This was a gloriously happy day. I'm really focused on taking it as easily as I can and I had one of those 'so bloody obvious' revelations when I woke up this morning.
The thing is, we are 'supposed' to distribute leaflets. The place to do it is at Fringe Central or on the Royal Mile. But it's hard work, there are hundreds of people doing it and it can be very dispiriting. And I really don't want to waste a lot of energy trying to get leaflets to people who don't want them.
So I simply decided not to do it but to have fun instead. Basic Law of Attraction stuff. What did I actually want to do today? I wanted to go to the EdFringe meeting about how to get the right people to see your show and I wanted to have a look around the shops. So that's what I did. I took some leaflets with me because I knew some opportunities would come just as soon as I had some fun.
I missed half the meeting because I went to the wrong bus stop, sigh. However, it was next to a shop which sold Italian ice cream. Most of you know that I'm very careful about my diet to give my body and immune system the best material with which to heal but treats are allowed and a lemon meringue ice cream was just yummy.
When I got there, it was clear that the meeting was mostly for theatre performers who wanted a venue to pick them up but they did say 'ask us about anything' so at the end I went to speak to the head honchette and told her that I wanted to do TV and radio work —QI and the like — and to do comedy voiceovers and presentation and, given that the BBC wants more older women and I had extensive BBC training, I thought I could be useful. She gave me her card, told me to email her with what I'd just said and said she'd look out some contacts for me.
Ask and it is given.
I also went up to the promoter guy who was the main speaker and told him he was utterly gorgeous. Which he was. And then walked away.
His voice floated into my consciousness as I left the room saying 'Now that's the way to make a pitch! Does anyone know who that lady is?' which was rather nice.
Then I went to see the statue of Greyfriars Bobby which was just down the road and pottered in and out of some lovely shops. Until I saw the first hotel. What a perfect place for leaflets! Within an hour I had visited half a dozen well-to-do hotels, spoken politely to the reception staff (with my 'official Fringe participant badge showing) and every one was delighted to take leaflets for their guests. In one hour I had distributed twice as many as in three hours on the Royal Mile on Saturday.
So that's my plan from now on. Find hotels and speak nicely to reception staff. And see the sights and have fun. That's the way to do it.
Oh, and do comedy gigs. I'll definitely be doing comedy gigs...
Monday
Edinburgh Fringe Days 3-4
Gigs nos. 2 and 3 really couldn't have been much different.
Day two had two people show up by the starting time of 6.15 but the great thing about a/ being a minister and b/ being used to run workshops is that you're not fazed by small groups and can engage with them quite happily.
So I just sat and was funny with them for the first ten minutes and found out a bit about them and we were getting along really well when three more people turned up. They were great too but that meant I really had to start the act proper.
All of them, bar one, was (or should that be 'were'?) my age. As the show does rather need the audience to remember Newman, Baddiel, Punt and Dennis's show 'The Mary Whitehouse Experience', and hopes they will remember the real Mary Whitehouse this is very helpful.
Strangely enough, the original couple, Colin and Sue, who were over from Australia for the Fringe (wow!) did know who Mary Whitehouse was which surprised me quite a bit.
It was lovely ... they all engaged and two of them actually told stories as part of the show which everyone else enjoyed. So it was a really happy gig. I did the whole set (I forgot a bit on night no.1) and felt very relaxed. And the donations were generous too.
Gig no. 3 ... The act before me is three guys called Tickled Pig. Both previous nights they've had bigger audiences than I have and they are funny. But they are not unusual whereas it's fair to say that I am.
This time, I turned up to find them quite agitated. They had had a group of young corporate guys in suits in the front two rows who had obviously been drinking and who made it clear that they didn't get tickled by the pig.
"You don't want them at your show," the Ticklers said. But once the Suits had all got another drink, they came back upstairs and started asking me if I was funny. I said 'I'm certainly very unusual and most people think I'm very funny. No idea if you will.'
'We'll give it a go,' they said. 'Can't be worse than the earlier act.' And then they sat down to pass the fifteen minutes before I started playing cards. They invited me to join them - and said they'd teach me. I'd not have worried if it had been poker as I remember that quite well ... but it was 'Scabby Queen.' Never even heard of that but it's actually rather fun and I lost spectacularly and happily which is usually a good idea because then they think you're a good sport rather than a know-it-all.
