Two weeks ago

Augh! It’s all fading away into the stiff mix of tapioca that is my brain.

The surprise in the Robin Ince free show at the Canon’s Gait was Jimeoin. Robin was manic as always, Helen Keen was charmingly enthusiastic about space (probably shouldn’t point out the Archdruid’s latest post) and Helen Arney sang her amazing songs but we’d seen them all before and expected nothing less than a good show from them. I’ve never see Jimeoin live before and I enjoyed his shtick. Being of an age where memory is (obviously) gradually fraying, listening to him talk about thinking and memory was wonderful but perhaps the thing that will stay with me longest is that universal constant for slow movement, the Speed of Cheese. Next year in Edinburgh…

The thing that stood out about Mitch Benn’s performance is how much less there is of him. It was amazingly distracting. I’d thought him rather cute when he was large and I didn’t quite get my head around him being suddenly much more conventionally attractive. To some extent I found the songs less mesmerising because of it. The balance has changed but that is not Mitch’s problem, it’s mine, and I’m sure I will readjust over the years. He is always on my must see list just because of his outstanding musical/satirical talent.

Andy Zaltzman. What can I say? He is embedded in my world, sometimes second hand, through the Bugle to the extent that I’m not sure what was in this show and what I’ve heard over the last year’s podcasts. I think the highlight of the show was that bad boy, Julian, heckling him with a business card. Sigh.

On another note, I am very much enjoying Ian’s downstairs bathroom book, Andy’s credit crunch book that was purchased last year. Andy is excellent.

We finished the day with Milton Jones who was, as always, wonderful and wonderfully weird. The first time I saw him was in the horribly hot and damp Caves. He’s playing the Assembly on the Mound now and deservedly so.

We added in two shows just because Julian wasn’t completely broken by all the stairs, uncomfortable seats and other horrors of the fringe. Both were at the Pleasance Courtyard and so a simple stagger from the convenient (after 6) parking.

I’ve liked David O’Doherty since the first time we saw him and his toy keyboard. Ian thought him a little too whimsical I think but agreed that this year was the best we’d seen him. I guess he’d grown a beard for his other (Arctic Explorer) show but it suited him. It made him look faintly grown up. Whimsicality and charm don’t usually do great things for Ian who prefers quick-fire jokes and wordplay, so I go to see Tim Vine with him and he comes to see David O’Doherty with me. Still, this year Ian seemed to have been mildly converted, perhaps by tales of awful illness. Scatological humour brings us all together.  

Rich Hall was fab. But crikey, I can’t remember the show other than it was great. How sad that an hour of brilliant performance can be reduced to a memory of hilarity with no detail at all. And the shows I saw yesterday are fading already as I try to recall two weeks ago. Sigh…  

(Links provided so that anyone who is interested can get a flavour of the comedians not provided by the rather poor 'reviews'.) Sorry.

Fringe 2011

And so we come to Edinburgh again for the fringe. This year, though, we are taking it really easy. Apart from the EICC all venues have horrid uncomfortable seats and Julian can no longer take more than three shows a day. We’ve gone from a programme of five, sometimes six, shows a day because the pathetic sight of Julian in pain is not really fun.

So, Monday (2 for one day) we saw three shows. We took the train as a return is less than £4 at the moment, started with the wonderful Instant Sunshine, moved on to Ed Reardon; A writers burden (fab!) and finally saw Josh Widdicombe in a tiny stiflingly hot hut at the Pleasance. Josh is a young comedian who is both very personable and funny. He made the mistake in fixing on Julian following the inevitable question, ‘Where has everyone come from?’ I guess he thought Swindon was the potentially funniest place. Oops. It wasn’t quite as derailing as when Ian and I got into a question and answer session with John Bishop some years ago but there was always the potential. As Ian points out, a comedian isn’t really interested in hearing a participant’s life story, they want sound bites to be amusing with. I’ve seen much more seasoned performers than Josh flounder when faced with Julian’s answers (Otis Lee Crenshaw found it very difficult to adjust his song ‘Big [Julian]’ to a job maintaining analysers). I was very impressed with the way Josh dealt with Julian’s too much information. He was friendly, professional and managed to wring laughs out of Julian’s contribution without any nastiness emerging. Josh is a thoroughly bright and charming young comedian. I’ve got a bit of a crush.

Tuesday (2 for one) we drove over as we wouldn’t be out of our last show to make the last train. We had intended to go to see Robin Ince’s free show at Canon’s Gait. This free show is non-ticketed. Obviously, though, there needs to be some way of managing the audience so there are queue places allocated. We were too late to obtain a queue place (not a ticket) so we planned to try again on Thursday whilst we trudged up the horribly crowded Royal Mile, gruffly refusing leaflets and avoiding catching the eyes of the bright young things breathlessly inviting us to their shows.

