The last two days
at the Fringe have been interesting.
Monday’s show was
the first of a two-day 2for1 deal on tickets, which contributed to creating
possibly the biggest audience I’d had up to that point – who were eerily
silent, compared to the lesser numbers I’d played to before. It felt a little
ominous and unsettling, as there’d been a definite growth in response across the first four shows, which felt as if it had suddenly hit a
standstill.
This
wasn’t necessarily strictly the case. It’s worth remembering it was midday
on a Monday morning, which is not the best time to watch comedy, plus the
2for1 deal might draw in people who wouldn’t come otherwise,
and weren’t into the style of it; on the flip-side, it may have been me, though
my tech Fraser assured me it wasn’t (saying he didn’t think I could have done any more to make it work).
As the
show went on, all I had in my head was the fact I was about to do a gig
immediately afterwards at Just the Tonic’s Afternoon Delight; “What if that went
badly too,” my inner-monologue said to itself, instantly taking the blame for
the muted response, like any performer’s inner-monologue would.
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| My first time solo on an Edinburgh blackboard; the eagle has landed. |
Thankfully, the
gig afterwards was lovely. I had a moment of panic before it began, when I saw how many
kids were filing into the audience. I’d been pre-warned it was a clean show
with a PG rating, but I hadn’t anticipated just how young some of the crowd
would be. Could I talk about dead dogs? Would my mid-set no-swearing filter
pick up and replace every cuss?
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| The dressing room for Afternoon Delights. |
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| The entrance to the stage. |
My panic was
replaced with relief when the emcee kicked the show off with material with just
a slight hint of edge that the parents laughed at without shielding their children’s ears. Then, one of the other comics told a story about a vet which mentioned pets dying, which gave
me the go-ahead for my dead dog story. I had the joke book I sometimes use
as a kick-off point for short spots in my back pocket (which my wife had sent up with my idea-filled notebooks, arriving that very day), and kept umming
and aahing over whether to use it or not. In the end, I decided against it,
which was the right choice. I got a good reaction, and had a moment mid-set
when I thought, “It's finally happening. I’m doing a solo stand-up set at a
show outside of my own for the first time at the Edinburgh Fringe, and no-one
is chucking me out”. It was a lovely moment for building my confidence.
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| Lynn Ruth Miller, emceeing the show (08.08.16) |
Today’s show, thankfully, was nice too. I had about twenty in, who were receptive, if
still a little quiet. I was confronted predominantly by smiles, which is the
right way up for a punter’s mouth to be. My favourite moment was when an
audience member decided to start opening a packet of oatcakes in the middle of a story; a noise that gradually lured the rest of audience (and
eventually me) in. She couldn’t open them so I offered to try, and did it in one go; a small triumph for my masculinity.
As I was packing up, a woman popped her head around the door and thrust a twenty pound note in my hand.
"We didn't have time to pay before the show, so we thought we'd give you this."
What a lovely thing to do.
A small
sticking point was my voice, which got gradually more tired as the show went
on. I’ve got a low-level itching in my chest that suggests illness to come; it’s
time for my antibodies to kick in. I also nearly pulled a muscle in my arm
whilst thrashing about; I may need to add a physical warm-up to my pre-show
routine. Call me Mr Motivator.
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| My room before today's show (09.08.16) |