A week has gone by since we returned from the Fringe, but I wanted to write up the rest for the sake of completeness, and because we saw some of the best shows. The bar was set high first thing with a chirrupy taxi driver telling us how much he enjoyed his city, even during the festival season when roads close and the population triples. He dropped us off early for our first show, Daniel Kitson, where there was already a long queue of people speaking of him in reverential tones. The show, a theatrical monologue was at turns moving and humorous, beautifully crafted with a set comprising a number of light bulbs suspended over the stage with a set of wooden steps and a chair for Kitson to reach them. I’d heard a lot about the man and his work, but never seen him. It was certainly possible to spot the way he has influenced a generation of comedians (I’ll never see Dave Gorman in the same light again), and his work is such that makes me think of giving up writing, and even speaking because he can be emulated but not matched by a mere mortal. I wept at the end. On reflection, it’s rich stuff and whilst completely enjoyable, I wouldn’t like to consume too much of it.
We had a long break afterwards, wondering about the streets and buying souvenirs, then sitting in a café of Bistro Square eating falafel and teasing each other over the crosswords. We had a peep at the Lewis Chessmen in the Museum of Scotland too, and I fell for the little guy biting his shield in terror or fierceness? I’m yet to decide.
We found the GRV in a pungent alleyway, the tiny foyer opening out into a spacious bar and performance space. In the bar, hunched alone over his paper was Richard Herring, but I averted my gaze and didn’t approach. Too shy and too aware of former foolishness around people I admire. Nick laughed at me, as he should. The Collings and Herrin podcast was fun enough for even Nick to enjoy, so I didn’t feel too bad about putting him through it, or sitting him in the third row.
We sat in the Pleasance Courtyard watching the crowds on their phones, drinking cider and reflecting a bit sadly that it was nearly over. The queue for Gareth Richards show was embarrassingly thin. Glancing back, I saw Frank Skinner’s familiar face. A slight figure in late middle age, he had the look of one wishing for anonymity. It wasn’t to be but he had his photo taken cheerfully enough. His presence altered the show even though he sat at the back, the ten or so audience members seeming to listen out for his laugh. Frank laughed loud and often, as the show deserved. It was evidently a tough gig though, and I’ve seen Gareth do better material. He has toned down the geekiness since I last saw him, aiming, I daresay for the mainstream. I’m not sure he’s playing to his strengths, but the show subsequently got him a Best Newcomer nomination, so what do I know?
Nina Conti’s sell out show was Nick’s only choice, and he wasn’t disappointed. She is beautiful and accomplished, with an army of menopausal mum fans. It was entertaining, but I like a bit more depth, and there was an irritating section in the middle where she interviewed (via her Granny puppet) a guest comedian. This felt a bit like she was touting for TV work, which might be fair enough, she would go down well after 9pm on ITV. I wished I could remember the name of the guest comedian who was a children’s TV presenter doing an Edinburgh show about his hobby - visiting bondage clubs, oh how the bescarfed ladies squirmed.
At my request, we bought last minute tickets to see Grainne Maguire. I had heard of her and she had been out promoting herself. I was interested to see what a comedy based around 18th century romantic novels might be. As it turned out, it was one of the most interesting shows we saw, and I’d like to see it again because even a week on, I don’t know what to make of it. She has a subtle stage presence and the show, even though it needed editing in places, grew in momentum towards a personal life event described suddenly and with brutal frankness so that further laughter seemed impossible and yet wasn’t. Like Kitson’s work at the start of the day (on the theme life is made up of small incidents), Maguire had a simple point to make, life isn’t like a romantic novel, but perhaps simple concepts make the best comedy.
Overall, and much to my surprise, Nick and I had a brilliant time away. Maybe at last, we've found our shared interest. We're still talking about it a week later, with the bonus of also talking about our seaside relocation being in the North. On the way home, we visited my baby brother in his new home on the coast outside of Newcastle. In footnotes to the week, two of the acts that we saw (Josie Long and Gareth Richards) were subsequently nominated for awards. I son't know what it means for our taste, but neither won. The laundry is done and the house intact. I failed to send my Mum's postcard. Life's back to normal. Good memories though.
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