It's a week today since I caught the train to Edinburgh to bring my show 'Good Grief' to the Fringe, and it's also the first chance I've had to take stock and write something to post here.
The short answer to the question, "So, how's it going so far, David?" is, "It's going well, David; thanks for asking", though, as it's the Fringe, that comes with many caveats. Or am I just being pessimistic? The fact is Edinburgh's one hell of an endurance exercise, however you look at it, with a definite sense of one step forward, two steps back.
(And that's just navigating Cowgate.)
The biggest challenge is doing it alone. Firstly, there's the logistical impact. Some people who bring shows to Edinburgh have producers and directors assisting them. Not old muggins Ephgrave. The only person I have working for me is my PR, who's brilliant and lovely, but I pay for that (well, not the lovely bit, which comes naturally) as I know without him I'd sink without a trace. But everything that happens is done by me, right down to my rushed, equipment-heavy get-in and get-out each day. I have my wife as a sounding board, but it's ultimately my responsibility, and working alone without a support network or any job-sharing means you invariably miss something vital as you multitask. And when things go wrong, or you have a confidence crisis, there's no one to bolster you or help carry the load (often literally).
This can feel thankless, particularly if you're stupid enough to open social media at a bad time to be confronted by a varnished version of everyone else's Fringe experience. Though I know it's seldom an accurate reflection, it can still feel like a kick in the teeth to see the wrong thing at the wrong moment. And let's face it, on the Fringe, it's always the wrong moment, so it's best to carefully cultivate what you look at. Your mental health is vulnerable thanks to tiredness alone, so it pays to show a little self-kindness.
(Oh David, you cunt.)
Despite plenty of previous experience, the first few days completely wiped me out. And to be honest, I'm only just recovering. The combination of the journey, picking up the keys for the digs, organising and then collecting the equipment I'd shipped up to take it to the venue for my tech to collect an inordinately heavy box of flyers on my way out turned me into a withered husk. And that's without considering the actual show, which is the reason I'm here, yet often lurks at the bottom of a very long list.
Despite my fatigue-encouraged pessimism, there have been a lot of positives. Firstly, while my audiences have been small so far, the show's been well received. I feel it's heading in the right direction, though having to cancel a few shows hasn't helped me find my rhythm. Annoyingly, I'm not getting many last-minute walkups either, as my show clashes with a mixed bill in my venue's main room, which will always be more popular due to value alone; there you'll see four or five comics for the price of one Ephgrave, which is hard to compete with.
Secondly, I'm coping well with my get-in and get-out, which is tighter than I'm used to with my AV setup, as for the last few years, I've always been the first show in the space. It definitely helps that I'm linking my laptop and projector with a transmitter and a receiver rather than connecting them physically, though the equipment wasn't cheap. And thankfully, it hasn't failed yet though there's still ample opportunity. See: my pessimism comes easily.
I was also very lucky to have a gag included in The Times' best jokes of the 2022 Fringe yesterday, which gives the whole thing a little credence. As ridiculous as it sounds, the fact that I've featured in a couple of rundowns during my last two visits created a bit of pressure to be included again, so it was a lovely boost when it happened. I always hope to have a little progression each time I come up, so it's good to have something to trade on. And the fact it's a reputable paper adds to the sense of validity, though I know they see those articles as an easy space-filler. Sadly, they spelt my name incorrectly and got the name of the venue wrong too, but you can't have everything.
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| Dave Ephrave. |
One thing I've noticed is a dip in stamina. The first time I brought a show to the Fringe in 2008, I was 27. Now, I'm 41 and can feel the strain to my knees and my back. I've started doing a few more stretches before a show and will work in some gentle yoga instead of just expecting my body to cope with something that's physically demanding. And the fact my digs are half an hour's walk from the venue this year (and everything in Edinburgh is eternally uphill, despite the laws of physics) adds to the toll.
However, there have been the occasional small, personally significant moments that I've tried to quietly acknowledge to myself, however busy or stressed I might be. Seeing the first poster in situ with my dad's face on it as I arrived for my tech was one such moment; as was seeing him on the big banner on the street outside the venue as I pulled up in a taxi for my first show. I wonder what he would have thought to be up there. I know he took a photo of my show's name on the itinerary outside the venue the first time I came up on my own, so I'm sure he'd be chuffed to know I'm here this year to talk about him specifically. And having shown me such unwavering support across the years, as well as making what I do for a career possible, it's the least I can do.
