I was up early to go to the Pleasance to interview Arthur Smith for a short filmed piece I was fronting for the Guardian website. Arthur is one of my Edinburgh heroes, despite the fact his is the only face I can remember in the baying crowd at that first
Late n Live gig that we did as the Oxford Revue and the fact that he did a show with Sally Phillips in 1995 which included a thinly veiled hysterical attack on me (from her, admittedly - Arthur says it was nothing to do with him. Weirdly I didn't care too much. I found it funny and was flattered to be in the great man's show). Not only did he live in Balham before I went there, while I was there and after I left, he has been at all but two Fringes since 1977 and been responsible for some of the most innovative, funny and beautiful things ever to happen here in the name of comedy. In 1987 I had seen him standing alone, propping up the bar, drinking a pint and looking thoughtful and maybe sad and worried that that might be my fate if I went down the path of a career in comedy as I was dreaming at the time. As it turned out it was exactly my fate, though Arthur today pointed out that there is little better than enjoying a drink alone and not having to chatter on to idiots. He is funny and wise and honest without being too brutal. He's one of the genuine greats and it was cool to spend some time with him, even though he was itching to be away to get some breakfast. Arthur Smith represents everything that is great about the Fringe, all that threatens to be lost if the behemoth expands too far and becomes too commercial. Though I think (and hope) that whichever way it goes there will always be people like him, coming up to try and do interesting stuff.
Here's what he's up to this year, the gigantic idiot.
Then I went to the Royal Mile to do a predictable chat with desperate leafleters, though all the ones I met were very nice and it was nice to randomly dip into that madness before escaping to the Tempting Tattie. The Guardian wanted to know where I hang out, and as I always do I recommended this
Baked Potato shop which I have visited nearly every year of my Fringe life (though which shamefully I never got round to eating at last year). I have mentioned it in
several articles because I have a genuine fondness for the place and think it's funny to constantly mention it, but over the years the people who have served me have never recognised me or commented on my publicity blitz for them. But today as I arrived with a lady with a camera and asked for a small potato with cheese and mango chutney, the man behind the counter said, "Are you sure you don't want medium?" He had worked out who I was. "Are you Richard Herring?" he asked, incredulous that he had finally met the person who had seemed so obsessive about his tiny and slightly out of the way business. He was, as it turns out, very glad of the exposure and thanked me profusely. I told him it was a pleasure and I hope that it has helped him sell a few potatoes over the years. The place more or less got me through some of my earlier Edinburghs by providing food that was (relatively) healthy - my favoured cheese and mango chutney notwithstanding - cheap and filling. You must all go there if you are in town. I was very tempted to write that you will get 50p off if you say "I'm a bummer" after you order your potato. I really wanted to carry that off as a fact, even though it is not true, but it would just be strange and embarrassing for the people in the shop. And you wouldn't get 50p off. So don't do it.
The small potato (actually two quite medium sized looking potatoes) filled me almost to the point of nausea. The mango chutney still stuck to the lid. Everything was at it should be. Except that they insisted I take a big plastic fork, rather than the tiny spork they give to the other, non-publicising customers. As I left, the man (I believe he is called David, but sorry if I've got that wrong) said, "Any time you want a baked potato, just pop in and you can have one on the house." It was really thrilling to know that my strange support meant that much to him. But I wondered if he really meant it. What if I turned up at breakfast time tomorrow for a potato? And then again at lunch? Then once more for dinner?
He'd probably laugh it off and give me a potato each time.
But what if I was back three times the next day and then three times the next and then four times the next (incorporating an afternoon snack potato)? How many consecutive potatoes would I have to consume before he rescinded his offer to have a baked potato any time I fancied it? Looking at him he might be the kind of man to call my bluff. To be honest just one small potato had me full up pretty much through to the close of play today and any other food I ate just sat on top of my potato and cheese and mango chutney bloated haggis of a stomach. If I ate three of even the small potatoes a day I think I would be dead before he got fed up of giving them to me. Super Size Me would have nothing on this. Which is not to knock the product. It's amazing and reassuring and tasty and all that it should be, but more than three tempting tatties a week is too many. So I will only go for that many.
Maybe we could adapt the "Cress- Too Tempting even for Jesus" sketch from TMWRNJ and refilm it but with Tempting Tatties and put it on TV as an unrequested advertisement, without the shop's consent. It would be a wonderful satire of advertising and also hopefully bring in millions of pounds for this business.
If you're in town please go and buy a potato. In fact, we should try and do an Andy Kaufman style happening after the live podcast on Wednesday (apparently lots of tickets are still available - so
book now They're almost free) and take the whole audience down there for a potato. Maybe I could say "Can I have a free potato and one for my friend and one for my other friend...?" and see how far we can get. The place only has seating for six people, so it would be great to get 185 of you down there, queuing down the road.
Let's see if we can break the potato bank and use up all the mango chutney as well. There's no way they will be prepared for it. Unless they read this. And then foolishly buy in 200 extra potatoes. Only to find out that only five people came to the podcast. Though I can almost guarantee now that at least one of Pappy's Fun Club will be there. As long as he gets up in time. It is very early.
Oh and the show went the best yet. Just over 100 in, but they were big laughers and I had to plough on through some of the longer ones - evenso I overran by 8 minutes, having magically somehow come in on time for the first two days. It's shaping up really well. But reviewers have been in and might be able to break this lovely start to the Fringe with some snide and unpleasant words. Though if any of them do so I will comfort myself with this unusual picture of Scotsman journo Kate Copstick having blue paint fired on her out the anus of a woman from the Jim Rose Circus. I suspect Copstick was culpable in this photo, bit like to think that she was hunted down and tripped over and then paint-shat on as she lay, panting and afraid on the floor. It's an extraordinary image. Can it be real? I do hope so. Even I would never have imagined have someone else's arse paint fired into my face. So kudos to Copstick for giving it a go. Or for Jim Rose for hunting her down and raping her face with arse paint.