The rest of the audience were two Methodist ministers and a just-retired Anglican minister who used to be a hospice chaplain. We had a great chat while the Suits had a second round of 'Scabby Queen' and I counted them down to the start with the microphone; they speeded up and managed to finish the game just as I said 'Zero and I'm starting!' Big cheers all round and they came and sat in the front rows.
So ... which genre should I play to? The Suits had never heard of either incarnations of Mary Whitehouse and would appreciate a raucous show. The ministers knew them both (and one lived five minutes from where Mary W taught in Telford) and would appreciate the subtleties of the Biblical bits.
Well, I did it for both of them. Told the Suits to check their FB accounts while I did the bits they might not get ... but bless them, they listened to the lot, were incredibly good humoured and were actually interested in the bit about how to beat a fundamentalist at his/her own game and promised to try it out next time they met a Jehovah's Witness.
At the end, everyone said it was a great night (hooray) and the Suits told me I was much better than the Tickled Pigs and that they'd tell all their friends. The ministers said they didn't mind the swearing at all and how lovely it was to have intelligent comedy.
That was a good night.
Day two had two people show up by the starting time of 6.15 but the great thing about a/ being a minister and b/ being used to run workshops is that you're not fazed by small groups and can engage with them quite happily.
So I just sat and was funny with them for the first ten minutes and found out a bit about them and we were getting along really well when three more people turned up. They were great too but that meant I really had to start the act proper.
All of them, bar one, was (or should that be 'were'?) my age. As the show does rather need the audience to remember Newman, Baddiel, Punt and Dennis's show 'The Mary Whitehouse Experience', and hopes they will remember the real Mary Whitehouse this is very helpful.
Strangely enough, the original couple, Colin and Sue, who were over from Australia for the Fringe (wow!) did know who Mary Whitehouse was which surprised me quite a bit.
It was lovely ... they all engaged and two of them actually told stories as part of the show which everyone else enjoyed. So it was a really happy gig. I did the whole set (I forgot a bit on night no.1) and felt very relaxed. And the donations were generous too.
Gig no. 3 ... The act before me is three guys called Tickled Pig. Both previous nights they've had bigger audiences than I have and they are funny. But they are not unusual whereas it's fair to say that I am.
This time, I turned up to find them quite agitated. They had had a group of young corporate guys in suits in the front two rows who had obviously been drinking and who made it clear that they didn't get tickled by the pig.
"You don't want them at your show," the Ticklers said. But once the Suits had all got another drink, they came back upstairs and started asking me if I was funny. I said 'I'm certainly very unusual and most people think I'm very funny. No idea if you will.'
'We'll give it a go,' they said. 'Can't be worse than the earlier act.' And then they sat down to pass the fifteen minutes before I started playing cards. They invited me to join them - and said they'd teach me. I'd not have worried if it had been poker as I remember that quite well ... but it was 'Scabby Queen.' Never even heard of that but it's actually rather fun and I lost spectacularly and happily which is usually a good idea because then they think you're a good sport rather than a know-it-all.
The rest of the audience were two Methodist ministers and a just-retired Anglican minister who used to be a hospice chaplain. We had a great chat while the Suits had a second round of 'Scabby Queen' and I counted them down to the start with the microphone; they speeded up and managed to finish the game just as I said 'Zero and I'm starting!' Big cheers all round and they came and sat in the front rows.
So ... which genre should I play to? The Suits had never heard of either incarnations of Mary Whitehouse and would appreciate a raucous show. The ministers knew them both (and one lived five minutes from where Mary W taught in Telford) and would appreciate the subtleties of the Biblical bits.
Well, I did it for both of them. Told the Suits to check their FB accounts while I did the bits they might not get ... but bless them, they listened to the lot, were incredibly good humoured and were actually interested in the bit about how to beat a fundamentalist at his/her own game and promised to try it out next time they met a Jehovah's Witness.
At the end, everyone said it was a great night (hooray) and the Suits told me I was much better than the Tickled Pigs and that they'd tell all their friends. The ministers said they didn't mind the swearing at all and how lovely it was to have intelligent comedy.
