Fringe Dispatch: The Wait

I’m three shows in to my 25 show run up here in the glorious city of Edinburgh. It’s been marvellous to wander these snaggled cobbles again, and to wander in balmy sunshine for a change. I’m staying in an area called Marchmont, which is quite posh and quiet. My commute into the city is through the Meadows, which calms the soul before the madness of spouting iambs and drinking till sunrise.

The show is going well. I like it. I really like it. I think it’s honest, I like the poems, I like the gags and I think it has a good range of styles and emotions. I have no idea whether the world at large will agree with me yet. I’d like to say that doesn’t matter, it does of course. But whatever happens I should remember how I feel now, or try my best to. I’ve made something I’m proud of, something that was difficult to do, which took a long time, but I did it. Well done me!

I should write my own reviews. #massivefan

I’m waiting on three reviews now, if they’re good they’ll pick the audience numbers up. There’s a big sense of anticipation right now. In the next week I’ll get some reviews, if they’re good we’ll get bigger audiences, if they’re a bit meh then I won’t. If I spend the next month playing to small audiences it will eventually get demoralising, especially once I start to (inevitably) get bored with the show. It’s frustrating waiting for it all to start, but at the same time the calm is quite nice.

And if you’re looking for a hot tip or two I’d say this. Comedy fans head to Why Don’t We Kill Ourselves by Patrick Lappin – dark, dishevelled gag-smithery with a genuine story, philosophy and heart. Theatre/spoken word aficionados will fall head-over-heels for On The Beach by John Osborne. John recounts a walk along Weymouth beach, it’s poetic, wryly-observed and stays with you all week.

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