Edinburgh 3 - Ohhh... THAT'S how you have a good Fringe!

OK, first thing's first - I need to fulfill the promises laid out in the last blog. Last week I was having a drink in the Pleasance courtyard when a girl approached me asking me if I would pretend to be called Richard. It transpired that she had seen my show the day before and needed me to gatecrash a show compered by Mark Watson involving an 'Olympics' of fun with Richard Herring, David O' Docherty and Al Pitcher representing England, Ireland and New Zealand respectively. Not one to turn down a bit of fun, minutes later I found myself in her assembled gang of 'Richards' as she attempted to find more of them than other contestants could find Als or Davids. Make sense? I hope so. Anyway, the one problem with this is that all the acts on the bill knew me. This led to minor hilarity in the room when messrs Pitcher and O'Docherty staged a sit-in protest at this obvious subterfuge. The girl in question pleaded that even though I wasn't called Richard I was famous. Herring (The man I was trying to help) declared that I wasn't exactly that famous, except for in Hitchin. He had a point. Several members of the audience came to my show the next day. It was thus worth it, in my opinion and one of those 'only at Edinburgh' moments that make the Fringe, for me at least, special.

My annual drunken evening with Anna Keirle was (as usual) unplanned but delightful. I bumped into her in The Loft Bar at a time when we were both well on the way to be honest. Amongst other things she informed me that I was to be honorarily enrolled into the order of The Blue Blazer, it being a pub specialising in rum at the wrong end of Grassmarket. Working on the basis that I have only ever really got stuck in to the booze there on one previous occasion, I consider it an honour and a privilege. I'm going to try and get there before the end of the week, obviously.

The other day I was stumbling down Canongate in the now more regular rain when I saw this sign for the third year in succession and finally did something about it:

Of course! An entire shop dedicated to Princess Diana memorial tartan! It's what every  Scottish town needs!

It's what she would have wanted.

My mate Trevor Lock is having a tricky festival, in all truth. His venue is not ideal for him, his show is ticketed and the resultant small audiences have left him a little down in the dumps and also pushed a couple of reviewers to label his show weak. It's not. It's great. I dealt with reviewers in the last blog so I'm not going to bring this up again but suffice to say I think they're wrong. I saw the show a couple of nights ago and it's really funny. The "Best gag of the fringe" has just been awarded to Stewart Francis. Don't get me wrong - he's a great comic and it's an OK joke (As I admitted when interviewed on BBC 3Counties radio today) but I don't think it's as good as a throwaway line in Trevor's show which reads simply

"Now I'm no scientist, but I do look good in a catsuit"

It nearly made me spill my over-priced can of unpleasant lager (the only real offering in the venue that didn't make me wince on sight). Go and see him if you get the chance. He's not like other guys.

Trevor looking a little less keen on this handshake than my good self. Mind you, I had just told him I was going to kill him.

I also have a rather embarrassing update on Trattoria Italiana. My new favourite restaurant was subject to a third outing on Saturday night, this time with my friend Harriet (Who has been staying with me but mercifully left today) and mutual friend Verity. I had 'bigged up' the establishment and they were keen to try it out in a ninety minute window they had before going off to see Steve Bowditch's ridiculous take on the Sherlock Holmes stories. We got a bottle of wine each, so as to save money (it being well in to the festival now and there only being a £1 corkage fee) and hot-footed it down there. The place was busy and we were led to a table in the bowels of the little trattoria. An hour later we had finished two of the three bottles of wine but none of our food had arrived. They made their apologies and left. I was furious. Poor Salvo the chef was alone in the kitchen and had never got our order. It was a genuine and honest mix up but it left them hungry and (ultimately) me by myself. When he found out what had happened he insisted I stay and have a meal on the house. Well I'm not one to turn down free food. I struck up a conversation with a couple sat to my left who had ordered two glasses of wine that never came. I sold them the remaining bottle at a very reasonable £10 (twice what we paid for it) so actually left there a fiver up with three courses inside me and a rosy hue to my weather-beaten cheeks. Sometimes you just have to make the best of a bad situation.

Two hot chicks I let down in an Italian restaurant. At this point they still thought they were going to be fed. ALL PART OF MY EVIL PLAN.

