A Big Bold Beautiful Journey - Film Reaction

I don't usually record my movie-going thoughts, but the trailer for this movie beguiled me. This was the kind of imaginative romantic fantasy that I love, with odd doors and sat-navs that take you on a journey into your past. The cast was amazing, with two of the most attractive leads in the industry. I was so looking forward to seeing the film.

Then the reviews came in. The critics hated it, awarding it a low score of 42 on Metacritic, based on an aggregate of 39 reviews (as of September 29, 2025). My heart sank. Mark Kermode on his podcast kept repeating, 'it just didn't work'. I didn't bother going to see it the week it opened. Then Edith Bowman on her podcast said she enjoyed it. She accepted that the critics didn't like it, but she found it beautiful. 

So I decided to make up my own mind.  

A Monday night screening at the Showcase, Paisley, seat reclined, half a pouch of Revels to devour, I got comfy, determined to keep my eyes open despite a bout of insomnia the previous night. The cinema was practically empty with fewer than twenty audience members. When I purchased the tickets, the two seats next to me on either side were empty. The Showcase has a ticketing rule that prohibits leaving a gap of only one seat. Yet I find a gentleman with his wife sitting in the seats next but one to me. I want to tell them they are in the wrong seats, but don't. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter. Not with the cinema this empty.

The adverts are playing. Like a gentleman, he asks his wife if he has time to get them anything before the film starts. She exaggerates, advising him that he has at least an hour before the movie begins, so he heads back to the lobby, returning during the trailers with snacks and a drink. His seat hums as it moves into full reclining mode. The trailers come to an end. The film starts. Lying back, he takes a sip of his drink. And chokes, coughing all over the film opening. As he composes himself again, he informs his wife in a normal speaking voice that the liquid went down the wrong way. And chuckles, in a most irritating and loud manner.

He continues to cough intermittently during the opening sequences of the film. I lean on my elbow and cover the side of my face, blocking him from my sightline. I try to ignore him and enjoy the movie.   

Margot Robbie is beautiful. She's stylish, fun-loving and has a killer smile. Anyone would fall for her if she wanted them to. Colin Farrell is handsome, albeit with an unshaven look that hints at his character's low self-esteem. The cinematography is striking, and the music is gentle and magical. They're given umbrellas to attend a rainy wedding scene. He won't dance. We see an outsider's view of both their bedrooms, side by side, with him alone and her with a random guest. So far, so good, as romantic movie narratives go.   

Whenever anything vaguely amusing is said or a funny image is presented, the husband on my left chuckles loudly. Not as the joke is played, but after a brief delay. His late chuckling becomes a feature of his viewing pleasure and a growing irritation to me. Why does he have to be so loud? He can't help himself. It's part of who he is.

 

As the film progresses, I'm not convinced by the relationship between the two leads. It's not the direction or the script that's the problem: it's the miscasting. They don't have chemistry. There's no spark. As two characters who prefer to be alone, it could be suggested that this was the intention; however, the audience needs to feel that they should be together. The age difference is an issue. He's 47, she's 33 at the time of filming. It might have worked better if someone like Anne Hathaway had played the Sarah role. I'd have found her more convincing. Not that Margot was bad. She handled her side of the storyline perfectly well. Their character flaws may have been scripted too large for the actors to overcome. I don't know. To quote Mark Kermode again, it just didn't work.      

At the end of the film, I'm left feeling sad and disappointed that the critics were right. I can't help but overhear the husband say to his wife, "I could get used to this (in reference to the recliner). Maybe we should get one for the house." The wife replies, sincerely, "Maybe we should". They leave holding hands. Their movie-going night was joyful. 

Who is to say whose experience was right?     

Movie Trailer

Stewart Lee, "Stewart Lee vs The Man-Wulf", Theatre Royal, Glasgow. Friday 26th September, 2024.

I have a lot of time for Stewart Lee. His material can be divisive, pushing the boundaries of conventional stand-up. When he strikes comedy gold, as he usually does, the laughs are deep and plentiful as he toys with the audience, showing off how clever he is.