We plunged, with relief, out of leaflet central and headed off to find Transreal, recently relocated. There are so few SF bookshops left these days. I’m sure I’ve said this before but since Andromeda died there is only Transreal where I can go to browse, to discuss books with a knowledgeable owner, to find new authors and books that I would never discover from Amazon. I’ve always had great suggestions from here and, again, I walked away with far more books than I intended to. I think of it as supporting a sanctuary because I could almost certainly get the books cheaper on Amazon but money is not the only consideration here. As Bob Waldrop and others point out, every time you make a buying decision you are changing the world.

Julian and I were only lured out of Transreal by Ian texting us from Under the Stairs to tell us that he had warm pitta bread and dips. Reluctantly we paid and entered the cool haven in the basement of one of the looming grey buildings on Merchant’s Street. We drank our Citrus Punch whilst we waited for our lunch and for June to join us. June is an Edinburgh resident and an accomplished Fringe goer. Although joining us for a few shows she experiences a very different Fringe from us, going to many free events as well. She had come from a Japanese tea ceremony and planned on looking for other shows after she left us.

The first show we saw was Cul-de-sac, a very strange play. It was very well acted and started out as mildly amusing. A new person, Tim, has moved into the cul-de-sac and meets his neighbour, Neville. As Tim is told about what is expected of him we hear of Tony for the first time, the man who, it slowly emerges, controls the neighbourhood. During the hour we see the slow breaking down of Tim by the social controls exerted by Tony, with able assistance in abuse by the doctor. As each episode became more sinister and disturbing fewer and fewer people laughed. Towards the end the absurdity was completely overwhelmed by the horror. It was a very strong piece, professionally performed and I didn’t like it at all. We wondered if it was an allegory for Britain under Blair, with all of us becoming creepily acquiescent and accepting of things that were patently wrong. June suggested that there should have been some sort of warning as there were definite triggers for people who have been abused. Julian says, ‘A cross between 1984 and The Stepford Wives’.

We retired to the Corvoisier Bar for a pint of tap water and some beer for the boys before heading for another sweaty venue, Above at the Pleasance. This was to see Isy Suttee’s show, ‘Pearl & Dave’. This was a lovely tale of unrequited love with songs. Images of loveliness include two girls letting off a penpal request attached to an ordinary balloon from the top of their climbing frame, an accountant with rows of friendship bracelets up his arms, a papier mache penguin called Roy, and a skype romantic dinner for two. At the end there were tears in my eyes. Most of the women leaving were sniffling slightly. Reviews have likened her to a young Victoria Wood but I tend to think this is because if a woman is funny and sings songs that are both funny and poignant there is no one else to compare her too. Isy is, I suggest, incomparable. You really wouldn’t hear her and think she was anyone else. And I completely agree with another reviewer, someone who doesn’t greet the gift of a five foot papier mache penguin, lovingly made for them by their lover over weeks, doesn’t deserve such devotion. I’ve got a bit of a crush.

We trooped down into the blessed coolness and headed for dinner at the Home Bistro. I love this place and the delightful Roland who was devastated yesterday when he didn’t have a place for us, and warmly welcoming today. The salad I had was lovely; pear, beetroot, feta and leaves with a great dressing. I had, of course, had no starter and a light main in order to keep a bit of space for the fabulous ice cream. The toffee was nice, the ginger was splendid and the marmalade was luscious.

Half way through the meal I got a call from Sally. Salford Uni had emailed her to say there would be an induction day on 25^th August. 25^th is the day the kids and I are travelling up to Scotland on Megabus for our traditional bank holiday weekend fringe binge. Transport tickets booked, show tickets booked, all arrangements made. Of course. I know it’s two weeks away still but most people I know have fairly busy diaries and are booked up at least a month in advance. It would have been useful had they asked us the pencil in the dates several months ago. Oh well. We agree to look at options on Wednesday morning.

At the point I thought we had already reached the highspot of the fringe with Isy. We looked around at the rest of the audience for the next show and worried that they looked quite a serious lot. I guessed that the show would be informative and worthy but probably a little light on laughs. I’ve read Mark Thomas and I’ve been impressed by his politics but I’d never seen him perform before. If I had I wouldn’t have been concerned. His two-hour show about extreme rambling, walking the Israeli wall, was astonishing. A serious subject with potential for bigotry, potential for dull preaching. This is not, of course, what we got. Mark is a consummate performer, a storyteller, a comedian able to wring helpless laughter out of an audience, whilst laying out the enormity of a wrong done to two nations, both Palestine and Israel. He took us on the walk, introduced us to some marvellous characters, crossed the wall backwards and forwards many times, led us to sympathy, anger and understanding. I really had not realised how good he was. I’ve got a bit of a crush.

So here we are, Wednesday morning, having a lazy day off and catching up on gazing at laptop screens. I’ve filled in my Biobank diet questionnaire (the second and both times I have been eating abnormally), caught up on the cartoons (XKCD, Freefall, Bug and Questionable Content) and gazed out at the unrelenting rain while fending off invitations to supermarket shopping. I’m hoping the boys will wander off soon and leave me to browse through my books. Or maybe just finish off ‘One Good Turn’.

The last of the Fringe - just for completeness

It feels like months since we came back from Edinburgh and I still haven’t written about the final day. So here we are.

