A Letter Home From Edinburgh

Dear World,

It seems as if I have been away for months, though a cursory glance at my iCal confirms it is a mere ten days or so. Life is different here.

The show have been going well. Probably the most exciting thing is the fast rising audience figures. We sold 45 tickets yesterday, which suggests that we’ll be selling out our 60 seats by the weekend. I don’t think we’ve had as good a start to the festival ever. The show itself has tightened up nicely since the previews and I am really enjoying performing it. Joel and I have such a natural rapport I know that I can adlib and he’ll pick up the pieces without so much of a ‘um.’

We’ve had three reviews thus far and all have ranked the show with four stars. This is no bad thing, and indeed, all of the reviewers have seemed to grasp what we think is important about the show. We’re waiting on reviews from the big boys now – Guardian, Scotsman, List, Metro. Brian Logan from the Guardian was in two days ago and saw what can only be described as one of the most depressing hours of my life. Having just come off the back of two great shows we were really up for it. It was pissing it down with rain outside but the audience was nearly full. But something didn’t work. It might have been the fact that it was pretty much pissing it down with rain inside the venue as well. We’re in the Iron Belly at The Underbelly. A cave, essentially. When it rains water trickles down from the street and about 2 hours later arrives on our heads. Sure, we have tarps up and no one gets dripped on, but having dripping buckets on each side of the audience seats and the muggy air does dampen (ho-ho) spirits somewhat. Whatever it was the audience just didn’t seem to go for it, which was particularly irritating as I think Joel and I were performing really well. My mood wasn’t helped by the fact that I was informed ten minutes prior to doors opening that my car had been broken into and towed. Whoop-de-fucking-doo. Anyway, I can only hope that Mr Logan, who has consistently understood and engaged with my work better than any other reviewer in recent years, can see through a lacklustre audience and judge the work on it’s own merit.

The car situation was left until yesterday. By the time I got home from the show it has gone half six and there was nothing that could be done that day. The Police informed me that they had found it insecure with a window smashed and so they had had to towed to a secure compound. I was then told that it would cost me £105 tow charge plus £12 a day storage. Not really what I wanted to hear. It seems fucking unfair that as the victim of crime I should have to fork out even more money.

The next day I headed round to St Leonard’s Police station and was told that the charge was actually £150 + VAT and £20 a day + VAT. Lovely stuff. So where was the car? Linlithgow, that’s where. Half the way to Glasgow. “You can get a train …” the police receptionist meekly added, my rage mounting. I headed down to the train station to find that all trains to Glasgow, or indeed anywhere, were canceled due to extreme flooding. I think that was the moment I just stopped caring. I paid £42 in a taxi to get to the pound, all the while on the phone to Autoglass, desperately trying to get an appointment to have the window fixed. Which is difficult if you haven’t seen the car and have no idea the extent of the damage. They told me they wouldn’t do it till to Saturday, but that they would lock it up for me until then.

The car wasn’t in too bad nick. The passenger front window was smashed and the glove compartment open. Like a massive, lolloping asinine dickhead I had left my sat nav in the glove compartment and that, of course, was gone. This is particularly galling because I have never left it there before. Sod’s law. What makes it worse is that it was present from my dad and he read me the riot act about not leaving it in the car, so it looks like he was right. Again.

All the in all, with the excess on the isnurance and the sat nav it’s cost me £400. But that’s alright, because I’m at the lucrative Edinburgh Festival where the streets are paved with gold and there’s money to made every day. Oh.

Anyway, Wednesday aside, we’re having a lovely time. Joel and I have been swimming everyday of the festival thus far, I make that eight days. I getting roughly a mile in everyday and I feel great for it. In fact I think this has been the healthiest week of my life since I left home eight years ago. It’s a funny thing this festival. It can flip at any moment, all it takes is one bad review or show and you can hit rock bottom. I’ve been doing it long enough to know that I must make the most it, enjoy it while I can. That’s what I’m doing now. I think I’ll go for a swim.

1 Comment

  • Flat Out August 8, 2008 at 1:26 pm

    bastard thieves. i reckon your pa organized it to remind you of the Divine Rightness of Dads in general.

    hoping to catch the show next sunday – with lucy and others

    chris

    Reply

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