That was a good night.
Sunday
Edinburgh Fringe Day Two (part 4 The First Show)
Ryrie's Bar at Haymarket is a lovely old-fashioned dark wood pub and the upstairs room will fit about 50 people.
Not that I got that many ... but ten people showed up which isn't at all bad for a first-timer (my friend and mentor, comedian Paul Tonkinson, said he had four on his first night at the Fringe). I was really pleased to see them — and they were all within my age range which was great because it meant they had a better chance of knowing what I was talking about.
I forgot a few lines here and there ... and filled in a few lines that came out of the blue (one of which really worked and will be staying in). Thalia the Muse of Comedy, can be a really good help, live...
But one friendly heckle completely threw me ... one of the atheists said that he believed in an afterlife. You don't have to believe in God to believe in heaven, he said. That was a new one on me! Will have to think of a snappy reply if it happens again ... but I was genuinely interested and he was quite happy to talk about it.
But, you know, I short changed them! I kept an eye on the clock and was really surprised that I was running out of time. I knew I had an hour's material. Maybe I'd been going too slowly? But I ended spot on 7pm with a good line ... and it was only when I got back to the Hermitage that I realised I was supposed to finish at 7.15.
So if you were there last night, sorry. And if you want to show up again, at about 7pm there's 15 more minutes of good stuff. Honest!
Great applause, good feedback. Nice bag of donations. Not a bad start at all.
Interestingly, Ryrie's doesn't offer you a free drink. I got a glass of water when I went and asked ... but that was all. That's a first!
Not that I got that many ... but ten people showed up which isn't at all bad for a first-timer (my friend and mentor, comedian Paul Tonkinson, said he had four on his first night at the Fringe). I was really pleased to see them — and they were all within my age range which was great because it meant they had a better chance of knowing what I was talking about.
I forgot a few lines here and there ... and filled in a few lines that came out of the blue (one of which really worked and will be staying in). Thalia the Muse of Comedy, can be a really good help, live...
But one friendly heckle completely threw me ... one of the atheists said that he believed in an afterlife. You don't have to believe in God to believe in heaven, he said. That was a new one on me! Will have to think of a snappy reply if it happens again ... but I was genuinely interested and he was quite happy to talk about it.
But, you know, I short changed them! I kept an eye on the clock and was really surprised that I was running out of time. I knew I had an hour's material. Maybe I'd been going too slowly? But I ended spot on 7pm with a good line ... and it was only when I got back to the Hermitage that I realised I was supposed to finish at 7.15.
So if you were there last night, sorry. And if you want to show up again, at about 7pm there's 15 more minutes of good stuff. Honest!
Great applause, good feedback. Nice bag of donations. Not a bad start at all.
Interestingly, Ryrie's doesn't offer you a free drink. I got a glass of water when I went and asked ... but that was all. That's a first!
Edinburgh Fringe Day Two (part 3 the media meet)
The 'meet the media' event at Fringe Central starts at 2pm. Naively I think that getting there for 1.30 is
clever ... only to find an enormous rained-on queue of people with more sense than I had.
We queue in an amiable manner and I chat to three other performers who are doing theatre and know their way around better than I do. For some reason we start talking about life after death and share a couple of experiences we've had of people communicating after death. In my case this was usually while I was facilitating their funeral which is generally a bit embarrassing for both of us—but that's another story. This conversation probably spooks the rest of the queue but it's nice to have the space.
Inside the building there are about ten queues for different publications. All of them are enormously long. The one for The Scotsman circumnavigates the whole of the city...
My life-after-death companion and I get into the one for The Independent. Was this intuition or simply because it was the one closest to the door? No, it looked like the shortest one but only because we were trying to join it on its first spiral—and are sent firmly to the back (somewhere around Glasgow). The chap sitting at the table at the front, they say, has to go by 3pm. There is no way, even if he takes 30 seconds with each hopeful performer, that he is going to get to us.
And all the other queues are so long that I won't get to the end before I have to leave to perform at Ryrie's, the other side of the city centre.