We only had two shows on the last day and decided not to add any more so that I could have a quick meeting with my friend, June Strachan, and catch up on life & stuff.  Ian drove us into Edinburgh where we eventually found somewhere to park near the Stand and we headed for the Conan Doyle pub for a pint and a gossip. I’d never been in before and won’t be going in again. Ian and the kids started pilfering chairs from throughout the pub to give us enough seating around the one empty table whilst June and I went to the bar to order drinks. We’d got a pint of lager shandy for Ian, a pint of lager Jack and a glass of red wine for June before the barman started grumbling about needing proof of age from the kids. I gathered Jack’s student card which was deemed sufficient but Callum’s railcard, despite having his age and needing proof of age to purchase was not good enough. Sally didn’t have any identification at all. They only wanted soft drinks so I didn’t think it would be a problem but, no, apparently their young person cooties would affect the pub. I was very cross. Why was it so important to have documentation when our 18 year olds were accompanied by three obviously older responsible people? Why serve us at all without checking our compliance with their requirements? June handed her untouched glass back but we had to pay for the lager-based drinks, not least because Ian and Jack had necked them quite quickly. June and I stalked off to the Stand to get our drinks there with the kids. Ian and Jack followed shortly. Apparently the kids are allowed to exist there with their soft drinks.

Because of the faffing we were somewhat late in heading for the Stand. I find this a really uncomfortable venue but I wanted to see Stewart Lee so Ian and I scurried off with a bit of time to queue in the hopes of getting a seat with a back. There were about 3 left, scattered around the room so we sat apart. Five minutes before the start the kids were still not there. Already grumpy, I went and found them hovering outside, and heartlessly abandoned them to stand throughout the show. Unlike me, they bend, so they sat on the floor and I sat and huffed.

Luckily Stewart Lee was excellent. We have seen a lot of good comics this year but there was a certain amount of sameness about them. They were all talking about themselves and what they’d done. There’s nothing wrong with this. They were all worth seeing. And likeable. And safe. My only point in mentioning this is that Stewart Lee did not do that stuff. Stewart does something completely different. He tells stories. Recursive stories that draw you in, make you think, sharpens your perceptions. It’s not always comfortable. Not always likeable. Not all of it is funny although most is. What it is, is thought provoking and terribly interesting.  

My very favourite part was at the end when He reminisced about his contact with David Cameron, our new and deeply privileged Prime Minister. The story was deep and true and, as Andy Zaltzman catchphrases often, ‘OK, it’s not true but [his] point stands’.

Stewart Lee is performing in Grin Up North is Sheffield this October. He is booked into the Oval Hall, which is vast. I’d be interested to see whether it is possible to take this intimate little show into such a space.

The final act of the night and the fringe for us was Chris Addison. I saw him long ago (relatively) the last time he performed at the Fringe and he was good and talked about very interesting things but not this polished or relaxed (in a hyper sort of way). This was a return to comics talking about themselves but, unlike Susan Calman, John Bishop or Mickey Flanagan, he spoke directly to me about being middle class. It is, of course, an easy target but so much fun. We have, as he noted, mainly sorted out our prejudices. We might not secretly believe immigrants or women or gays are acceptable but we never say this and can usually keep a tight lid on this stuff, even internally. Give us a woman in Ugg boots, though, and we feel quite justified in smugly despising her. I find myself doing this to over-teched people (apart from Ian of course), quietly judging them; why do you have to have an iPhone when you obviously can’t afford decent clothes for your child, and so on, I will think poisonously. I laughed and laughed, ashamed but tremendously amused at the nastiness in my soul that he revealed in his perfectly likeable routine about himself. I guess that unlike John Bishop who invited me to wonder how I would react to success, and hope that I would cope so well, Chris invited me to look at his faults, see my own reflected and think about my behaviour. Only comedy can really do this so successfully. 

And so we finished wearily and headed back to Ian’s and then later back home. Callum hadn’t like Stewart Lee but seemed to have enjoyed everything else. The rest of us had really pretty much liked everything. Apart from Stewart there hadn’t been any edgy stuff this year. Perhaps a bit more next year.

Belated second fringe day

OK, I should have written up on the day but I didn't and now I'm trying to remember what we did. Keeping it short we went to the GRV to see Oompah Brass which was pretty fabulous and extremely loud. One, tuba, one French horn, one trombone and two trumpets (or cornets or something small and brass an loud). It was funny and the music was just amazing and I was glad we were sat at the back. The lederhosen was also jolly fine. But then from the back I couldn't see the knees. The A to Z spelled out, eventually, CDs only ten pounds. I didn't buy one guessing that my Macbook would be able to provide the same experience. I'd happily see them again though.


