To Edinburgh, and the irresistible draw of the Fringe Festival. It seems strange that I was keeping this diary when I visited a year ago, and I also distinctly remember stating within it that I would be performing my own show this year. That just failed to come about through… I don’t really know. I was looking at venues eight months ago, I had a show set out, and it just never came off. K, on the other hand, has now been up three years in a row and is therefore better than me, and this trip was chiefly to do the friendly thing and see his show as well as have a good nose around to see what other comics are up to. Edinburgh’s basically a trade fair for comedians in August. An annual general meeting. Dozens and dozens are up here making up a decent percentage of the 1,700 individual comedy, dance, theatre, opera, and music shows that are on. 1,700 – It seems impossible, but this is the 60th year of the Fringe (I believe) and in that time it really has become without any question whatsoever the most important arts festival in the world, there’s nout to match it.
I travelled up by train after getting a tip about a new website called Megatrain. I’ve absolutely no idea who owns it, and if it’s something to do with Virgin Trains because you can only seem to book tickets on their cross country services, but the prices are astonishing. Liverpool to Edinburgh – fiver. Five pounds! The journey back was available at £3. You book and pay on-line, then they send you an e-mail with a reference number on it and the instruction to show it to the conductor when you’re on the train. It all seemed like a bit of a ruse. I actually started my journey in Manchester and the ticket checks there are stringent. I approached the army of ticket Nazis without a ticket, but just my piece of paper I’d printed Megatrain’s e-mail out onto. I stopped by one of the men checking tickets and went to get this out.
“Megatrain?� he asked.
“That’s right.�
“On you go.�
If there’s a downside it’s that you don’t get a mega train to take you to Edinburgh. A special, wondrous, shiny mega train full of casinos and arcades. Maybe a swimming pool. No, you just get the standard Virgin Train. But when on that, you don’t have to sit in your own special rubbish and cheap carriage, full of boxes of chickens flapping about and bags of mail, but in a normal carriage with everybody else. So you pay a tiny fraction of the standard fare, on this odd site, and get a reference number, and sit with the people who’ve paid a fortune, enjoying the same views. I’ve never seen this website publicised anywhere, but if you travel by train quite a bit, do investigate it.
Edinburgh’s always expensive and so you make savings wherever you can. Megatrain helped, and so did finding a youth hostel online. I don’t like youth hostels as a rule, and whilst I used to think this was down to the basic nature of the facilities, the sharing a room with four others on bunk beds, the communal shower room and not being able to unpack your clothes, I realise now that I don’t like youth hostels because I’m not a youth. It’s really rather simple and I don’t know why it’s not occurred to me before. But £20 a night, when rip-off hotels are charging people twice their normal rates during the Festival, that’s great value. I did look absurd though, turning up in my suit, wheeling my nice suitcase.
“One bunk bed please, my good man. If I might share my accommodation with three snoring Antipodeans that would be much appreciated, too. And could you see to it that a copy of the Big Issue is delivered to my room tomorrow morning at eight? I thank you.�
No, it’s alright really. It’s called St Christopher’s Inn and does come recommended on the internet. All you really need in a youth hostel is cleanliness, and it seems clean. Even if it is full of youths. Horrible, disgusting youths.
K had just finished his show when I arrived, which was poor timing, and he’s got a day off tomorrow but I’ll see it Wednesday. We met up and went for a few drinks, eventually ending up down at the Underbelly where I bumped into Rachel and Gareth from the Laughterhouse in Liverpool (the scene of my annoying show the other Friday) and it was great to see two more familiar faces amongst a sea of familiar faces. You bump into people you’ve not seen in a few years but gigged with one upon a time. Richard Herring also appeared and it’s a pleasure to see him and have a couple of pints. I stole the idea for this Blog off him, of course, and I really am in his debt because of that. To be honest, quite a few factors here are completely Richard Herring. The overuse of the word ‘idiot’, for one, is completely ripped off. All the Lee And Herring stuff on TV, radio, and in print had a fascination with the overuse of a word, the technique being that if you use a single word too much it becomes funny, which in the right hands it does. Especially a word like ‘idiot’, being as it is overly strong and direct for most situations. It’s also a bit childish which is even better.
Richard’s really enjoying his show this year, feeling it’s the best work he’s done. I’ve not seen the final Edinburgh version yet, but you’ll remember I saw the preview in Liverpool not long ago and loved it. He’s got this very strange idea in his head that he’s only just getting good at stand-up, which is the dispelling of a complex he developed as a young man when he faltered at it during the start of his career whilst his comedy partner Stewart Lee seemed to excel. I don’t know where he gets the idea he’s only just becoming good because he’s one of the most natural and fearless performers you’ll ever watch, always completely in command whenever I’ve seen him. He’s ace! There you go, the overuse of the childish word ‘ace’. That’s another Herringism.
Comics like Richard are experienced veterans of the festival (this is his 22nd show), but of course others are seeing it for the first time. One such person is Paul Smith, a comic from Liverpool, who we also bumped into by chance. He’d just been eliminated in the semi final of So You Think You’re Funny, the comedy competition for new acts, and was pretty shell shocked. You need a thick skin to be a comedian and so whist we told him that whilst everyone gets unfairly knocked out of this silly competition, we also mocked his failing face and told him he was useless. Over a pint, with a consoling arm around him. This is important, young comics have to get used to baseball bat blows all the time, (because they don’t stop as you progress either) whilst being assured they’ll be okay in the long run. I remember getting knocked out in the semi-finals of the same competition. The only act to get an encore on the night, I felt confident I’d finish in the top three of eight and progress to the final, but I didn’t and later found out the judges realised they needed another northern act in the final. It’s all a load of silly.
And there will be far bigger injustices handed out here in Edinburgh than that. And far more glorious triumphs. It’s just such a crazy, hold onto your hats melting pot. I love it. But then I’m not performing, so it’s easy to.
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