Today would have been the last performance of my Edinburgh show about my dad, Good Grief. While I'm sad that I couldn't do it this year, if there's a Fringe to go to in 2021, I'll be up there with it; I don't bow out of potential debt that easily.
Joking aside, it's strange how it all turned out. Like many people, I've watched the content of my diary vacate en masse thanks to the pandemic. I went into the office for the first time in weeks on Thursday and consulting my wall planner was like enjoying a visual joke, as nearly everything I'd planned didn't happen; no Bath Comedy Festival, no Brighton Fringe, no previews, no Edinburgh, and only two Mostly Comedys since January. I might as well have not put it up and saved money on Sharpies and Blu Tack in the process (and we're talking big bucks).
I know I'm not the only one that's facing uncertainty, but there's still so much up-in-the-air. We're currently discussing with Hitchin Town Hall the feasibility of reopening Mostly's doors in the Autumn, but COVID restrictions will inevitably have a negative impact, both in terms of capacity and the extra preparatory work (which will include track-and-tracing the audience, seating each party separately and staggering their admittance times). And sales will almost certainly be down either way, which has a bearing on our budget: what fun.
But what concerns me most is my lack of enthusiasm for picking it all up again. Removing the momentum of working up a new show for two years (because I had to cancel the last one too) makes the whole process seem pointless. This show's even more important to me than the last one because of the subject matter, so I do still want to do it, but to what end? And Mostly Comedy's the same really, particularly now it's going to be harder to make it viable. The club's twelfth anniversary is looming, which is a significant milestone, but it's a millstone around my neck too. It relies on my drive to run, but personal circumstances have overwhelmed proceedings so much that I'm just going through the motions, and that's the death knell, really. And the podcast's a lovely byproduct, but it doesn't pay the mortgage.
I know the root of the problem is I'm feeling burnt out. So in that sense, it's probably good I didn't do Edinburgh this year. But while I can rebuild my reserves for next time, there have to be some changes; I've already lost a year to trying to rectify the loose ends of my dad's Will, and I can't lose another year too.