Word has clearly spread about my ability to deal with hecklers - no single human being can challenge me so the outside world has had to get inventive. They have the ingenuity of the Colditz Escape Committee, but I was equal to them. They tried an army of Olympic supporters outside with TVs on, shouting and singing - they thought that would make me crack - ha! The fooles. I just talked a bit louder and pretended that they weren't there. They tried getting me from within, by somehow injecting me with some awful gastroenteritis problem in the hope that I would guff myself to death or foul myself on stage, but Dr Theatre wasn't having that, they tried sending rain to pound on the roof of the tent I am performing in - no good, heckler committee, I just pretended it was the Lord God Enki showering me in his spunk in celebration of my greatness.
But at great expense and forethought they did manage to throw me today. By use of jet aircraft. I was about three quarters of the way through the show when I became aware of a loud noise approaching behind me - it sounded like a plane about two feet higher than the venue or a ground to air missile and it got closer and closer and lower and lower, whooshing right towards us. Would Al Qaeda try to take out Bristo Square? Or worse was it an orthodox and extremist Stewart Lee fan who hated anyone challenging the strict and narrow definition of comedy as set down by the man who dubs himself as the Comedy Muhammed (he doesn't, but let's spread the word that he does- could get interesting)?
I was pretty certain this airborne attack was coming down on us all and we were about to explode in a ball of flame and I have to say the heckle certainly worked. I flinched and I think ducked a bit and had to stop to get my breath back. What the fuck was that?
The audience laughed in my stupid face, but I am sure many of them thought that they were about to ignite with actual fire (rather than the laughter that had kept them burning hot for the previous 45 minutes). I thought it might be something to do with the Olympics and made a joke about Andy Murray having returned home, but it was of course part of the fly-past that comes with the Edinburgh Tattoo. I've heard cannons and fireworks before, but I don't remember noticing these low flying jets in years gone by. It totally scared the shit out of me and was the best heckle I have ever received. hats off to those magnificent men in their flying machines. Apparently they are going to be a daily occurrence, so I will have time to work on a put down. I am not sure that shrieking like a girl and nearly pooing my pants really counts.
It was my first sell out of the run tonight, but alas the SCOPE buckets were not ready or apparent until too late at the end so we only took about £50 rather than the three or four hundred I would have hoped for. It was raining heavily and the staff here work hard and these things happen, but if you missed out on giving and still want to then do go
to my justgiving page.
It'd been a bit of a stressful day - Brendon Burns had fallen asleep and thus missed the podcast show, though Simon Munnery stepped in as a last minute replacement (later than last minute - he arrived ten minutes into the show), though at least the recording worked this time. I'd also been dashing around doing press interviews and managed a swim, so on top of my stomach problems was pretty exhausted by the end of the day. I have been trying to walk everywhere, but was forced to take my first cab tonight as I was going for dinner with my wife after the show and needed to get there before the restaurant closed. It was our favourite Thai restaurant, though the food didn't seem as good as we remembered this time and though there was just four other people in the restaurant we were put on a table right next to them. Two of the party were young men at University who were reciting sketches by the actor Kevin Eldon and bits from Alan Partridge. I wondered about leaning over and telling them that I had invented both Partridge and Eldon, but then I would have looked like some strange, bitter liar. Correctly in this case. It was strange being forced to eavesdrop on something that I was so close to though. I am sure they did not know who I was or what my connection was. But rather than being bitter I was pleased (especially for Kev) that this work had this kind of public recognition.
We walked home through the rain soaked streets. One taxi ride in seven days. There's still hope that I might get fit in Edinburgh this year, but fear the weariness that is already hitting me might mean there are more taxis to be taken.
