I can't shift the fug of illness and fatigue, though am at least managing to stay pretty energetic and focused for the 2 hours that I am on stage. Well certainly the Talking Cock hour - I am allowed to be grumpy on the podcast, mainly because I think people only listen to it to chart my physical and mental decline. This is the toughest part of the Fringe - it feels like it's nearly over, but it isn't nearly over. When you stop and think about it you know the end is still a long way away. Though at least from now on every performance is my last for that particular weekday. I've done my last Monday Cock, but not my last Monday podcast. Even though I am ticking off the days I am determined to keep the shows as good as they can be. I have nothing remaining but professionalism now.
I was in a bad mood though. I had woken up early and written a blog but somehow managed to delete the whole thing and I was snappy and unpleasant to my short-suffering wife (we haven't been married enough for long-suffering). I felt pretty pissed off as I walked down towards the podcast, deciding that it was probably time to knock the Fringe on the head or at the very least only do one show a day. Robin Ince later texted me to remind me that these are the thoughts that occur to everyone on the penultimate Monday. I think that's true enough. But amongst my illness and madness I can see more cogent arguments for taking a year off. I got more pissed off because I'd carried four days worth of charity collection coins to the bank, but the paying in machine wasn't working. If I just lay down in the gutter would I be allowed to die?
I grumpily complained about my lot to Al Murray and Celia Pacquola in the Stand dressing room and somehow that venting pretty much managed to banish the blues enough for me to do a mainly good-spirited podcast (though Al did most of the talking). Some really interesting stuff about the Twitter joke trial and I did contribute a good gag about Robin Hood that I feel sure must have been made before, but which occurred to me for the first time as we spoke.
Listen in here or on iTunes.
Natalie from Trevor and Natalie off of TMWRNJ (tmwrnj) was in the room and I went for a coffee with her, neither of us quite believing that it was 15 years since we'd performed in Excavating Rita and the Edinburgh version of "This Morning". She's now a teacher and a mum, though she looks almost exactly the same. Trevor is in town too, but there was to be no reunion for them this afternoon.
The news has broken (though I think I've mentioned it on here) that the script I am writing for the BBC is based on
my 1993 show "Ra-Ra Rasputin", although I haven't got any further with writing it and I meant to have it in by the end of the month. But maybe seeing it mentioned on line as a real deal will spur me on to finish it. I am quite excited about it - if I can get it right then it could be awesome. But you've been reading this long enough to know how hard it is to get one of these scripts to stick.
And that's a little message of hope for any depressed Fringe performers. You show might not be going well now, but in 19 short years you might be able to make it into a TV pilot script which will probably never get made. Dare to dream.
The two for one offer did a lot to help the size of the audience and we're going to keep it up for a day or so, so if you want to see Talking Cock for £7 per person (as long as there are two of you) then buy your tickets from the Udderbelly box office on the day of performance. There's quite a few shows giving such offers and I hope the people of Edinburgh will take advantage of some of them. Lots of great shows to see. Save the Fringe (it will probably survive OK whatever)
I was really pleased with how it went tonight, but I was also pleased to come back to the flat and veg out. All the good work I did in the gym in the first two and a half weeks has surely been undone by all the unhealthy food I've been eating to keep me going. But this is always the way in Edinburgh and with a bit of luck I might be well enough to start exercising again in a day or so. And I've been walking everywhere.
One day at a time sweet Jesus. It's the only way through this week-too-long festival. Maybe next year I'll be in St Petersberg filming my sit-com (I doubt very much we'll do it on location, but if I am going to dream, let's dream big, but if you listen to the podcast you'll find out I've been having some odd dreams, so maybe I will try to stop dreaming).
