No problem with the weather this time, as the day is dry but overcast. The journey is also without incident, and we (myself and Bob) arrive at the Ingliston Park and Ride in good time, finding a space at the far end of the site. Inside the tram kiosk building, there's a long queue, but it's not for people buying tickets. They are all waiting to use the toilet, which, as men of a certain age who've travelled a great distance, disappoints us. We buy our return tickets and catch the next tram, vowing to find somewhere appropriate to go at our destination.
Disembarking at St Andrew's Square again, I last as far as the first McDonald's. I probably shouldn't have drunk an entire 500ml bottle of Coke Zero on the journey in. Afterwards, we trudge through the mass of tourists and festival goers to our first venue for the day, Cabaret Voltaire.
We're early. A pushy flyer person pesters us, demanding to know why we won't attend the show he's promoting. We reply we're already going to a show at that time.
"It's on tomorrow," he immediately spits back.
"We're not here tomorrow."
"It's on every day." His forehead furrows, the young lad emitting a deep sense of frustration like he's going to explode. It's lucky we're a gun-free society because otherwise, I would have shot him, putting him out of my misery. We killed the rest of the time in the safety of Bannerman's bar, where I needed to pee again. I put it down to stress, but it was probably the caffeine in the Irn Bru.
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Adele Cliff Has Some New Ideas You Might Enjoy |
Prior to this gig, I wasn't too familiar with Adele Cliff, knowing only that she'd received some acclaim in the past. I picked the show more because it was cheap, its timing fitted in with the rest of the day's schedule, and I couldn't buy advance tickets for Mark Simmons, his show being part of the pay-what-you-want PBH Free Fringe. I didn't want to risk failing to get in if we ended up too far down the queue.
This was Adele's tenth year at the fringe, and the show was billed as a work in progress. I sat in the second row on the left next to the cold, bare brickwork wall. Bright sunlight appeared to shine across half the audience but when I looked up, I noticed the room was windowless. The light emanated from a strip of LED bulbs. Fortunately, these were dimmed before the show began.
Framed within a pinkly illuminated archway of bulky plastic containers, Adele welcomed us, the paying punters, with pre-purchased tickets. She reassured us she was audience-friendly and wouldn't pick on anyone in the front row. We then waited for the ticketless punters to fill the room, which seemed to take ages.
Exuding confidence, she reminded us at the start that this was a WIP and that she might refer to her notes from time to time. And then she was off. Talking really fast, she raced through a huge amount of material, informing us of her geek credentials as a film buff, how she preferred to be called cat woman, not cat lady, and other related stories about her social life and family. I was surprised initially to discover she was single, but the more she talked, the more I could understand why. Looks don't change what's going on inside. I suspect the confidence she displays in her job might be missing IRL. Although she claimed to be working on a dead mum show, there was little evidence of this, except when she mentioned how her mum had been eaten by a shark (comedians lie, she reminds us). The subtle mention of the shark moving into her mum's brain was a nice line.
I would have enjoyed the show more had Adele not referred to Brad Pitt in Fight Club as a ghost. As a punchline, it's inaccurate. If she'd used Bruce Willis, then that would have made (Sixth) Sense. It's funny how one wrong line can spoil an otherwise fine hour.
At the end, she reminded us she'd kept the ticket price as low as possible and that she would stand at the exit with her bucket and card reader for those who wanted to make a donation. This was fine except for the bottleneck it created, eating into our transit time to the next show.
Bizarrely, the tall, lonely bloke I'd seen at the Slapstick Festival in Bristol was also in the audience. We made eye contact and shared a moment of recognition but never spoke. He rushed away afterwards, probably to catch another show, so I never got to confirm if it was him.
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Paul Merton & Suki Webster's Impro Show |
Bob and I both needed to pee prior to this show, the Irn Bru I'd drunk at Bannerman's painfully urging my bladder to empty again. This caused further delay, so by the time we arrived at the Pleasance Grand, the queue was non-existent, the audience already packing the huge room. We ended up at the very side on the left.
The stage area had been laid out with four chairs, two on either side, with keyboards and a silver bucket on the side closest to us. I recognised Mike McShane's American accent as he introduced our hosts, Paul Merton and Suki Webster. They, in turn, introduced Mike, Kirsty Newton (who would provide musical accompaniment), and today's special guest player, Fred MacAulay.
The improv games always involve audience suggestions, but in such a large room, it was often difficult to make out what was being shouted. The seasoned players did a fine job of making it funny. During the game Puppets, Suki and Fred were controlled by one member of the audience, who had to manipulate their limbs, body position and movement while the pair played out a shop encounter with Suki attempting to return a microwave, a very small microwave it turned out, big enough only to hold one chip - a microchip. Big laugh!
