Edinburgh II: The Wrath of Khan.

Today saw my second Edinburgh show and my last preview.

I actually felt far better about today's performance compared to yesterday's, which was ironic in a way, as we went up late due to a waiting for five audience members who'd rushed to the door of the venue, thinking they could buy tickets there, to be redirected to the box office only to never come back; I have that effect on would-be punters. This late start meant I had to consciously pace things up and cut the odd line here and there to finish on time, which actually made the whole thing feel more cohesive; on this basis, I'm going to start tomorrow's show next Wednesday.

Amongst today's bijou audience was the technician from Glyn's and my first Edinburgh show The Balloon Debate, with his girlfriend, who we last saw in either 2010 or 2011, when we were up here with Mostly Comedy (and possibly our Meadow Bar show Big in Small Places; it's hard to remember which, as each year rolls into one).

As soon as I saw them in the audience, I relaxed. They're such nice, supportive people that I knew they'd be on-side, which made the show a lot more fun. I'm really liking working in the space, which makes the show feel like a conversation (with the only catch being that one of the people talking has a mic).

I got so engrossed in catching up with the two of them after the show that I forgot I was supposed to be rushing back to my flat to do a radio interview for the Herts, Beds and Bucks station Bob FM about my Edinburgh exploits, with the prerecord booked for 1.45pm. Thankfully, the station forgave my tardiness (not to be confused with my TARDIS), and we did it a little later on.

The rest of the afternoon was spent completing two Q&A interviews about the show in Costa Coffee, then wandering around a few of Doggett & Ephgrave's old Edinburgh haunts, having not had the time to really take in the fact that I'm up at the festival until this point. I walked to Bristo Square (being instantly confused by the lack of Udderbelly), before slipping past the Gilded Balloon toward the Assembly spaces (feeling sad after a flashback of watching Paul Daniels there), then walking onto Nicholson Street and past The Counting House where we did Mostly Comedy for two years with progressively later start times; the second year we kicked off at 00:15, which was long wait to do a show to a largely pissed audience; you make these mistakes so you never have to make them again.

This evening, I haven't done much. I didn't really feel like it. You've got to be in the mood to go out and you don't always want to do this on your own. I also want my show's early start in mind and make sure I don't muck things up due to overtiredness; it's the reason I'm here and I don't want to waste it. Consequently, I'll only take the one dose of Ketamin tonight; I mustn't overdo it.

Shakerpuppetmaker.

Have Parker from Thunderbirds and Noel Gallagher ever been seen in the same room? The resemblance is uncanny. So much so, I think something’s afoot. If my suspicions are correct, I've stumbled across a secret that will blow the music and puppet industry wide apart. In the mid-60s / mid-90s at least. It doesn’t take long to see the signposts. There’s the similarity between the name of Oasis’ first single, Supersonic, and Supermarianation, Gerry Anderson’s puppetry technique. The Gallagher brothers would often wear Parkas . Live Forever was clearly a reference to Captain Scarlet and Standing on the Shoulder of Giants to the size difference between Noel and his bandmates. The more you think about it, the more brazen it gets. It’s fishier than Area 51, Paul is Dead and JFK's assassination put together. The only glitch to the theory is scale . According to Wikipedia, Anderson’s marionettes were 1’10” and Gallagher is 5’8”. How does he maintain an illusion of avera...

'...I'm Gonna Look at You 'til My Eyes Go Blind."

Over the past week or two, I’ve been on a bit of a Sheryl Crow kick, largely thanks to rediscovering her cover of one of my most-liked Bob Dylan songs. She has one of my favourite female voices, yet despite this, I only own one CD and that’s just a single (her '97 release ‘Hard to Make a Stand’); on that basis, you can only imagine how much of her back catalogue I’d own if I hated her (it would fall into minus-figures). Dylan, conversely, takes up more of my collection than anyone else, save The Beatles and Paul McCartney’s solo work. He’s one of those artists who, when you get him, you really get him - and once I’d tuned into his style as a student, I'd time and again be blown away by his lyrics; he’ll have more jaw-dropping imagery in one track than other people fit in a whole career. These days, I mostly listen to music in the morning when getting ready, and more often than not, this will consist of a suggested YouTube playlist when I’m in the bath, r...

Stevenage: A (Tiny) River Runs Through it.

If ever a river was mis-sold, it’s the Roaring Meg in Stevenage. I just walked past it on my way to the retail park that has taken its name. They’re similarly uninspiring. The river is less of a roar and more of a dribble; cystitis sufferers produce greater flow. The retail park is soulless. What was once a thriving enterprise is nearly devoid of atmosphere, save an underlying essence of emptiness and despair. With a Toys R Us. When it was first built I was excited. Back then, the thought of a bowling alley, an ice rink, a Harvester and a Blockbuster Video within a small surface area was enticing. I celebrated many birthdays on site. There was an indoor cricket pitch there for a while where I once had a joint party with a friend. Why someone with an almost pathological fear of sport would agree to such a venture is beyond me, but I did it. Now, there’s very little at the Roaring Meg of note. The river would be a metaphor for the shopping ce...

mostly david ephgrave

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