My energy levels are really running down now.
Before my show I went to post off the programmes (which of course are only going to people who donated to SCOPE for those of you who thought I was giving them away for free) and pay in this week's takings from the collection bucket. I had about 150 envelopes in a shopping bag and £1099 in coins in my backpack. Who needs the gym?
I tried to use the post box at the top of the road, but the slot was a bit small and after posting about seven envelopes I had pretty much blocked up the whole thing. So I carried the bag on further and found a more suitable post box and then got to the bank before my spine actually snapped. It looks like we'll raise just shy of £5000 this Edinburgh so thanks to all those of you who have donated. It's an average of over one pound a person. Cheers.
On the way back home I saw a lady pushing a letter into the post box I had clogged about fifty yards ahead of me. She nonchalantly put her letter in and carried on walking without checking that it had been safely deposited. She hadn't gone more than two steps when the letter fell out of the post box and was blown by the wind in my direction.
This was, of course, my fault, even if the woman had been a bit lackadaisical in her posting, but I was too far away to shout to her to tell her to pick up her letter. The wind was strong and the letter flew through the air. I tried to catch it but missed and it ended up under a big van. I bent down to see if I could retrieve it, but it was too far away and the body of the van was quite close to the ground.
A woman behind me saw what was going on and commented that I was in quite a pickle. I didn't tell her that the whole thing was my fault and wondered how many other letters had had their journey sent awry when I wasn't there to be custodian.
"Use your bag to get the letter," said the woman somewhat redundantly as my bag was much too big to reach under the vehicle.
"It's OK, I'll wait for the wind to blow it out," I replied. "It's not my letter, but the lady doesn't know it fell out of the post box. Sometimes it's good to be a Good Samaritan."
"Especially when you look like Hitler," the old lady observed.
The letter emerged from its womb of concrete and metal and I caught it before it could flutter away. It was some official looking kind of invoice or something and seemed important. I managed to put it in the clogged post box safely. I had compensated for my own crime, but the woman who'd posted the letter would never know.
Later on I would do an unrehearsed and unwritten double act with Simon Munnery at the Malcolm Hardee tribute show. It was kinda rubbish and kinda brilliant at the same time. But mainly rubbish.
I went and got drunk in the Loft Bar afterwards. I haven't actually got drunk too many times this Fringe. It was fun, though I felt I would regret it in the morning.
I was right.
