It's fair to say my last week on the Fringe didn't progress as I intended.
The first enemy at the gate was my old friend, the vestibular migraine, which surfaced a couple of times over the first few weeks like a sinister prelude for what lay ahead. Then on the penultimate weekend, what started as a low-level toothache escalated to the point that I had to call 111 to arrange an emergency appointment for a suspected abscess (good times).
I hadn't realised how swollen my bottom jaw was because my beard had concealed it the same way it hides my hideousness from day to day. By last Monday evening, it was extremely uncomfortable and had sent my vertigo into hyperdrive. I was vomiting and felt like seven shades of shit (and that's a lot of shit-shades to deal with).
To cut a long story short, that meant no more shows for me. Firstly, my face was too swollen to speak at length, which is pretty much the definition of standup. I was prescribed antibiotics for the infection, which took a couple of days to kick in, alleviating the pain and the swelling but leaving me with my worst vestibular migraine in years. I accessed my balance each morning in the hope the show could go ahead, but could only ride it out, and by the last weekend, it was no better. Consequently, my last week morphed into an expensive holiday, only one where you seldom leave your digs for fear of falling over.
Despite the frustration, I leave Scotland today optimistic. I didn't want to cancel so many shows, not least as they were the only ones I had press in for, but I just couldn't do them. But that doesn't mean this year's Fringe was a waste. It was a shame to cut my run short just as I'd hit my stride, but there was nothing I could do about it. But I'm happy with the shows I did and the state 'Good Grief' is in as I temporarily leave it.
And as wanky as it sounds, I've learnt a few valuable lessons. One is to not do Edinburgh again without a producer attached and outside funding, as it isn't worth the outlay. I already knew this, but I love to underline these things as expensively as possible. Another is that I'm now a "Fringe veteran" (or so says the festival stalwart, ThreeWeeks). It's strange to think I've now done more solo runs in Edinburgh than with Doggett & Ephgrave, with four under my belt (out of the five solo shows I've written in total). And the me of 2022 is markedly different to the version that made those tentative steps. I've never spoken so freely onstage or been so honest, which has done wonders for my mental health. After a lifetime of redacting to please the unpleasable, I'm no longer watching my back.
On the day of my Hitchin preview, I jotted down a reminder to "find the courage to tell stories" and slipped it into my show notes. It was something I was determined to stay true to, and I did it. "And the rest", as they say, "is Listerine".
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| Partridge’s pulped book. |