This evening, I returned to the new material night Touching Cloth for the first time since last year's Edinburgh (I think) to do what the remit of a new material night might suggest.
I've always liked the gig, but the fact I did a couple of previews of my own show at the venue, plus a performance of it in the Autumn, conspired to make me feel more relaxed in the room than I used to. It helps that the guy who runs the gig - Frank Cassidy - is such a lovely chap who runs a super-tight ship. It was nice to arrive without the nervous dread I'd suffered there in the past, particularly during the first few solo stand-up gigs I ever did. Back then, I'd lock myself in one of toilet cubicles downstairs to silently mouth through my set, which never helped me relax, mainly because the temperature in the gents' loos at the Water Poet is akin to a sauna favoured by the more experienced Swede; I'd often leave them with a sweat patch on my back reminiscent of the Turin Shroud.
My set tonight went well, considering I wrote most of it today. The subject matter was a little scatological - maybe too much - but I don't think this would be signposted if hidden away in the midst of a longer performance. If nothing else, it's good to tick something new off. I'm looking forward to when I finally getting the chance to sit down properly and work through my blogs with a view to stitching a new show together; when I get around to it, you'll be the first to know.
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