The next show was Axis of Awesome at the Teviot. We saw them last year on Lilian's recommendation and really liked them. This time we thought we'd give the kids a treat. Jack pointed out that this was the third music based show in two days but seemed happy enough at the end. You don't have to have any musical ability to appreciate the AofA. I sort of wonder why these Aussie musical comedy acts are so very good. Who could forget Eddie Perfect (yummy) or the Scared Weird Little Guys? We check for the SWLGs every year but they never come back. Sigh. AofA are not a replacement but splendid in their own way. Their four chord song has gone viral, as well it should. It's a fairly common idea, the hit songs are very simple and the music is interchangeable. I saw Pete Atkin do something very similar. AofA do it very well.


The final show was John Bishop with his show, Sunshine at the McEwan Hall. This was a very large venue and was sold out, unsurprisingly. Last time we saw him was last year in the Cocktail Bar at the Pleasance. It was the last Sunday, he'd just missed getting whatever the award was called last year and was just a little bit the worse for drink. Never mind, he was wonderful in that little venue and pretty damn good in this huge one. Ian and I were on the front row this time; the kids were too sensible to put themselves in such a vulnerable position but it wasn't a problem. John seems to be a very nice man, not prone to making people miserable. He asked who had seen him on TV. Everyone! Who had seen him at the Fringe before? About 20 people and our party was five of those.
Whether it translates into real life or not, John has a warm and friendly stage persona and you can't help but like him. He has suddenly become an overnight success after only six years of struggling and he deals with it with all the grace and comedy you would expect of a first rate comedian, how you would hope to behave if you suddenly met all the celebrities you had idolised over the years. He has a lovely turn of phrase and you completely buy in to his stories. We were sold the first time we saw him and he referred to a drive back from holiday where some hour in he realised his wife had been 'leaking sound' for the entire journey without it impinging on his consciousness at all. If you get the chance, go see John Bishop.  

First day of the Fringe (with kids)

We travelled up to Motherwell on Thursday evening. Sally and I met Jack at Sheffield station (he having travelled up from Oxford) and took the train up. Callum, my sister's son,  joined us at Leeds and we settled in for a fairly dull trip, sat at a table for four. I got out the jacket I am knitting and sewed up the raglan sleeve seams then picked up the stitches around the neck to knit the collar. All was relatively quiet until Darlington when the boys got on and sat at the table across the aisle from us. The problem with knitting on a train, apart from making me look like a granny according to Ian, is that people talk to you. What are you knitting? How long have you been making that? And so on. The boys were three men, Gaz, Gary and Dave, going up to Edinburgh for a weekend of male bonding. Apparently they've been doing this in various cities since they were 30ish. They started with a trip to Blackpool. After that the only way was up. They're in their forties now and still doing this once a year. This year they were going to join the rest of their party of eight in Edinburgh. 
It's amazingly expensive for an apartment in Edinburgh, they complained. 
That'll be because of the Fringe. 
The what? 
You don't know about the Fringe?
No.
So the fact that huge numbers of performers, students and audiences pack into Edinburgh for the month of August had passed them by. As Jack commented, in a couple of weeks they could probably have got the same apartment for half the cost. Never mind. They were halfway through a hefty number of cans of lager and they didn't care. They'd each got £200 for the weekend, they said, £20 for food and the rest for booze. Each of them teased and was teased about their wives and kids and each, sooner or later, wandered off to tell their wife they loved her and to say 'night night' to their kids. They entertained us all the way up to Haymarket where we kicked them off the train. Their bags were much lighter and they left a stack of empty cans, despite a regular search for a bin to put their rubbish in.


So, on Friday, an early lunch at Equi's then Ian drove us over to Edinburgh. I'd booked an additional show, Out of the Blue, on Alex's recommendation so we had four shows. The first thing we did was book another show for Saturday (an Oompah band at the GRV) then we parked up and made our way through a lovely little public garden to the C Plaza where we had a coffee and waited for our show.


I love a cappella music. Much as I like other types of music, the human voice, particularly in harmony, is what moves me. Alex is always recommending a cappella shows, and flamenco and generally culture sort of stuff, but Ian cleaves to comedy passionately, stubbornly. Never mind, I'd got him a ticket and he was prepared to give it a go. The show was put on by Oxford undergraduates, all male and with lovely voices. The choreography was amusing and energetic although, to be honest, they could have stood perfectly still for me and allowed me to concentrate on the music. They started with 'Don't You Want Me Baby' and bounced through a familiar songbook to finish with an encore of Pokerface. Callum identified it. Good job we had someone along who has some idea of the Zeitgeist. Ian had had to leave to save the car from predatory traffic wardens or I'm sure he'd have known Pokerface too. 


My favourite arrangement was Billy Joel's Lullaby. They didn't allow themselves to be distracted by the traditional mobile phone ring in the quietest section. They're good! Later we wondered how you fall into this sort of thing. We guess they were all choir boys in a previous life. That would explain the sometimes over pure tones and unconvincing sensuality in the dances to the 'raunchy' songs. On the way out I bought a CD. It's lovely but a cappella loses something in electronic format. They're just songs; the wonder of the performance is lost.


We dashed from there to Rainer Hersch being Victor Borge. I very much like Rainer and I have fond memories of Victor Borge. The story of his life was interesting and engaging and I think that these snippets of classical music are ideal for me. I love them when surrounded by anecdotes but I don't generally have the concentration or appreciation for an entire piece. 


