We spent Thursday, Friday and Saturday flyering like crazy, though we (me and the radical queer feminist burlesque people that I befriended) did take a break from serious flyering in order to piss around with riding crops and so forth…. I think we really did scare that group of Mormons…. anyway, yes. Flyering was hell towards the end, as by this point there were more people flyering than being flyered. The audience numbers were smaller than the last weekend’s had been, but they were still fairly enthusiastic, which was nice: no more tutting women!
Though a lot has happened in the last few days it doesn’t feel like I can write about it in detail. It’s getting toward the end of the run now and I’m too shattered for any display of creativity beyond that which has been rehearsed to death and that we’re performing every night to varied success. Some nights have gone spectacularly well (Saturday in particular when it seemed that we could do no wrong – they were laughing at things we’d never even considered jokes before!!!) whereas others have gone less so (Tuesday night being the example there when me and Ian were ill with a weird coldy fluey thing and no one laughed at anything). Last night we had a reviewer in who was very serious and didn’t really laugh at anything. This doesn’t really make us optimistic, and while everyone at Fringe Central is spending hours printing and cutting a galaxy’s worth of stars to staple to their flyers to advertise how brilliant their shows are, we’re shakily checking “Three Weeks” every day, praying that we haven’t received the dreaded TWO STAR REVIEW (as far as I’m concerned, any other number would be fine… two would kill me).
On Thursday I got a phonecall from a number I didn’t recognise.It was Tom, my boyfriend. “I’m nearly at Waverley Station. Can you come and get me?” He’d come to see me!!!! It was the most romantic and brilliant surprise of my life and it’s so good to have him around. Hurrah!!Yesterday we went to the whisky museum and today we’re going to another kind of museum I think (there’s a lot of museums in Edinburgh).
The networking opportunity went okay (you may have realised now that I’m on my third one of these that I do just pick up where I left off. I may be a creative writing student but there is no time for anything such as style on the Fringe!) … more of a “pay me pay me pay me” thing on the part of the people who were running it. But I did pick up some useful leaflets, including a kind of networking place for directors and producers (I also directed the show…. as much as you can direct something so pitifully small and low key). The sales pitch is on the leaflet: “Think of it as your executive lounge in the heart of New Town.” This has sufficiently sold it to me as somewhere we HAVE to go if only for a bit of a laugh… though I think Owen just wants to find out exactly how much my so-called “Gift of the Gab” works under pressure. I keep trying to tell him that it’s just that I like people but he doesn’t seem to care and has convinced himself that I’m a PR wonder. I think he’s entirely mad, of course.
After seeing the jester whose act was essentially a mental breakdown on stage (this is where we left off if you remember – if you don’t, the story is taking place on Sunday afternoon!), we went to get some food and then on to a session at Sandy Bell’s pub, which I had been recommended for its sessionyness. I stayed and played for a while, but as I didn’t know any Scottish tunes and they knew precious few Irish ones, it became more of a “you play one and we’ll play one”. As those sessions always make me feel a bit on edge I went across the road to Malone’s Irish bar where the rest of the gang were watching the football. Al Murray (Pub Landlord guy) was in there watching the football too so I managed to have a chat to him and get the first autograph in a little notebook I had with me.
After months of rehearsals and lots of blood, sweat and tears, our sketch show Please Not The Face has made it to Edinburgh. What started as an exchange of emails has now resulted in me being a good 500 miles away from home for two weeks performing comedy.