Goal: Do 100 gigs
Secondary goal: Become a world famous comic behemoth
Goal three: Try not to become an inmate somewhere
I failed all of them. Fucking miserably.
Lets start with the journey up. How do I get up there? I thought long and hard about this. I thought so long and hard about it, I didn’t book anything til the day before and started running about all panicky poos trying to sort my travel. (It’s the way I live. Louche and laid back for months, not a care in the world, then one day of psychotic, frenzied panic) But which mode of transport shall I choose? Scotland is a long way, it’s at least 12 miles. (I dunno know how far it is, I’m not fucking Columbo. Columbo? Columbus? Did Columbo discover America? That would explain things. He was quite astute. Pretend to be a lowly apologetic one eyed hick. Lure people into a false sense of security. Discover America.) Again, I’ve left things to the last minute. It’s not going to be cheap. Train will be too expensive. So, I have to make a cheaper decision. Quick. How do I get up there? Rematerialization teleportation device? Einstein-Rosen Bridge wormhole? Or Megabus?
Friday Aug 1st
Gig No. 80 Joe Bains, Licence to Laugh 11pm
No. 81 Matt T Woodward + Jo Ettrick Hogg Midnight Comedy, Espionage - The Kasbar Room
I’m not using the teleportation device. Last time I turned into a fucking fly. That’s staying in the box. And the wormhole? Nah. There’s no point travelling all over the very edges of existence, through the totality of everything that exists, has existed, and ever will exist, just to get to go a few miles past Hadrians wall. Slight overkill there. (And there'd be a good chance you get back when they were fucking building it.) The third option - no. Just, no. 10 hours on a Megabus. No. 10 long interminable hours on a bus, stewing in other people’s farts. No. No. Fucking. Way. A 12 ton rancid shit box carrying a herd of penny pinching scum. Human bacteria, smothering up the environment with their stinking pathogens. All wearing sports casual. Smoking electronic vapour fags and picking scabs off their knees. (I love stereotyping the working class) If I could, anyone who smokes electronic cigarettes, I’d chuck em in when they were in the fucking bath. Fart bubbles aplenty.
A lot of people drink on the Megabus. Why wouldn’t you? It’s like a sensory deprivation tank. They might as well dress us all in orange, chain us to the seats and blind us with pink padded sleep masks. Actually no, thats a contradiction. They’re not like sensory deprivation tanks. It’s the opposite.They’re like sensory saturation tanks. They lock you in there and torture you for 10 hours by bombarding you with all manner of disgusting smells.You walk in as human beings, and walk out like a bag of stewed onions. Your sense of smell dying a slow pitiless death. Fuck that. I’ll get a train.
Sat Aug 2nd
Gig No. 82 Cracker Jokes Pilgrim Bar, Venue 100 4.15pm (Everyday)
No. 83 Dr Electric Hoggs Dada Garden of Dark Delights, Maggie’s Chamber, The Free Sisters
No. 84 Singles Night, George Next Door, Miranda Kane
No. 85 Ms Ettrick Hogg + Matt T Woodward Midnight Comedy, Espionage - The Kasbar Room
Sun Aug 3rd
No.86 Cracker Jokes 4.15pm
(Will post one photo in final part of Edinburgh blogs. Stupid uploading a new photo for every single show)
No. 87 Glang Show, Sean Morley 6.45pm
No. 88 Barely Regal, Beat Nightclub, Stephen Palacito 7.45pm
No. 89 Capital Comedy Club, Moriartys, Davy Mitchell 8.50pm
No. 90 Singles Night, George Next Door, Miranda Kane 10.20pm
Friday morning.
My train is at 10am. Lovely. A nice lie in. I get there at 10.01am. Why the fuck do I fall for the same lie every time? I should know by now: ‘Lie in’ = Being late.
“Never mind,” I thought. “This ticket is valid all day. I’ll get a nice breakfast snack then saunter onto the 11am train like Jamiroquai. Perfect”
Perfect? Was it fuck. This wasn’t my train, I hadn’t been allocated any seat. All the seats are gone. People are packed in like slaughterhouse pigs. Standing in the hallway bits, shifting, squatting, squirming in people’s moobs, sitting on the floor and/or very old men. (Old men make for good seating as it goes. Great for your back. When you position them correctly, they’re almost like orthopedic seats.) The only seat I’d been ‘allocated’ here was on my own fucking suitcase. Four hours I spent on that suitcase. Four miserable hours with my own suitcase handle probing my anus like a fibreoptic haemmorhoid camera.
Monday Aug 4th
No.91 Cracker Jokes 4.15pm
Tue Aug 5th
No.92 Cracker Jokes 4.15pm
No.93 Singles Night, George Next Door, Miranda Kane 10.20pm
No.94 Ms Ettrick Hogg + Matt T Woodward Midnight Comedy, Espionage - The Kasbar Room
I sat in front of the suitcase shelving unit next to the toilet. Yes, the toilet. Why? My only other option was to be one of the carriage hallway slaughter pigs. And least sitting on my own suitcase, I didn’t have to smell someones armpit. Being next to the toilet though, I had to smell people’s faeces. One thing I learned on that trip: Humans are shitting machines. If you think about it, thats all we are. Our bodies, all they do is produce voluminous amounts of shit. That’s it. No wonder the ozone layer is fucked. The train was packed. I had to stand up and down every few seconds for 4 hours. Up, down, up, down, up down. I developed quads like a Slovakian Hammer champ. I stood up and down more times than Kerry Katona in one of her workout videos. So, coupled with the 4 hour workout session, the smell of the toilet etc. by the time I got off the train I had big beefy legs, a deviated septum and an advertising contract with Iceland. Just like Kerry Katona.
Wed Aug 6th
No.95 Cracker Jokes 4.15pm
No.96 Gary Shaw - Now That's What I Call Stand-Up#1, Blind Poet, 5.15pm
Thur Aug 7th
No.96 Cracker Jokes 4.15pm
Really nice audience of 4 people!
Edinburgh. Train station exit. I did not know the fuck where I was, or where my B+B was. My first job was to get my bearings, buy a map and see where I was in relation to the B+B and Royal Mile, the apparent epicentre of all things Festivial. (I’m not sure if that’s a word. If it isn’t, then I’ve invented it. Ah’m loike fackin’ Shakespeare. Also, like Shakespeare, ‘I’m’ not really writing this. I am actually a well mounted Gentleman of the Court, and I wouldn’t be seen dead publishing second rate comedy blogs. I’ve made a secret pact with the young peasant Joe Hunter, who shall claim the credit for my works.)
Friday Aug 8th
No.97 Cracker Jokes 4.15pm
No.98 Dada Ettrick Hogg + Woodward 6.15pm
No.99 Cheaper Than Therapy, George Quinn, 11pm
No.100 Ms Ettrick Hogg + Matt T Woodward Midnight Comedy, Espionage - The Kasbar Room
The quads came in handy. The first thing I had to do was walk up some really steep stairs from the station up to Royal Mile. A long fuck off steep set of stairs. It was like an upright wall. I needed mountaineering gear not quads. Ranulph Fiennes himself would have looked at it and said 'Piss off! Piss off mate, yer 'avin a larf ain'tcha?? Fack all that mate ah'm off!' Gone back to base camp and ate one of his egg sandwiches in his toilet tent. I did not have that luxury. I had forge ahead. Carrying my suitcase. (Which, actually, made a pleasant change from having it lodged up my arsehole.) So. Ahead. I have arrived. The Festival is just beyond the top of those stairs...
Part Two coming to a cinema near you.
Like it, like it...lots of bodily functions!
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