However ... there is soon to be a BBC queue, starting at 3pm.. As I used to work for the BBC and I've already been contacted by BBC Radio 4's Sunday programme (presented by Edward Stourton) it seems to be the least path of resistance. Once I've made the decision and am only the twelfth person to do so, we get told that it's only for prospective performers at the BBC's Edinburgh Fringe tent. Well that will do...
Get into conversation with the most beautiful man/woman/ladyboy? in front of me with white-blonde hair and melting brown eyes about life, the universe and everything ... and with Mary who's in full costume for her show King David's Wives which I must catch if I can.
And then I notice that the chap who's interviewing us for the BBC is exactly the same guy as was interviewing for The Independent. This is grace. I can get to see both at the same time.
He's very pleasant when I get there, if deeply overtired and overloaded. He had kept looking at me in the queue, probably a bit dumbfounded by the dog collar and when I sit down he wants to know if I am am 'real' priest ... it's a fair question with all the dressed-up nuns and outrageously wonderful costumes everywhere. The an Independent Catholic bit is a brain-byte too far for him I think. But he makes polite notes, asks if I swear during the performance and asks for a contact phone number. He then lights up like a flare when I give him a properly laid-out and concise press release as well as the flyer. I don't think he gets a lot of those.
What's more, someone else has left an unopened bottle of water on his table. He doesn't want it and I am completely parched. Thank you God.
So, it all worked out as well as it could, I think. Which isn't really surprising given that my main affirmations at the moment are 'I let go and let God' and 'I am fully open and receptive to all the good and abundance the Universe has for me now.'
Next is performance no.1...
We queue in an amiable manner and I chat to three other performers who are doing theatre and know their way around better than I do. For some reason we start talking about life after death and share a couple of experiences we've had of people communicating after death. In my case this was usually while I was facilitating their funeral which is generally a bit embarrassing for both of us—but that's another story. This conversation probably spooks the rest of the queue but it's nice to have the space.
Inside the building there are about ten queues for different publications. All of them are enormously long. The one for The Scotsman circumnavigates the whole of the city...
My life-after-death companion and I get into the one for The Independent. Was this intuition or simply because it was the one closest to the door? No, it looked like the shortest one but only because we were trying to join it on its first spiral—and are sent firmly to the back (somewhere around Glasgow). The chap sitting at the table at the front, they say, has to go by 3pm. There is no way, even if he takes 30 seconds with each hopeful performer, that he is going to get to us.
And all the other queues are so long that I won't get to the end before I have to leave to perform at Ryrie's, the other side of the city centre.
However ... there is soon to be a BBC queue, starting at 3pm.. As I used to work for the BBC and I've already been contacted by BBC Radio 4's Sunday programme (presented by Edward Stourton) it seems to be the least path of resistance. Once I've made the decision and am only the twelfth person to do so, we get told that it's only for prospective performers at the BBC's Edinburgh Fringe tent. Well that will do...
Get into conversation with the most beautiful man/woman/ladyboy? in front of me with white-blonde hair and melting brown eyes about life, the universe and everything ... and with Mary who's in full costume for her show King David's Wives which I must catch if I can.
And then I notice that the chap who's interviewing us for the BBC is exactly the same guy as was interviewing for The Independent. This is grace. I can get to see both at the same time.
He's very pleasant when I get there, if deeply overtired and overloaded. He had kept looking at me in the queue, probably a bit dumbfounded by the dog collar and when I sit down he wants to know if I am am 'real' priest ... it's a fair question with all the dressed-up nuns and outrageously wonderful costumes everywhere. The an Independent Catholic bit is a brain-byte too far for him I think. But he makes polite notes, asks if I swear during the performance and asks for a contact phone number. He then lights up like a flare when I give him a properly laid-out and concise press release as well as the flyer. I don't think he gets a lot of those.
What's more, someone else has left an unopened bottle of water on his table. He doesn't want it and I am completely parched. Thank you God.
So, it all worked out as well as it could, I think. Which isn't really surprising given that my main affirmations at the moment are 'I let go and let God' and 'I am fully open and receptive to all the good and abundance the Universe has for me now.'
Next is performance no.1...
Edinburgh Fringe Day Two (part 2, distributing flyers)
Saturday morning is wet. Very, very wet. However, not even Edinburgh does wet like Dartmoor does so it's just a matter of donning the waterproofs and trudging the 15 minutes to the bus stop.