The Loft Bar is all things to all men. Yes it is a terrible name-dropping, networking show-off kind of place but it's also the only gaff in Edinburgh where I know I'm going to bump into old friends. Below is the last photograph that was taken on a particularly unsober evening the other night. It features Canadian comic Glen Wool who is in the "Return Of The Lumberjacks Show" with the aforementiones Stewart Francis and Craig Campbell. I've known Glen for fifteen years and once we'd got over the relative increase in sizes of our midriffs it was a pleasant conversation, from what I can remember.

With my good friend Glen Wool. We have both seen better days. Well, we had that night anyway.

It's not all been good news. I have previously blogged about how I feel a sense of loss when a pair of my brothel creepers come to the end of their lives but I'm particularly upset that the sole has split on one of my favourite red pair. I got these for half price (about thirty five quid) over a decade ago and they've been with me over three continents, to festivals, bike gigs, comedy shows, weddings, rock gigs, punk gigs and worn recreationally on so many occasions that to think I won't be able to wear them again is heart breaking. I know they're only a pair of shoes but they were my absolute favourite and now they are no more. Here they are in all their fallen glory

These are probably my favouite ever pair of shoes and it seems fitting that I took this photo on Niddry Street. One of my favourite ever roads. I'll miss them both come the end of the week.

Finally, a bit about the last week. Whitney has seen an upturn in numbers which has improved the mood in the flat and both my shows have enjoyed relative success so all in all it looks like this last three weeks have been a success. There's still room for the delightfully odd , however, and so I present you with Erin K. I clocked her a couple of times on Niddry Street with a guitar on her back looking like the most stylish and delicious musical act you ever did see but when I bumped into her in Banshee labyrinth on Monday night I didn't think she would be quite so excited about Andrea the Saridinian barman's open-mic music gig that was happening in the Chamber room. Minutes later she was on stage playing frankly bizarre songs and getting her friend to wear a rubber horse's head next to her as she crooned. Sorry the photo isn't better - my phone didn't have sufficient battery for the flash to work, more's the pity. She gave me a CD after the gig. I gave her one back, obviously.

This is a very bad photo of Erin and a girl wearing a rubber horse's head. My battery was too low to use the flash, thus making it even spookier. These things happen

Tomorrow I'm being interviewed in the street by BBC Radio 4Extra. They want me to talk about my attitude towards The Fringe. I hope they're ready to strap themselves in. I am rather belligerent.

...And finally - EDINBURGH! 2012! Ouch!

OK so here's the first instalment of my Edinburgh 2012 blog. I realise I should already have half a dozen up but it took me five days to get sufficiently online enough in the flat to be able to do it. What follows is basically a diary of the last week.

Last Sunday (6th) I headed North from Hertfordshire about an hour later than planned in glorious sunshine until I got about ten miles South of Edinburgh and the heavens opened. I fully expected it to rain every day I was in the Scottish capital but I thought I might at least have been allowed to unpack. Arriving about nine o'clock I called my flatmate David Whitney and asked him to meet me at the flat. He said he would see me in five minutes. Six minutes later he called to ask where I was. I said I was outside the flat. He questioned that by saying he was in fact outside the flat himself. Once we had established that I was on the wrong street, he left me the keys and hot-footed to his 10.15pm nightly show at The Gilded Balloon. He has spent thousands on his show this year and I was clearly holding him up. I unpacked what seemed to be half my worldly belongings, listened to the Olympic 100m final in the car (I was never in any doubt that Bolt would jog home in nine and a half seconds) and found a place to park it near where I lived last year. Then I took a walk up to the Gilded Balloon (from now on 'GB') loft bar where Whitney had said he would meet me outside. The first comedian I saw was a new guy called Rob Beckett who was walking past an A1 billboard of himself. The second comedian I saw was Russell Howard, skulking under his hoodie so as not to be recognised and looking terribly thin. That boy needs a good dinner. I've known Russell for over a decade. He's a lovely bloke and exceptionally humble. I've only met Rob Beckett a couple of times and he's still in the pomposity of comedy youth. Showbiz will beat it out of him, I'm sure. It's left the rest of us for dead.

Whitney managed to forget within thirty seconds that he was supposed to be meeting me at The Loft Bar so I went in alone and caught him chatting to Swedish comedian Magnus Betnér. Magnus has a fearsome reputation in his native land and is something of a star there. Edinburgh is a great equaliser though and here he is just one of thousands desperately trying to get you to see his show. It's the one time of year when we all suffer the same hardships to varying degrees. We are only as good as our last review, money is at a premium and everything is someone else's fault.

