And so, in the Edinburgh sunshine, I walked down to North King Street and the offices of the Autism Action Trust and rang the bell. Bill answered and seemed pleased. “I really did wonder if you’d turn up!� he said, smiling. I still wasn’t entirely sure why I was there but Bill seems like a very decent bloke, and it seemed rude to ignore an arrangement. He used to run a number of advertising businesses, did well for himself I imagine, and then discovered his grandson had been diagnosed with autism, the doctors saying it was incurable. He decided to disagree and has spent the last eight years or so setting up a charity to investigate the disease and prove that it is curable. That’s what you would call a pro-active response, isn’t it?
He introduced me to two female members of his staff, whose names have rudely escaped me, one of who was a French scientist who shares Bill’s theories. I was shown around their well appointed facility and then we sat at a glass table and had a coffee. All they wanted to do was chat to me and explain their work, the reason they invited me over was simply that they like to spread their message. It really is fascinating. The mercury in vaccinations thing is astonishing. Did you know that mercury is so toxic, that if you broke one of the old mercury thermometers and dripped a bit of that mercury into a river or lake, all the fish would die? It’s potent as hell. And yet it’s in the vaccination we give to babies and Bill believes this is why autism cases have gone up hundreds of percent. There are plenty of other medics and scientists around the world who agree, too.
It was an interesting chat and I left feeling humbled that here were people working so tirelessly, and frequently coming up against brick walls, to do something worthwhile and descent, whilst I am up here because I am in the comedy business which is all about talking nonsense, getting drunk and trying to kiss girls. The contrast is sickening.
But I got over that in time and threw myself back into the unholy comedy mix. I went to see K’s show which is just excellent. Which is a relief, because if it was rubbish how would I, as a close friend, give my accurate opinions afterwards? I couldn’t bring myself to say it was rubbish because, although that would be honest and truthful, it would be wrong and maybe even knock his confidence. No such worries though, it’s outstandingly funny and really well put together. It’s called The Fall Of The House Of Frazer and basically sees K play three characters. The first is a mental case cueing up outside the Frazer Department Store for it’s closing down sale. The second is a deranged security guard who works at the store giving a brilliant instructional talk on the art of catching shop lifters. The third is the owner of the store, upstairs in his office, arguing with the voices in his head. I wont tell you the story because I think you should go and see it for yourself. Café Royal, Edinburgh, 2.40pm, until the 28th.
From there, feeling relief and pride in K’s work, I went to The Stand to watch Simon Munnery. I did the same last year, and will do the same whenever I’m up. The show is called Simon Munnery’s Annual General Meeting and it’s exactly that. Every year you go and see Simon’s hugely odd show, and then you all join him in the pub for a further couple of hours later to discuss ‘motions’ that have been written on pieces of paper by the audience and put in a bucket. These motions are then passes or failed. ‘Harness the glow of pregnant women to help power street lights’ would be a typical motion. It is discussed, with Simon giving improvised routines on the subject, quite brilliantly.
I left the pub meeting after an hour or so and eventually headed to see Richard Herring’s show with Rachel and Gareth. It’s really come on since the previews and I reiterate what I said on Monday, Richard’s such a solid performer. I love the boundaries he gleefully crosses. The taboos rather. He has a love, a sickness even, for taking things too far – it’s his art and I love him for it. You think a subject has gone as far as it can, and then the final blow comes. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that I find funnier than someone saying something entirely inappropriate on stage, into a microphone, in front of lots of people, and this is his craft. I don’t know where his stand-up hang-ups about still getting to grips with the craft come from. Richard, if you’re reading, you’re really one of the best there is.
Late drinks down at The Smirnoff Underbelly tonight. Rather nicely, both Richard and Simon joined us at one point. “So who’s show did you prefer, mine or Simon’s� he asked, enjoying the impossible and embarrassing nature of his question. “Yours� I said, truthfully, but also just making a joke of the fact answering such a question is inappropriate. Simon’s not the sort to care too much anyway.
Drinks, and then drinks. Soon we were in the Loft bar at The Gilded Balloon and a while later I noticed my bag had gone. “But I left it at the bar, I think, when I ordered that round and… Hell – where is it?�
This was serious. My bag is an item I treasure and goes with me everywhere. It’s a brown leather attaché case that’s a bit rough around the edges. It had my computer in it. On the computer was lots of work. Perhaps the least significant of this work were the last few days Pathetic Lot entries which I’d written but been unable to upload. Strangely, these came to mind first. Then, aside from the computer, my house and car keys. Passport? “No, it’s in my pocket. Thank God. Where the HELL is that bag?�
I searched around in vain. But no, it had gone. I felt sick to the stomach, mainly because I’m a fortuitous person who’s never had anything significant stolen from him in his life. This was the first time, and even now, in a panic, I somehow felt the lucky bastard in me would be rescued someone would walk up to me with it. But no.
I went home, after a long and futile search and requests at lost property, and crept into my dormitory praying something would happen to solve this tomorrow.
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