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My first Fringe show since 2014. My first show in Pleasance One since 1999. And the 30th anniversary performance.
I am determined to just have fun this year and not worry about reviews, audience numbers or how much money I might be losing. I hadn’t checked the sales beforehand and no one had told me. Would I pack the 340 seater venue to the rafters (there are bargains to be had on tickets in these first few days) or would I be playing to a man and his dog. And would I be able to extrapolate anything from the first day’s sales? In 2014 sales dipped from the 250+ average of 2013, but that was down largely to being in a slightly out of the way venue, late at night.
Tonight I got just over 100 in, which is lower than I had hoped, but clearly not a disaster (not yet anyway). Things had been complicated by the fact that the shows in my venue were running half an hour late because someone had dropped 5000 ping pong balls (can we still call them that these days?) that needed to be picked up.
Chortle kindly published an article about the shows that have sold out all their tickets already, just to make the rest of us feel inadequate.
I had a little moment, as I waited in the dressing room, of thinking I should have learned my lesson in 2014 and never come back. But I quickly got over it and was determined to have a good time. All that matters is I do as good a show as possible and create something that is funny enough to justify touring. And I feel unusually confident in this show already, whilst knowing there’s loads more comedy to find in its winding routines. And I thought of the idiotic young man who came up here 30 years ago and knew that he’d be amazed to think that over 100 people would pay to see just him. I mean, he might be a put out that it had taken 30 years to get to that point and be surprised I was still at the Fringe. But there’s a thousand young performers out there tonight who dream of success and managing to make a living from this stupid job for three decades. The bitter part of me (that blames ethnic comedians and women-posing-as comedians for my perceived failure and ignores the fact that we are masters of our own destiny and that stuff is going pretty well for me) felt stung that after all this time I am not one of the hot tickets. The struggle is what makes it all worthwhile. Hot tickets come and go, but little Richy is still here. And should be grateful for the 100.
And the good news is that to lose as much money as last time I’d probably have to give everyone who comes to my show a tenner. If they do a chart of best turnaround since the last Fringe a performer appeared at, then I will definitely win that contest!
And thanks to the magic of Warming Up I am able to over ride my belief that the early shows in the run are always packed. I got 50 people to see Lord of the Dance Settee on day one and 90 to see We’re All Going To Die! And WAGTD (as the cool kids called it) was possibly my most successful Edinburgh show (in terms of ticket sales - mainly cos it was in a bigger venue than Talking Cock and Hitler Moustache). So shut up bitter Rich, you am a twart. And that stuff you said about ethnic and female comedians is palpable shit. They’re doing better than you, cos they are better than you. Stop complaining and up your game, son.
I may have got confused about who I am talking to here. But there’s a lesson for us all.
So I went out there and did the show for the 100+ people that came, not the 200+ that didn’t. And given they’d been kept waiting out in the rain for 35 minutes they were in remarkably good spirits and aside from not really nailing the last two minutes (because I am still making that up as I go along) this was a fucking amazing first show. It’s loose and I am reaching for some of the bits, but in a sense that’s why I like it. There’s no definitive script and I am happy to muck around and come up with different jokes and punchlines. And I can sense the even better show that is lurking in the cracks of this one.
So hooray. It’s good to be back. I must only compete against myself and not worry that the act after me, James Acaster, is one of the people who has nearly sold out every show. But he’s only got that due to his ethnicity and gender. And the fact that he’s a comedy genius. So I am still the best.
After the show I was signing programmes and posing for selfies with people who don’t know how to use a camera phone (all people). A man pointed at a copy of How Not To Grow Up on the table and said, “This book changed my life.” Very occasionally people tell me about how my comedy inspired them, or got them through a period of depression or illness. It’s always a surprise and each time it helps to make my own dark times and struggles with this job seem worthwhile. If it helps just one person, then, you know… I mean hero is a word that gets bandied around a bit too often, so I am loathe to use it as its currency has been devalued. But I guess this makes me a hero.
“It convinced me to divorce my wife,” he said. “I realised that I was still young and had ten more years of having fun and shagging around in me, so thanks for that.” The woman he was with laughed and thanked me too. I mean, I am not sure that was really the lesson I would have drawn from the book. But it’s nice to know that I have destroyed at least one marriage and helped one bloke get his end away a bit more than he would have. It’s at moments like this you think, fuck the ill people, this is why I started comedy. To spread division and venereal disease.
But it was touching in its own way. And he (and his current partner, though)) seemed really happy. I create happiness. That’s what I do. Maybe not for his wife. You can’t please everyone.
And RHLSTP with Brendon Burns and Craig Quartermaine is now up on video (and almost certainly on audio by the time you read this)