After Rainer we split up. Callum wanted to see Rhod Gilbert but Ian, Sally and I had seen his show, 'The Cat that Looked Like Nicholas Lyndhurst', at Nottingham Playhouse relatively recently so we sent him and Jack to see Rhod and we headed over to the Underbelly to see Susan Calman.  (The picture at the top of this piece is Sally, already exhausted by the culture, waiting in the Underbelly bar for the show.) We first saw Susan a couple of years ago when she seemed promising. Since then she has appeared on the News Quiz and was sufficiently amusing that we thought we'd have another look. She's much improved, even in the dank warmth of the Underbelly.  Sally loved the show, laughing all the way through. I like Scottish women comedians, especially those from Glasgow. Susan used to be a lawyer but gave up the glamour and money for a dank cavern in the Underbelly and a life of semi-poverty. Good! I'm glad she's turned from the dark side. 


In the same way, Mickey Flanagan has recently come to our attention through Radio 4. Having moved up from the East End of London through a social science degree into teaching he has also turned away from a career of horror into comedy. Susan is very short and Glaswegian, Mickey is tall and cockney. It seems like a theme. The stories were very funny. I loved his definition of doing fuck all and his assertion that the 'Chicken Children' of today have completely lost the art. They may be wasting time but they have lost the ability for complete indolence. This was a show very much based in his own life and experience, a man who has made the transition from working class to rather smart middle class, marrying a long suffering multitasking woman who perfectly complements his persona of idleness. This was a splendid finish to the day. Ian complained that he'd heard most of the material on the radio show. Luckily I'd been too lazy to iPlayer it so it was suitably fresh and funny for me.   

Last day of the fringe...

So, yes. I'm back in chilly Scotland with the kids and still haven't finished the last lot of reviews. Sigh. I blame work. So, just for completeness...


Ian and Julian had a cunning plan. I had been supposed to go to the flamenco show on Saturday with Alex but he hadn't got round to buying the tickets so J&I decided it would be better for me to see the show about Ian Dury, 'Hit Me!' They were right. Whilst Ian waved Julian off at Edinburgh Waverley I climbed the long twisty stairs to the top of the Teviot to wait for the show, being given a £10 of Waitrose voucher which has already paid for the show.


Hit Me! was fab. What can I say? It was a two man show based on Dury and his friend/helper, a big man with a criminal record and a strong sense of right and wrong who seems to have kept Dury from being a bigger dick than necessary. Dury's somewhat self-destructive life, his huge ego and his similarly huge talent were powerfully portrayed. The songs were, as always, wonderful. The staging consisted simply of a pivoting unit; one side a scummy bedsit, the other a more upscale living room which appeared as the show progressed and Dury moved up in the world. Obviously, the size of the unit and the feel of the action remained cramped apart from when Dury escaped out of it to stand, singing like a man possessed, in front of projected Blockhead images. I'm not sure the final scene worked for me. Recently dead, Dury, in white top hat and tails, dances onto stage with graceful ease for a final song. I guess the religious would  see this as a happy release from a damaged body and a redemption of sorts. To me it was an upbeat ending that was unnecessary. Dury's flawed life and towering achievements are sufficient. 


Ian met me out of the show and confirmed that he'd put poor broken Julian on the train home and we would get updates as the journey progressed. I was sad to see Julian go. He's the easiest companion imaginable, mainly by, as he claims, just not caring. He goes along with just about anything as long as he is allowed an occasional visit to a bookshop and he amuses us very much. From now on we will just have to make do without him until Novacon.


We went to our final restaurant, the Nile Valley on Chapel Street, a Sudanese cafe which, as always, provided us with delicious food very quickly which let us make it to the next venue early enough to catch the act before the one we were aiming for. Fine. This was our foray into the FreeFringe and was well worth the visit.


We managed to squeeze, last comers, into the tiny hot room at the Counting House. Lewis Schaffer, a New York jewish comedian living in London, is 'Free Until Famous'. I enjoyed this show very much, especially as I was sitting next to the fan. Lewis spent the hour commenting on how rubbish we in the UK are which strangely endeared him to us. Ian commented he reminded him of Greg Proops. I liked him more than that.


We adjourned to the bar whist the next act set up and tuned her guitar then trooped back in for another miserably hot hour with Lara A King. She had been recommended by Fascinating Aida on Friday night. She'd been their warm up act for their last tour and they spoke well of her. It was a strange hour; a combination of stand-up and serious songs. Most of the comedy left me cold; as someone who only turns the TV on for Doctor Who and the new Sherlock Holmes, comments about daytime TV and current advertising campaigns, no matter how apposite, meant nothing to me. The songs, on the other hand, were worth going for on their own. I'd have liked back to back songs really. Never mind. I took one of the free-but-a-donation-would-be-appreciated CDs when we left but it doesn't have her last song. She finished with Summer with Monica, one of my favourite Roger McGough poems set to music. As a sing along. I'd turn up for that anytime. If she put the whole book to music I'd be even happier. Many years ago at Freshers week at Sheffield Poly, Roger McGough read from Summer with Monica at the Psalter Lane campus, the one SHU have just demolished. I'm feeling old as they remake Sheffield around me but Summer with Monica is still lovely.

