It seems Ian Virgin has given up on his evil £1 a towel money making scheme. There were plenty of towels at reception in the gym today and then when I got to the pool there were two rolled up towels on every sun lounger. Perhaps it was the one pound towel charge that was the real cause of the riots. By putting out a bounteous amount today Ian Virgin was hoping to prick the bubble of dissent and hold on to his millions of pounds, having to accept that he can't actually get his evil hands on all the money. I still thought about taking a few and storing them in a locker in case of towel famine to come. If Ian Virgin starts charging £20 for a towel I will beat the system.
The Radio 4 script hangs heavily over my head and it's making an already stressful situation all the worse. I have probably worked harder on this script than any of the others in the first series, but after half an hour of thinking I find my eyelids getting heavy and need a sleep or have to shoot off to do a show or a gig. And the days are blending into one. It feels like today that I was interviewing Glenn Wool, but that was yesterday. Today was Dave Gorman. We had the biggest crowd in for the podcast yet (though still disappointingly some way from a sell out) and the format is feeling pretty bullet proof. Lots of laughs, lots of slander and gossip and some serious bits too.
Have a listen, why don't you?. It went well enough for me to feel revived and happy afterwards, plus the constant rain had finally stopped.
It's all very Groundhog Day indeed. I trudged to the bank, but the coin machine wasn't working, so I bought some groceries and went home, uploaded the podcast, tried and failed to write my script, thought about having a sleep (but foolishly fought against it), then headed to the Cowbarn to find I had got close to selling out (numbers are solid, but it would be nice on my 20th Fringe to sell out in advance- there are still tickets for every day at the moment). My tiredness actually accompanied me on to stage today and I made a couple or errors early on and the audience were a little bit quiet. But I fought on and won them round and banished the cobwebs.
I went home to do more writing and made the most progress of the day, but then had to go out for a late night gig at Best of the Fest, which I could have done without. Once on stage I was pleased to be there as I did some of my one liners and more accessible material and people seemed to like it, so I took a chance on doing the Ferrero Rocher bit, but regretted it. The grinding of gears was almost audible and I could sense people wondering what was going on and where the cock jokes had gone. Five minutes in as I was just approaching the point of the whole thing and the uncomfortable atmosphere was about to pay off with some shouting and laughter, a drunk sounding man bellowed, "Where's the punchline?"
It derailed the routine, though I didn't mind as I was in danger of over running and I was able to make the remaining couple of minutes all about him and his lack of faith in me. I thanked him for his comedic advice - because I hadn't realised there was meant to be laugh points in the stuff, which you'd think I would know after 20 years, and I mocked his lack of patience, like he was a child on Christmas Eve who couldn't bear the suspense. I had fun pulling him apart a bit, but the mistake was mine. I had over estimated the audience a little and should just have carried on with the rude and quick stuff. I walked home, stopping off for some chips on the way from the chip shop on the Royal Mile that I used to go to in 1987. Weird to have been going somewhere that long, but it's changed a little, though the spring rolls looked like they might have been the same ones that were there back in the day.
I am tired and grumpy and have too much on and yet luckily the shows are going well, even if I am being grouchy to my lovely girlfriend. Things will (hopefully) be a bit more enjoyable after Monday.