Another game involved each player mouthing the words spoken by another in real-time. It quickly descended into chaos as Paul mimed in an exasperated fashion that Fred had forgotten to speak for him. Fred was too busy trying to mouth what Mike was saying.
My favourite game was Change, in which the players had to switch the dialogue to the opposite of what they'd just said whenever the other said 'Change'. The interplay between Paul and Suki was incredible. Two masters of improv. The hour flew in.
A late entrance meant an early exit, and we rushed to join the queue for Riki. But only after my bladder tricked me into thinking I needed to pee again. Oh, how it mocked me as I stood at the urinal, feigning shyness, as I produced not even a trickle. That's why it's important to go when you need it. Otherwise, lingering bladder pain will just take the piss.
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Riki Lindhome: Dead Inside |
We waited at the sign for Pleasance Beneath, which was located in a busy throughway to another courtyard. Eventually, a member of staff appeared and asked us if we were waiting for the show, then escorted us to where we should have been standing, which was around the corner. No one was there, so we were still first in the queue, although we were later joined by a young woman. From here, we could see a screen displaying the shows and their sales status. Distressingly, Riki's show had a red bar beside it, stating CANCELLED. I checked my phone. An email had arrived an hour earlier confirming this to be true, due to "unforeseen circumstances". The staff member returned having discovered the news too. She repeated what we'd just read, indicating we would get a full refund and we would have the opportunity to rebook for another day.
I was gutted. Riki was the prompt for heading through to Edinburgh in the first place. I've long admired her work in Garfunkel and Oates and enjoyed her acting, so I was dead keen to see her in the flesh (as it were).
Bob and I then wondered what we would do next—probably eat. It then sunk in how much time we had before our last show. Rain threatened and then actioned the threat, so we made our way to a local cafe, The Foodies Bistro, across from MacEwan Hall. The food was lovely. I was surprised we could find a table, but I suppose the turnover was swift as people headed to shows. I couldn't find a show nearby that I wanted to see that still had tickets available, so after we'd eaten, we went for a wander, the rain having scarpered like a timid coward.
I spotted two people eating proper ice cream cones at the same time as Bob noticed the ice cream booth. The flavours were intriguing and suggested quality, so we queued to buy some. I plumped for a two-scoop cup of Rafiello and Rhubarb Crumble, while Bob had a single-scoop cup of Cadbury's flake. Mine was delicious! Of the twelve flavours they had, I could have eaten all of them, except perhaps the Lavender, which remained untroubled by the assistant's scoop, suggesting others were in agreement with me.
We had another drink while we waited at the Cowbarn, but we had to move when we realised we were in the queue area for another venue.
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Paul Foot: Dissolve |
And boy, was it worth it.
Paul introduced himself over the speaker system, leaving the stage empty except for a table and a microphone stand. He then appeared not on the stage but at the front of the auditorium, continuing his introduction while wandering around the audience, cheekily invading individuals' personal spaces to impress upon them about the two birds on the tree, a story his mum had once told him. Dressed not in his usual leather suit and tie, he wore a blue one-piece jumpsuit, as per the picture above, a visual example of how he'd changed. Even when he returned to the stage, he kept climbing back down to impress another point. I thought I'd be safe, sitting in the middle of the second row, but he stood on a seat in the front row and reached over between myself and Bob to harangue the person behind us, ensuring they'd understood what he was saying. His wide, dopey grin suggested he was enjoying himself. A visual cue as to how happy he was. All rehearsed, I suspected.
He told us about how his life had changed on a specific date at a specific time at a specific location and all the events that led up to that point. His story was convoluted, loquacious, and extremely funny, delivered with over-the-top gusto that provided a suitable complement to the more thoughtful, quieter moments.
I won't spoil how he came to be happy or the cause of his life-long distress, but it was cleverly told. Anyone who has followed Mo Gawdat's work will relate to his experience, but they won't have heard it related in such a remarkable way.
This show dissolved my frustration about Riki's earlier cancellation, making the whole trip worthwhile. He won me over, and he'll be happy about that.
We went for one last pee before departing the Underbelly, preparing for the long journey home. I recalled again why I don't normally drink when I'm at gigs. The bladder pressure is too high.
As the tram pulled into Ingleston, we could hear Ocean Colour Scene playing over at the showground. As we listened to the crowd singing along, I wondered if they'd change the lyric to "The Day We Caught the Tram". That would have been apt.
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