The penultimate Fringy day.

It's over a week ago and I didn't take notes so this will be a little sketchy. 
We only had two shows on Friday but they were once I was very much looking forward to. The first was Fascinating Aida at the Assembly Rooms.  If I could only go to one show this would probably be it. The girls are Adele Anderson, Liza Pulman and the truly fabulous Dillie Keane. They were only appearing for a week or I'd take the kids on the last weekend as well. The big room did not appear to be sold out although fairly packed and we sat near the back. Juilan, Ian and I were joined by June Strachan, my oldest fannish friend, and her boyfriend Nick Mills. 
We were told that Fascinating Aida had been asked by the Assembly to help celebrate its 25 years as a fringe venue. They were asked to provide a best of show, from their more than 25 year old back catalogue. I would imagine that this can be a little difficult for comedy songs. As the context disappears so, often, does the humour. I think the decision to concentrate on more recent songs was a good one, especially as their latest album is my favourite. Their shows are always good. Their voices are lovely, the 'dances' are amusing with Liza drawing the eye particularly, Dillie plays a spirited set on the grand piano and, of course. the songs are very funny. These are generally co-written by Dillie and Adele. Ian thinks Dillie is a comedy god and, for once, I completely agree with his pronouncement. In the hour they played three of my favourite recent songs; Lerwick Town, The Markets and Dogging. If you haven't come across Fascinating Aida before you should acquaint yourself with them immediately. Buy the CDs, DVDs, see the show. Don't let them retire again!


After queuing for ten minutes to escape the venue we made our way to Cantina Mexicana on Rose Street. This was excellent, freshly cooked yummy food and jolly nice cocktails. We, of course, ate far too much. Julian & I hung around after we finished while Ian took June and Nick on to their next show then we retired to the Dome to digest quietly whilst we waited for our 23.30 show. What were we thinking? I wanted to go to sleep. It was alright though. We finally trekked into the Purple Cow to see John Cooper Clarke. He's painfully thin and, like all of us, looking older but he was well worth staying up for. Julian was almost bouncing with enthusiasm. Well, for Julian. 
Ian has just looked up the jokes of JCC, most of which we heard on Friday. It was last updated 1998. It's good to hear familiar friends again. We particularly liked JCC's haiku. 
To convey one's mood
in seventeen syllables
Is very diffic


We put Julian into the car, happy but broken and ready to go home.


(As I was (slowly) writing this Ian has been reading out the jokes. He tells me that the site he is reading is advertising an upcoming gig in Nottingham, November 2005.) 

Thursday at the Fringe

We missed a day on Wednesday. Because it wasn't Fringy I didn't write it down and now I have no idea what we did, other than eat. Lunch at Equi's Restaurant & Ice Cream Parlour. I had real food but Ian and Julian both had enormous ice cream sundaes. If you are ever in Hamilton you really ought to make the pilgrimage to this wonderful place. The ice cream at Nonna's in Sheffield is excellent but Equi's make Dime Bar Crunch, and apple pie ice cream and lemon curd ice cream and the sublime cranachan ice cream. I had a tiny cone of dime bar crunch, just so I wasn't resentful of the boys. Dinner was at Pintxo in Glasgow which has been refurbished to fit more tables in but was as wonderful as always. I love tapas (and meze and thali and etc) and Pintxo does the best tapas I've tasted in the UK. Julian ate until he could hardly move. We didn't have pudding. Then I, cautiously, drove home. Hardly driving these days results in a certain amount of nervousness but Ian was starting to complain about never being able to drink at restaurants.


Thursday we had a late start and a very gentle evening. First, however, we took Julian to see the Pineapple. Here's the Pineapple in all it glory:


Full details of this remarkable, beautiful and rather silly building can be read online here. Ian never buys me a present like this. I am faintly resentful, although what I'd do with this delightful place without the associated fortune and a four wheel drive car I don't quite know. It's a long commute to Sheffield.

Here's a picture of Juilan's face when he saw the fabulous structure:

From this revelation we made our way through South Queensferry into Edinburgh where Julian and I did a quick raid on Transreal. The rather reserved guy who runs the shop looked quite pleased to see Julian but was probably desperately disappointed when Julian restrained himself from his usual spending spree. Travel by train means restricted luggage. I only bought four books myself, three planned and a Diana Wynne Jones novella which was rather sweet. 


We rendezvoused at Under the Stairs for a cocktail and to make a table booking for later then dashed off to meet Lilian at the Stand to see Andy Zaltzman. This was a tremendous show. Andy is one of our favourites. I was originally introduced to him the year he was jilted by John Oliver who heartlessly abandoned him for Jon Stewart. He was good then if a little lost. Since then we have seen him each year and got a regular fix from the Bugle podcast. What can I say? His description of his delivery of his son was magnificent. He surely isn't as incompetent and unsupportive as he suggests or there probably wouldn't be two children in the family. He would have been jilted again, long since. The rest was, as always, both funny and thought provoking.