Today is a busy day. There's leafleting on the Royal Mile, the media meet-up at Fringe Central and then my first performance at Ryrie's Bar, Haymarket. Long day, long bus rides, lots of walking and a few nerves here and there.
If I were in total 100% physical health it would be a long day. But the beloved body is up for the challenge and the somewhat over-stretched brain is doing well and manages to get me off the bus at the right stop for Haymarket.
I'm meeting up with an angel called Sarah Proctor on the Royal Mile. She is a journalist with My Weekly magazine in Dundee and is a fan of the work I have done for them. She said something gorgeous about the pocket novel I wrote for them which I called For the Love of Dog and they retitled Heart's Haven. She said 'it raised the bar for pocket novels.' Coo.
Anyway, I asked on Facebook if anyone was willing to help me distribute flyers. And she said 'yes.' So she's taken a one-and-a-half-hour train journey from Dundee, picked up a couple of hundred leaflets from Ryrie's (to where they were delivered by the printers) and is already accosting innocent passers-by before I've got out of bed.
It takes a while to find her once I've got my own leaflets, caught a second bus and walked down from Prince's Street so I'm doing some distributing of my own. There are literally more than a hundred other people doing the same thing. More Fringe performers than punters by the look of it.
I do have a unique angle which seems to catch attention even if it's only through amazement. It goes something like this:
'Please give a home to these lost and lonely comedy flyers which have spent the whole of their tragically-short life confined in a cardboard box. They only seek a comfortable pocket or handbag and to be kept in that place by the front door where you put things you might want someday. And then you can recycle them sometime about Christmas and they'll know their life was worthwhile.'
It's probably not the best of pitches — and it doesn't say anything about the show — but it amuses me and 20 flyers have gone by the time I find Sarah.
We have never met before but over coffee (which I normally never drink but, hey, energy is needed) we get on like a house on fire. I remain amazed as to why a total stranger would take a whole day to help another virtual stranger but then I always am. As Tennessee Williams wrote, 'I have always depended on the kindness of strangers' and I've very rarely been wrong. But I like continuing to be amazed and delighted.
Sarah continues to leaflet after I have to split in order to get to Fringe Central for the Media meet up. We will meet again tonight for the show.
Today is a busy day. There's leafleting on the Royal Mile, the media meet-up at Fringe Central and then my first performance at Ryrie's Bar, Haymarket. Long day, long bus rides, lots of walking and a few nerves here and there.
If I were in total 100% physical health it would be a long day. But the beloved body is up for the challenge and the somewhat over-stretched brain is doing well and manages to get me off the bus at the right stop for Haymarket.
I'm meeting up with an angel called Sarah Proctor on the Royal Mile. She is a journalist with My Weekly magazine in Dundee and is a fan of the work I have done for them. She said something gorgeous about the pocket novel I wrote for them which I called For the Love of Dog and they retitled Heart's Haven. She said 'it raised the bar for pocket novels.' Coo.
Anyway, I asked on Facebook if anyone was willing to help me distribute flyers. And she said 'yes.' So she's taken a one-and-a-half-hour train journey from Dundee, picked up a couple of hundred leaflets from Ryrie's (to where they were delivered by the printers) and is already accosting innocent passers-by before I've got out of bed.
It takes a while to find her once I've got my own leaflets, caught a second bus and walked down from Prince's Street so I'm doing some distributing of my own. There are literally more than a hundred other people doing the same thing. More Fringe performers than punters by the look of it.
I do have a unique angle which seems to catch attention even if it's only through amazement. It goes something like this:
'Please give a home to these lost and lonely comedy flyers which have spent the whole of their tragically-short life confined in a cardboard box. They only seek a comfortable pocket or handbag and to be kept in that place by the front door where you put things you might want someday. And then you can recycle them sometime about Christmas and they'll know their life was worthwhile.'
It's probably not the best of pitches — and it doesn't say anything about the show — but it amuses me and 20 flyers have gone by the time I find Sarah.
We have never met before but over coffee (which I normally never drink but, hey, energy is needed) we get on like a house on fire. I remain amazed as to why a total stranger would take a whole day to help another virtual stranger but then I always am. As Tennessee Williams wrote, 'I have always depended on the kindness of strangers' and I've very rarely been wrong. But I like continuing to be amazed and delighted.