My flatmate and partner in crime, David Whitney, although when he's passing off a mint chocolate straw as a cigar, there's more than a touch of the Marlon Brando about him. I hope Marlon was better at washing up. Whitney's a very funny man on stage but in the kitchen he's a pig.

This first week's low audiences have been blamed on the recession, the Olympics and bizarrely, the weather. Since Sunday night's deluge the last week has been nothing short of beautiful and I certainly wouldn't have wanted to have been inside. My two daily shows have been a tale of two different fringes. My 4.20pm solo show has struggled for numbers as it competed with the sunshine and the sport. My 7.45pm evening show has been packed to the rafters (until tonight, but more of that later). That hasn't matched their respective audience responses though. "Songs In The Key Of Death" (At Banshee Labyrinth) is the early show and has proved to be a minor hit with the few people that have seen it. The accompanying CD has sold well post-show and I'm really loving the bedding-in of new material that's been six months in the writing. "The Lastminutecomedy Club" (At Whistle Binkies, a little further up Niddry Street) has so far only vaguely entertained the masses and it's a puzzle. Some of the shows have been great but quite a few of the acts have under-performed to be honest. For now I would rather just lean towards the ones who have shone and my eternal thanks to Gordon Southern (An old mate of mine) and Caroline Clifford (Who I didn't know until this week) who frankly have saved my neck when all seemed to be falling apart. Gordon's an old hand and reluctant to do "Free" shows but his class is undoubtable and he lifted a particularly average night and left the audience very happy. Caroline is a newish act based in Berlin and has got a really nice line in bitter songs. She's on again on Friday. He's got another gig booked in with me but might pull out. I hope he doesn't. His show is called "A Brief History Of History" and if you can get along to it, do.

I know what you want though - you want the dirt.

Well you're not getting it.

You can however, get this - I've been doing comedy for twenty years now and along the way have met/become friends with/fallen out with pretty much every great act to grace the stage in the UK (And hundreds of rubbish ones). I am also one for clowning about and have probably previously told you about "Do The Tull". This is the exercise of me recreating the famous flute-playing stance of Jethro Tull's lead singer Ian Anderson, should anyone shout "Do The Tull" at me in any situation. It being Mr. Anderson's birthday the other day, I was honour bound to take a couple of suitable photos and (via twitter) I let Jethro Tull know themselves about one of them. The other two I saved for this though. What follows is a trilogy of classic "Tulls". My apologies for the picture qualities but bear in mind these were taken in the early hours of the morning and we may all have been drinking...

First up we get myself and Al Murray (AKA "The Pub Landlord") happily doing  The Tull in The Abbatoir bar  at Underbelly. Al took little cajoling and is an extremely good egg. He has also invited me along to his solo show which is a new hour of The Pub Landlord. It will undoubtedly be brilliant but starts only fifteen minutes after my one finishes and it might be tight. I'll try, Al. I'll try!

Jim Jeffries is currently one of the biggest comedy stars on the planet. He also used to get pissed with me quite a lot (normally in Bristol). I don't think his heart was in this but he gave it his best shot.

If it's 5am it must be Tom Stade time. The international Tullage is not lost on me. Tom's Canadian, Jim is Australian and Al is quite possibly one of the greatest living Englishmen. You can see by the way that Tom is gripping that imaginary flute that he is nothing other than PURE rock and ROLL. I also fancy his wife, Trudi.

Time to sign off for now. Suffice to say the first week has been rewarding and frustrating in equal measure but the Olympics are over now, the rain has finally returned to Scotland and all bodes well for the rest of the fest.

One footnote - tonight I had my lowest crowd for my evening show by approximately two thirds - I'm hoping it was a blip, particularly as I had my second BIGGEST crowd for my afternoon one today. This after I hardly flyered the first and heavily flyered the later. Perhaps that was the problem. My own presence might well be putting people off coming to my show. Now THAT could prove problematic.

PS. A word about Ronnie Golden. He and I have been no more than acquaintances, really, until the last week when we have spent several happy hours exchanging stories and putting the world to rights. Up until a few days ago I thought he was doing a show with Barry Cryer. He's not. Barry is doing a show with him.