What did I eat Under the Stairs? Pitta and dips, because I always do, and cauliflower cheese. Both yummy. I shared a bottle of Viognier with Lilian and then we up and dashed back to the Pleasance to see Emo Phillips. He is a very odd comedian but well worth seeing again. His delivery is slow and idiosyncratic but worth concentrating on. Sadly I didn't take a notebook and it's been almost a week, so if you want some examples have a look at the vids on his website.


Now I'm going to bed because I've got a ridiculously early start tomorrow and I've got to edit the presentation into shape on the train, so I'd best be awake enough to do it. 

Tuesday at the Fringe

Not this Tuesday. I'm running behind. But only by a week. That's not a lot.

So, whilst I can remember, this is what we did. When I say we I mean Julian and Ian. Alec abandoned us to our low-brow comedy and went to watch Spanish tap dancing and similar cultural stuff. 

We started our low-brow day with Simon Callow's 'Shakespeare. The Man from Stratford'. It will be on tour after the fringe and is well worth seeing. I've recommended it to my Mum. As you might expect, a one man show retelling the life of Shakespeare, as far as it can be determined, beautifully illustrated by words from his plays and poems. It was very powerful and, in places, moving. Julian was most pleased that Shakespeare's words from the play, 'Sir Thomas More', written at the end of his life in an editing role. I'd love to include the speech but Julian hasn't sent me the copy he promised.


And now he has. Good boy!
Grant them removed, and grant that this your noise
Hath chid down all the majesty of England;
Imagine that you see the wretched strangers,
Their babies at their backs and their poor luggage,
Plodding tooth ports and costs for transportation,
And that you sit as kings in your desires,
Authority quite silent by your brawl,
And you in ruff of your opinions clothed;
What had you got? I'll tell you: you had taught
How insolence and strong hand should prevail,
How order should be quelled; and by this pattern
Not one of you should live an aged man,
For other ruffians, as their fancies wrought,
With self same hand, self reasons, and self right,
Would shark on you, and men like ravenous fishes
Would feed on one another.

This first item was billed as and hour and a half and we had a had a fairly short time to get from the Assembly Hall on the Mound to the Pleasance for our next item. The show, of course, overran and we ended up scurrying out as the first round of applause commenced. How rude! Ian jogged down the hill and hailed a taxi and we stumbled into it. By this time it was rush hour but Pleasance One was running late and we arrived before the queue started in. Gyles Brandreth,  author, broadcaster, actor, entertainer and former conservative MP was starring in his one man show. Witty and urbane, Gyles was wonderful company for an hour; an engaging raconteur, he kept the audience laughing, sometimes in disbelief that he would say such things. What are the two worst things about being an MP? Raffles and constituents. I assume that he has retired from the political game but, even so, his stories were so self-deprecating that I wouldn't be put off voting for him despite knowing that, as a constituent, I may be the butt of a joke. Of course, I would be put off by his political allegiance but that is another matter. The more I look at politics the more I despair; are they incompetent or corrupt? The fact that Mr Brandreth could completely win me over demonstrates the charm of the man. My heart, in this area, is given entirely to Clement Freud but, Clement no longer being with us, Gyles will amuse me for a while.

We trudged over to the Teviot via Home Bistro, one of my favourite Edinburgh restaurants, and so convenient and friendly. Celebrity Autobiography is a nice idea. The publicity for the show notes, 'Michael Urie ('Ugly Betty') and George Wendt (Norm in 'Cheers') head the cast of this New York hit comedy where superstar memoirs are acted out live on stage.' It was very well done, reading from the autobiographies of various celebrities. My favourite were the duets. The Debbie Reynolds and Elizabeth Taylor readings amusing, with different points of view of the same events. Miss Taylor, though she may have 'won' the men, came over as a less than sympathetic character. Perhaps monstrous wouldn't be too much of an exaggeration. The Jordan and Peter Andre books were another amusing juxtaposition. Who knew that Peter Andre could appear so intellectual? In comparison of course.  At the end of this reading I just felt very sorry for both of them. 

I've often wondered why B-list celebs splash their pathetic tiffs and insecurities across the media. Is it really worth it? There is a sort of perverse fascination in hearing these stories, like watching a very mundane and inevitable catastrophe unfold - these stories, read for comedic effect, are very real tragedies, rooted in the imperfect personalities of the people. As the actors made very clear, these readings were written and published by the celebrities themselves. It was all self-revealed not extracted under duress. It's all out there and available for piss-taking. Of course, the readings were carefully selected to show the stars in the worst possible light but still, what can they expect? I guess I feel a little ambivalent about this show. It would have been funnier if it weren't so inherently sad.