Sarah continues to leaflet after I have to split in order to get to Fringe Central for the Media meet up. We will meet again tonight for the show.
Edinburgh Fringe Day Two (part 1, my hermitage)
I'm staying in a lovely holistic household with a lady for whom I did a workshop for about five years. She's on AirBnB though I found her again via Facebook, and my room is called 'the sanctuary.' It's turquoise and pretty and chock-full of those things you buy in gift shops that are covered with heartwarming messages but are not a lot of use once you've gone 'oh, that's nice.' There are little blocks with 'love' written on them, books called things like 'When I Loved Myself Enough...' and tiles covered with hearts.
And lots of cushions also proclaiming 'love.'
There's also a bowl of fruit, lots of different tea bags and a large kettle (hooray!).
No I have no objection to any of this. Not one bit. It warms the cockles of my heart. But they are all made of stuff that's horribly easy to break and I am an exceedingly untidy and clumsy being. Even more, I have enough luggage for three weeks' stay to more than fill this lovely little space so, I'm afraid, most of the pretty stuff is now piled up in the fireplace to give me room to move and slightly less chance of breaking something.
Clothes are kept in elegant woven baskets under the bed as it's a single room without cupboards. This is a new idea to me but I rather like it. At least, when I get to critical untidy mode I will be able to pile everything into them and hide it until I can deal with it properly.
The house is in The Dell in Colinton which is a gorgeous, leafy riverside location and all I can hear out of the window, which overlooks a garden filled with buddlea and daisies, is the river cascading itself down the valley. Bliss.
There are currently six of us living or staying here with one loo/bathroom (and five of us are girls) but nobody has started screaming yet. And it's all very tidy with everyone taking their toothbrush, toothpaste and flannel back into their room... So I'm trying very hard to be tidy too. This does not come naturally in any way, shape or form.
Generally, guests are expected to eat out but I'm here long term so it's fine for me to use the kitchen when the family aren't eating so I'm sneaking in and out and washing up as I go along after making my pasta and veggies ... and sneaking into the bathroom for a nightly (quick) soak .... and then scuttling back to my room like a spooked Sheldon Cooper. It feels a bit like my college days when a friend once said they thought I should look for jobs wanting 'a hermit with good social life.'
I do like being alone. I like hiding in my little, blue hermitage. I like talking to myself and pottering at my own pace. I like and trust myself. They say old habits die hard and the old single days are still serving me well. I'm doing plenty of socialising at Ryries' Bar and at the EdFringe Centre and Anne-Marie and Anita and I chat quite happily when we bump into each other in the kitchen. They are taking leaflets out to their places of work for me, which is such a help.
As Lion's internet is down we can't Skype and we don't want to rack up huge phone bills (performing at the Fringe is a tad expensive on the pocket) conversations are at a minimum. In a way that's good as it stops me being homesick.
So, that's my base for this Edinburgh adventure. I wish it were closer to town as it's a bit of a trek back and forward but at least that keeps me exercised. And so, the adventure begins...
And lots of cushions also proclaiming 'love.'
There's also a bowl of fruit, lots of different tea bags and a large kettle (hooray!).
No I have no objection to any of this. Not one bit. It warms the cockles of my heart. But they are all made of stuff that's horribly easy to break and I am an exceedingly untidy and clumsy being. Even more, I have enough luggage for three weeks' stay to more than fill this lovely little space so, I'm afraid, most of the pretty stuff is now piled up in the fireplace to give me room to move and slightly less chance of breaking something.
Clothes are kept in elegant woven baskets under the bed as it's a single room without cupboards. This is a new idea to me but I rather like it. At least, when I get to critical untidy mode I will be able to pile everything into them and hide it until I can deal with it properly.
The house is in The Dell in Colinton which is a gorgeous, leafy riverside location and all I can hear out of the window, which overlooks a garden filled with buddlea and daisies, is the river cascading itself down the valley. Bliss.
