My kingdom for a flyer

Day Two of "Hung Parliament - The Musical" started ridiculously early as the young people who had replaced the old people in my hostel all started getting ready at about 6am. Perhaps they were acting like old people to keep me comfortable. I had at least got to bed by 2am this time - it had absolutely pissed down all night and I didn't really have anything to do after "Shaggers".


Shaggers is a very interesting show but I'm afraid I can't divulge much information about it. As genial host Nick Coppin says several times during the night (He has to!) "What happens at Shaggers stays at Shaggers".


There are just too many careers that would be ruined by some of the stuff that is revealed in there and I am indeed looking forward to Friday. Let's just say I saw a side of Sully O'Sullivan that hadn't previously been revealed to me.


Anyway, I checked out of the hotel and strolled up to my car/office to catch up on emails etc, then it was down to the venue to once again to try and flyer my show without any flyers. Here is something I wrote to my friend:


"Today I have had to cancel the guest spot I was looking forward to the most because it was at 12.10pm (It was Robin Ince's show) and I have to hang around my fucking venue waiting for a reprint of my fucking flyers to arrive so I can fucking flyer and also pay my fucking flyer people to fucking flyer so I can get some fucking people into my fucking show and hopefully get some fucking money off them."


Sadly it's now quarter to five and they still haven't arrived. I do however type from my new room in  Grant House - a part of the University. It's a fucking long walk up Dalkeith Road but after the hostel I stayed in (Where I couldn't even bring myself to shit, it was that manky) it's like the fucking Ritz. single-bedded bathroomless student accommodation has never been so inviting


Two people came to my show today. They were really nice and from Bradford. I sat down with them, we had a beer and I talked to them about politics for a little while and then gave them my four poem guide to Britain, incorporating anti-government vitriol, a wry aside at the state of the working classes, a minor jab at 250 years of largely misguided foreign policy and an anecdotal rhyme about multi-national conglomerates....

"Cutbacks"

They're cutting back the NHS / They're cutting back the dole / They're cutting back the ferrets / They're laying off the moles! / Ant and Dec are now just "Ant" / But here's the real cheek / Tess Daily has been cut so much / She's now Tess once a week.

"Shell Suit"

To describe the contents of a shell suit / Isn't very hard / It's full of all that's bad in England / And three hundred pounds of lard.

"Well Done, Mr. Gandhi"

We invaded their towns with our armies / We blockaded their ports with our ships / Now everyone in England eats curry / But no-one in India eats chips.

"Swim Fishy, Swim"

Swim fishy swim / Swim very fast / Fishy not quick enough / Big fish eat him, blast.

They were impressed enough to not leave but sadly not impressed enough to leave a tip. Nothing in the bucket for me, thus nothing in the bucket for amnesty.

Off to see David Whitney's show at 6.45pm before getting mentally prepared (Well drinking) for tonight's comedian's poker tournament at The Circus Casino. If by some fluke I win I'm going to keep up my strategy and give 25% of it to Amnesty.

Wish me luck on actually getting some flyers. I could really use it about now. One expects a bumpy ride at Edinburgh but at some point I just need a fucking break to get my show up and running....