Edinburgh Day Eight (for me. A sad day for all the comedy lovers at the Edinburgh Festival…)

…because today was the last 3D Comedy ever! How will they cope, those lovers of comedy at the Edinburgh Festival? Once there were eighty billion and one shows to choose from. Now there will be only eighty billion.

I’m sure they’ll manage.

After a couple of days of not venturing far during the day, I get out and into town by noon, bumping into Aiden, Rom and Richard Massing who are wondering what to do with themselves. Luckily, Tash turns up and, as the fountain of knowledge on all things comedy, suggests we go see The Brotherhood of the Leaky Boot. I was hoping to see this show anyway as Nathanial Metcalfe was in it. And he’s brill.
We negotiate the Royal Mile, which is thronged with flyerers, performance artists and, occasionally, a real-life actual person, and get to the show just in time.

It turns out that The Brotherhood of the Leaky Boot is a clever, witty and enjoyably quirky sketch show where the sketches merge into each other to form a (slightly surreal) narrative. It featured Nathanial (aged 31) and two young whipper-snappers, all of whom were bloody great and very funny. I am very impressed by, and slightly envious of, how well structured, planned and executed it is. Very slick. And funny. Did I say it was funny? It’s brilliant. Go and see it. It’s at The Canon’s Gait, Canongate at 14.25.

I get chatting to Nathanial afterwards and then wander up to Fringe Central where I meet up with Heap. Despite not caring if we get reviewed, I sit on the computer and look for reviews.

I must admit that now the actual process of doing the show is drawing to an end, I’m thinking it would be nice to get some quotable words out of it. Nice ones if possible. You know, not just “nervous” or, “competent” or, “shoes”.

It seems we haven’t been reviewed yet. We’ll have to wait and see if we get anything at all.

The final show goes okay. About 40 people turn up to see it but again they have the heat to contend with. It is very hot. One of the improv guys from the show before us is drenched in sweat. One of the electric fans is making a terrific droning noise in the background. I wonder if I might mention the sound and use it as a link to a (hilarious) bit about hand dryers I have just thought of. But I don’t.

Instead, Aiden, Rich, Rich and myself throw out as much energy as we can to combat the warmth and I think it goes quite well.

When we emerge from venue, the weather has taken on a more familiar Edinburgh character. It is absolutely belting it down with rain. And it’s cold. And windy. And soul-crushingly disgustingly horrible.

We trudge through this filth, looking for somewhere to eat, but lose Aiden and Heap on the way. Perry and I circle the Grassmarket trying about fifteen different restaurants and pubs, none of which have any free tables available. We are getting wetter and hungrier and colder and more pissed off and there seems to be nowhere to go.

“Well, this’ll make a nice little story for your blog, won’t it?” said Perry, archly.

I remember this relentless trudging through the rain as the defining Edinburgh experience in previous years. Possibly the nice weather we’ve had this year is why I avoided the traditional mid-week emotional crash.

Eventually we settle for a hot dog by the Gilded Balloon and then a pint in the Pleasance Dome. It is my last night in Edinburgh and after a week of being sensible, I quite fancy going out and getting absolutely smashed.

But instead I have a few nice chats with a few different people, before toddling off to bed: I chat to Perry until he goes off to watch Match of the Day and then I meet up with Tash. I go and meet Rom and Murray. Aiden turns up and Rom goes to a gig so me and Aiden go to the Library Bar, losing Murray but meeting Jaq, Sam, Wayne Conelly and a chap called Brian. Then me, Jaq, Sam and Aiden go home, popping into a kebab shop on the way where patrons and staff are all singing “Hey Jude” at the top of their voices.

I get back and pack my bag, ready to leave in the morning. I get to bed at three and set my alarm for eight. Only five hours sleep and then it’s nearly all over. I don’t know if I’m happy and sad about this.

The ‘being over’ bit. Not the ‘five hours sleep’ bit. That bit definitely sucks.


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