There are currently six of us living or staying here with one loo/bathroom (and five of us are girls) but nobody has started screaming yet. And it's all very tidy with everyone taking their toothbrush, toothpaste and flannel back into their room... So I'm trying very hard to be tidy too. This does not come naturally in any way, shape or form.
Generally, guests are expected to eat out but I'm here long term so it's fine for me to use the kitchen when the family aren't eating so I'm sneaking in and out and washing up as I go along after making my pasta and veggies ... and sneaking into the bathroom for a nightly (quick) soak .... and then scuttling back to my room like a spooked Sheldon Cooper. It feels a bit like my college days when a friend once said they thought I should look for jobs wanting 'a hermit with good social life.'
I do like being alone. I like hiding in my little, blue hermitage. I like talking to myself and pottering at my own pace. I like and trust myself. They say old habits die hard and the old single days are still serving me well. I'm doing plenty of socialising at Ryries' Bar and at the EdFringe Centre and Anne-Marie and Anita and I chat quite happily when we bump into each other in the kitchen. They are taking leaflets out to their places of work for me, which is such a help.
As Lion's internet is down we can't Skype and we don't want to rack up huge phone bills (performing at the Fringe is a tad expensive on the pocket) conversations are at a minimum. In a way that's good as it stops me being homesick.
So, that's my base for this Edinburgh adventure. I wish it were closer to town as it's a bit of a trek back and forward but at least that keeps me exercised. And so, the adventure begins...
Friday
Edinburgh Fringe Day One
Welcome to my Edinburgh Fringe Comedy blog. It starts today — the day after I arrived in this beautiful city.
By the time I went to sleep here in Edinburgh last night I was really rather mithered. I had no idea how
I was going to manage all the walking, the buses and the things I had to do today. You know the kind of thing — new city, no car, no knowledge or experience and all sorts of new and pressing things that
But in what order? Especially given that I had to go half an hour in three different directions by foot.
And a LED (life-enhancing dis-ease or light-emitting diode — take your pick) to be taken into consideration with its sometimes unexpected strains on my wonderful and very brave body.
And everyone else young enough to be my grandchild...
It was certainly like that at Fringe Central today. Well, one of them could have been my son.
But first things first. Last night, I just gave it to God. I hadn't been able to do any of the PR I wanted to do in the last two weeks because the Internet was down so I'd already given that to God. There are some pretty broad shoulders up there and a lot of bored angels (probably knitting or reading books called How to Get in Touch with Your Lower Self).
I woke at 7am, knowing exactly in what order things had to be done and which bus to take. Which was a bit annoying, to be honest, as I'd planned to have a lie in and the new and improved plan meant getting a bus by 8am.
Still, I did it. And of course that particular bus only goes every half hour and I just missed one. Still, by a little Grace and the kindness of a passenger who told me where to get off (but in the best possible way) I arrived hardly flustered at all at Fringe Central in perfect time for the morning 'First Time at the Fringe' session.
About twelve other people showed up (and there were seven presenters) so it was pretty obvious that most people didn't think this was anything you needed to come to. But it was a time when you could ask questions—all the questions you wanted answered—and being a good journalistic type (as well as everyone's grandma) I asked lots of questions and found out useful stuff including where the loos were, whether I needed to bring press releases for the press event tomorrow, the contact details for the Fringe rep for The Church Times, where was the best place to hand out leaflets and that they had free maps of the city which I could actually read without my reading glasses.
Then I had a cup of tea at their cafe. And some Rescue Remedy because I was feeling very weird and tired and spaced out.
And then I felt better. And spent a while sorting out routes on the map and on Google maps on my phone and realised that there was a bus between my venue and Fringe Central so I wouldn't have to walk back and forwards, half an hour at a time, and headed off to get my bus pass for the month from Lothian Buses.
Oh Edinburgh is lovely when it's not raining. I've never been here in the dry before. Gorgeous buildings, the mound, the castle ... lovely. And some kick-ass charity shops for perusal later when I'm on less of a mission.
About an hour and a half and a lot of liquids later I found myself at Ryrie's Bar which despite looking exactly like its pictures looked absolutely nothing like its pictures and was much prettier. The events room is elegant in dark wood and will seat 50 all squashed up (please God).
