 'The White Chris Rock' who was apparently very good. Then Andy Zaltzman game on for a section called 'My First Open Spot' in which an established comic has to perform the material they did the first time they got up on stage. Great idea and he did it with no little grace. Then Seymour Mace made me laugh as hard, if not harder, than I had done during Howard Read's show when he came on as his new character, Uncle Shitty, a messed up ex-children's entertainer.
Here's Seymour, dressed as a clown, with the circus coat, long shoes, wig, some sort of disc around his neck, dancing to the theme from Ski Sunday for a whole minute. And there's me; sat at the back, having a hernia in the midst of my hysterics.
The only question is, was that sublime moment bettered by K? Well, maybe, but it's not a competition. Well, it sort of is. A very drunk K came on stage as Colin Kilkelly for a section called Kilkelly's Klassy Karaoke. Standing on stage with the venue's soundman, a well built lad called Tom, he began his song before complaining it was all out of time and physically attacked Tom in a brilliant mock-fight.
Then a woman from the audience was brought up to sing Let Me Entertain You whist Colin repeatedly started a brawl. The sight of K and Tom rolling around on the stage realistically punching seven bells out of each other whilst a woman tried to sing a Robbie Williams song will forever be a cherished memory.
Tim Vine was up last in a section called 'Pissed Up, Stand Up' where a big name act performs drunk. But he was only pretending to be drunk, so he was cheating.
I wasn't pretending though and after the show tucked into a few lovely beers in the bar. Howard Read turned up and we caught up whilst I sycophantically congratulated him on his show. Robin Ince was acting as guest DJ so we chatted about Morrissey for a while. He's a particularly pleasant man. So many friendly faces, such a good atmosphere, and so, so, so funny. Edinburgh at its best, perhaps?
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