Our final show was Greg Davies; 'Firing Cheeseballs at a Dog'. I loved this show. It's avowed intention was not to be deep and meaningful but, if you were so inclined, there was much deep meaningfulness in it. We ignored that, though, and just laughed and laughed at the series of supposedly autobiographical stories of fear and depression. We all have such stories in our lives but few embroider them to such hilarious effect. There was a lot of stuff about his family and childhood, always a rich seam for comedy, but his years as a teacher of drama produced the characters that will stay with me. The boy who piped 'beard' (a derogatory word in this context) in answer to every question or statement, the naughty boy who freely and guiltlessly admitted to each of his wickednesses and Karen, the 13 year old with the mannerisms and vocabulary of a rather nice middle-aged woman from between the wars and no sense of direction; these wonderful characters made the show something very special. Greg Davies is a very clever man and very, very funny.


And then Ian drove us home and put us to bed. Thanks Ian!

Linkled blow

We're sitting here, Friday afternoon, with the boys trying to reconstruct the few jokes they missed. They have just accused me of reading depressing environmental blogs. They can tell, Ian says, by my linkled brow. Deeply corrugated, he says. In fact, I'm just trying not to listen to them.


Tonight we are heading into Edinburgh to see Fascinating Aida, John Cooper Clarke and June & Nick at a Mexican Restaurant in between the two shows. John Cooper Clarke will be the final show, other than Alba Flamenca with Alec tomorrow, before bringing the kids up for the last weekend. 


It occurs to me that I ought to make a note here of what we have done and who we have seen. I'll do it in bits. Monday was a four show day. We saw Helen Keen do her low tech and utterly charming show, 'It is Rocket Science'. If she ever tours with it you really should make an effort to see it. Most of her life she temps in London, saving to afford to bring her wonderfully eccentric shows to Edinburgh. This one is a history of rockets from the earliest days with stories, masks and high tech visual imagery.


The second show I saw was 'Poem Without a Hero' which was quite lovely although I'm not sure I understood it. A simple show, readings from the master work of the Russian poet, Anna Akhmatova. The words are very beautiful and left me moved but uncomprehending. I may spend some time reading the poem and trying to understand the context. This is one of the joys of the fringe to me, finding a whole new area of interest. I have to thank Alec for this, and Ian for making the standard Fringe booking error. Damn those shows with different times for different days. On weekdays Alba Flamenca is at 8pm. On weekends at 3pm. Which is why I'm seeing it on Saturday and why this unexpected show was seen.


Whilst I was seeing this Ian & Julian went to see the Ian Dury show. Apparently the best show of all those Julian has seen so far. Maybe see it some other time.


We went to Pink Olive for dinner. This is a jolly nice, stylish little restaurant which is still in my mobile phone as Phenicia. The food is lovely but, unlike Phenecia, the restaurant that used to be in this building, it has a limited set of dishes for a vegetarian and so we will only visit once this Fringe. 


The third person we saw was Toby Hadoke with his show, 'Now I Know My BBC'. We first saw Toby some years ago when, in the noisome caves off the Cowgate, he told us about his childhood obsession with Dr Who and how, with the revived doctors he has finally been vindicated and his son, geeky as he, had become cool. It was a lovely story for all us fans and had Julian weeping shamelessly. We saw it again at the Lescar in Sheffield but some of the sparkle and passion had dissipated through endless repetition. It is a dangerous thing to open you soul, take out the fragile emotions, build them into a work of art and then perform it day after day for years. 
To some extent this new show will not cause the attrition of the soul that 'Moths Ate My Dr Who Scarf' did. We all rather feel that Radio 4 is what makes Britain great but Toby looked way beyond this at Grange Hill, at Newsround, Vision On and many of the TV programmes that defined our youths. It was a lovely, if slightly under-rehearsed, with enough personal detail to make it interesting but we came out wondering whether, if he has married his childhood sweetheart, what has happened to his geeky child? 


Then Tim Vine. Jokamotive was very much Ian's choice and was everything that he loves. I was a little reluctant but the ticket had been purchased. An hour chock-full of one liners and puns. It was a fabulous, high energy, jokamotive, bearing down on me as, tied to the rails (wedged into horrid bench seats) I struggled to escape, but eventually had to succumb to the Joke. It was marvellous. Then the boys spent the trip back trying to work out the punchlines to the ones they'd missed. SIGH!


At this rate I'll never catch up but I think I'll write about Tuesday later/tomorrow.

What was I thinking?

I'm sat in Ian's house, listening to Ian and his friend, Alec, grumbling and bickering and punning, waiting for Julian to arrive, late and grumpy. Then we'll be ready for a week of Fringe fun. During all the time I've been coming up here I have never been the only woman on the team. This year Julia has abandoned me to go to Worldcon in Australia, leaving me with the three stooges. I may survive. They may survive. I'll let you know.


Later
OK! So Julian has arrived and things have livened up. We've chatted about Ponyo (the mother arguing by Aldis lamp is particularly nice) the Fermi Paradox and Old Jews Telling Jokes. It's mildly amusing.   


OMG They're whistling the theme to Zed Cars. It's related to a comment about Brian Blessed. No idea. I'm still not sure we can survive the week.