The flyers and posters we had ordered to be sent there were in the cellar, just next to the major leak but quite dry and in boxes that were virtually unopenable without a knife. So God sent me a screw on the floor (no, not that sort ... I didn't have the energy) which worked pretty well on all the parcel tape and as I'd brought my own blue-tak I had a poster up on the wall tout suite.
And that was it really. Today's jobs done. Yes, if I were 25 and not harvesting energy, I could have gone back to the Royal Mile and started handing out flyers but instead I got the bus back to Colinton. And a nice person told me where to get off... and the 15 minute walk to the house was fine.
So job done; body still in one piece. Time to rest and rehearse tonight and to harvest energy for a very long day tomorrow ... and an email from the BBC's Radio 4 Sunday morning show asking to talk to me with regard to an interview a week on Sunday. Thank you to my friend Pete Simpkin who alerted them and to God for doing pretty damn good PR.
Phew.
By the time I went to sleep here in Edinburgh last night I was really rather mithered. I had no idea how
But in what order? Especially given that I had to go half an hour in three different directions by foot.
And a LED (life-enhancing dis-ease or light-emitting diode — take your pick) to be taken into consideration with its sometimes unexpected strains on my wonderful and very brave body.
And everyone else young enough to be my grandchild...
It was certainly like that at Fringe Central today. Well, one of them could have been my son.
But first things first. Last night, I just gave it to God. I hadn't been able to do any of the PR I wanted to do in the last two weeks because the Internet was down so I'd already given that to God. There are some pretty broad shoulders up there and a lot of bored angels (probably knitting or reading books called How to Get in Touch with Your Lower Self).
I woke at 7am, knowing exactly in what order things had to be done and which bus to take. Which was a bit annoying, to be honest, as I'd planned to have a lie in and the new and improved plan meant getting a bus by 8am.
Still, I did it. And of course that particular bus only goes every half hour and I just missed one. Still, by a little Grace and the kindness of a passenger who told me where to get off (but in the best possible way) I arrived hardly flustered at all at Fringe Central in perfect time for the morning 'First Time at the Fringe' session.
About twelve other people showed up (and there were seven presenters) so it was pretty obvious that most people didn't think this was anything you needed to come to. But it was a time when you could ask questions—all the questions you wanted answered—and being a good journalistic type (as well as everyone's grandma) I asked lots of questions and found out useful stuff including where the loos were, whether I needed to bring press releases for the press event tomorrow, the contact details for the Fringe rep for The Church Times, where was the best place to hand out leaflets and that they had free maps of the city which I could actually read without my reading glasses.
Then I had a cup of tea at their cafe. And some Rescue Remedy because I was feeling very weird and tired and spaced out.
And then I felt better. And spent a while sorting out routes on the map and on Google maps on my phone and realised that there was a bus between my venue and Fringe Central so I wouldn't have to walk back and forwards, half an hour at a time, and headed off to get my bus pass for the month from Lothian Buses.
Oh Edinburgh is lovely when it's not raining. I've never been here in the dry before. Gorgeous buildings, the mound, the castle ... lovely. And some kick-ass charity shops for perusal later when I'm on less of a mission.
About an hour and a half and a lot of liquids later I found myself at Ryrie's Bar which despite looking exactly like its pictures looked absolutely nothing like its pictures and was much prettier. The events room is elegant in dark wood and will seat 50 all squashed up (please God).
The flyers and posters we had ordered to be sent there were in the cellar, just next to the major leak but quite dry and in boxes that were virtually unopenable without a knife. So God sent me a screw on the floor (no, not that sort ... I didn't have the energy) which worked pretty well on all the parcel tape and as I'd brought my own blue-tak I had a poster up on the wall tout suite.
And that was it really. Today's jobs done. Yes, if I were 25 and not harvesting energy, I could have gone back to the Royal Mile and started handing out flyers but instead I got the bus back to Colinton. And a nice person told me where to get off... and the 15 minute walk to the house was fine.
So job done; body still in one piece. Time to rest and rehearse tonight and to harvest energy for a very long day tomorrow ... and an email from the BBC's Radio 4 Sunday morning show asking to talk to me with regard to an interview a week on Sunday. Thank you to my friend Pete Simpkin who alerted them and to God for doing pretty damn good PR.
Phew.
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