August 4, 2005
THURSDAY 4th
Wake feeling inexplicably enthusiastic about the show again. I’m always amazed by how a new day can dissipate anxiety like that. Unless I’ve murdered someone the night before of course in which case I usually need something a little stronger for anxiety dissipation.
After another afternoon of feverish laptop action (fixing video glitches that is, not looking for porn) I am on my bike once again heading for my second show. It’s fuller than it was last night and the audience seem to get everything! It’s one of the few times I’ve come off stage and been completely happy. People come up to me in the courtyard and enthuse about the show. Some of them are fans of The Adam & Joe Show and the fact that they enjoyed ‘I, Pavel’ in the same way is a huge compliment. This is fun! I’m like a brilliant King!
August 3, 2005
WEDNESDAY 3rd
My very first Edinburgh show is tonight at 9:20pm in The Cavern at The Pleasance. I’ve got so much to do there isn’t time to consider how terrified I am that it will be rotten. I sit and tinker with the show’s many video elements on my computer and my brother Dave agrees to head into town for various props I’ve forgotten. “Why don’t you take my bike?†I offer. “I’d rather walk.†He says witheringly. “It’s like a child’s bike that thingâ€. He’s dissing my bike and giving me a backhand diss about my height too but I can’t get moody with him. He’s too valuable to me right now. When this is all over I’ll find a way to hurt him.
A while later I look up from my computer and it’s 8pm! How did it get to be 8pm for goodness sake? My computer is like a time machine that only goes forward. What’s the point of that? I fear the future. But here it is and suddenly I’m on my bike powering up the giant hill from my flat to Princes Street and then across the North bridge to the Pleasance. I’m soaked with sweat as I prop my bike against the big storage container behind the venue that houses all the props and scenery for the various shows playing at The Cavern. It’s locked and I need to get set up. There’s a show in progress so I figure the key will be with the Cavern staff inside and it’s too late to get in. How am I going to get my stuff out in time? Oh Jesus this is a disaster!
After 10 minutes of pathetic sweaty pacing one of the techies from a neighbouring venue tells me the key holder is sat outside the front of the venue. Obviously. Feeling like a new boy at primary school who has wee’d his pants rather than ask where the toilet is, I unlock the container and unload my gear. Hang on, where’s the frame for my projection screen? It’s not where I left it! It’s been stolen! I’ve heard about this happening to other comics. Someone breaks into the container and that’s it, your show’s stuffed! Oh Jesus, this really is a disaster! Trying not to cry I tell the key holder who says the frame was stored beneath the seating temporarily. OK, I’m fine. Stop crying, everything’s fine.
Jo Caulfield who is on before me, finishes to huge applause and comes off stage. My director David arrives. He’s got 5 other shows at the fringe this year so he’s looking a little fried, but he dives right in to the 10 minute set up with me and suddenly the lights are down and the audience is filing in. The place is about half full, which is great for a preview night I think.
The show is, if not a disaster, certainly no triumph. Glitches in the videos pop up and recently completed chunks of script fall flat. People are laughing, just not that much. This is my biggest fear: that the show will be simply mediocre. I stare past the spotlight into audience during one video section. There’s a middle aged couple directly in front of me. The man is stoney faced. His wife is holding on to his arm with her head rested on his shoulder, smiling slightly. It’s only 20 minutes into the show and they look as if they’re trapped in the longest, dullest play in history. Maybe they are…
I come off stage completely deflated. My director says “well done, that was good†in that breezy way that translates as “wow! That was boring!†I tell him I think it could have gone better. “It was a shy show†he smiles. “That’s what happens with previews. Now you just need to find that aggression again!†Oh Jesus, I think someone may have stolen the aggression! It’s a disaster!
I pack my stuff away and head to the busy courtyard where I see a friend who’s also just come off stage. There were six people in her audience, which is fairly common for previews. She asks about my turnout and I tell her it was pretty good. “Yeah well, you’ve been on TV so you’re bound to get people even if your show’s no good†she explains. Hmm. I honestly hadn’t considered that. I cycle back to the flat wishing I could go home tomorrow. The thought of another 25 shows in a row makes me want to eat my head.
August 2, 2005
TUESDAY 2nd AUGUST
It’s my technical rehearsal today. 4 hours of demented setting up of the projector, screen and props I use for my show. Tomorrow we’ll have only 10 minutes to set up after the previous act so we need to be slick. This part isn’t enjoyable. All the time we thought we’d have to go through the act evaporates into a cloud of glue gun smoke and taxi trip for bits of string. By the time everything is packed away again I’m feeling nervous and under-prepared.
I scan the Pleasance courtyard for my poster to cheer me up but I can’t see it. It’s just a sea of young bucks gurning desperately beneath wacky typefaces. ‘The Dave Monkey Laughter Box’, ‘Litchen and Frunt present Dirty Face!’, ‘The Andrews and Biltong News Hour’. I made those ones up, but they may as well have been there. There’s my poster! It’s got no quotes at all. Just a big picture of my newly bearded face and the words ‘I, Pavel’. I wanted it to look amusingly pretentious because my character, Pavel is a self absorbed East European experimental animator but in the Pleasance courtyard next to ‘Wiffle and Bunkin in Oi, George Bush, NO!’ it just looks pretentious. What will the Fringe nabobs make of my ramblings about avant-garde animation peppered with large chunks videos I’ve made? ‘Who is this TV refugee?’ they may shout. ‘Where are the mic skills he should have acquired after years in working men’s clubs?’ Oh Jesus, I’m going to be thrown off the fringe!
I go to bed sick with fear. Tomorrow is my first show and I’m crapping it.
August 1, 2005
MONDAY 1st AUGUST
It’s a miserable day in London as my brother and I load my gear into the car we’ve rented for the trip to Edinburgh. This is my first time at the festival in any capacity so I’ve no idea what to expect. As a result the car is stuffed with all kinds of crap I will probably never need including my bike. “Surely you don’t need a bike, Edinburgh’s only about 2 miles across isn’t it?†says my brother who seems to believe everywhere outside London is constructed mainly from Lego.
The drive ends up taking about 7 hours, the last two of which take us through some amazing countryside. We play very loud indie pop music to maintain our city based aloofness but it’s no good. Soon we’re exchanged words like ‘breathtaking’ and ‘extraordinary’ like two monkeys who’ve just had their first banana. As we drive through Edinburgh in the orangey early evening light I’m properly excited for the first time. This is what I always imagined it would be like going to university somewhere like Oxford or Cambridge. Or Edinburgh. A car full of undergraduate crap and a heart full of anticipation about pints in great pubs and casual sex! Well, I’ll definitely have a few pints, the casual sex may cause problems with my wife and children.
By 10pm we’ve found the appropriately studenty flat I’m renting, dropped of my gear at the Pleasance where I’m performing, and returned the rental car to the Edinburgh office. I’m amazed we’ve made it so easily! We’re the kings!