This show is different. Here, he's tired and jealous of the Netflix-style comedians who make a fortune by punching down on vulnerable minorities, when he, an award-winning and highly regarded comedian, cannot secure a deal with any streaming platform. He wants a taste of it and thinks he's found the perfect vehicle to explore this idea.

His set consists of three main sections: the first, his normal, alternative schtick; the second, that of a Netflix $60 million-dollar, right-wing conservative comic; and lastly, that of a Netflix $60 million-dollar comedian if they were left-wing and libertarian, finishing with a bit of waffle at the end.

Only, he wrote the show last year, and now he's lost faith in it, he explains before the show starts. Some of the references he's included haven't aged well in this crazy news cycle world in which we now live. But he can't drop them because he forked out £6k on a prop for the second half, which acts as a callback to material he has in the first half, so he's going to have to tour the show for at least two years to make his money back, otherwise the whole endeavour would have been a complete and utter waste of his time and money.

He starts the show in his teddy boy coat and performs his material straight. He mentions his love of travelling around the country, seeking out stone circles and similar sites. He's frustrated at the audience for not giving him the replies he requires to continue his material, acting up for comic effect.  He performs part of this set on a barstool in the style of Dave Allan, only he can't place one leg over the other as he's so inflexible.

As he talks about another circle he visited in Cornwall on Bodmin Moor, dry ice billows across the stage from one side. Breaking from the bit, he complains that there is supposed to be dry ice from the other side, too, and that by mucking it up, the entire setup for the next bit has been ruined. He carries in mock indignation, as he relates the incident where he was approached by a large dog standing upright on its hind legs. Cue blackout and screams. The curtain falls.

He returns in the second half, under a full moon with the face of Gregg Wallace, as Man Wulf, a Netflix $60 million-dollar, right-wing, ultra-conservative comedian, whose catchphrase is "Lick my balls, suck my dick and make me a sandwich". He's encased in a full-body werewolf suit, with massive prosthetic claws and a tiny, visible penis. He performs his set, describing all the things he hates, generating easy, reactionary laughs. He also struggles to sit in the Dave Allen stool, extending the physical aspect longer than is necessary.

Finally, he rejects the wulf persona, discards the costume, except for the head and feet and performs a Netflix $60 million-dollar set as a far-left, libertarian comedian, whose catchphrase starts as "suck my dick, lick my balls and make me a sliced avocado open-topped sandwich on sourdough bread (or something like that) then morphs into something more politically correct. 

The point is, the Right can say what they want and get away with it. The Left are held accountable for their words. As Lee admits, the hate speech is the most entertaining part of the show. He enjoyed saying it, and we enjoyed hearing it. This is the problem that today's society is facing, and he doesn't have an answer.

He finished with a glimmer of hope for the future regarding his seventeen-year-old son's activism against the far right, going into detail about every step the boy took to bring the community together. Only, he didn't do any of that. He spent all day in his room on his phone like every other teenager in the country.

That was the end of the show, except it wasn't. We were in for an extra treat. Lee had invited the local band, The Primevals, to finish the night by playing the "Man Wulf" theme. So they did. Probably the best bit of the show.

I didn't engage with Lee's material tonight. I'm not sure why. I was there on my own, wedged into my tiny stall's seat, with two ladies on either side, one of whom was also on the large side. I remained self-conscious throughout, trying to shrink myself to avoid making contact with either of them. The larger lady couldn't help but nudge me occasionally as she laughed, making a point of correcting her position to keep to her side.

His usual shtick is to use repetition for comic effect, and that was on display, but to a much lesser extent. His use of slapstick and theatrical technical errors was a new area for him, which I felt didn't work. I much prefer it when his words and reactions generate the laughs. 

Perhaps this was the first step in his transformation into a more mainstream comedian, moving further away from the club comic mentality into the theatrical. 

Ticket Price: £36.91 including £3.95 transaction fee from ATG Tickets.

BBC NEW COMEDY AWARDS - Glasgow Barowlands. Wednesday 24th September, 2025

A Facebook advert alerted me to this free BBC show, with tickets available via Eventbrite, rather than the BBC's official website. It wasn't even a lottery for tickets. You registered and ordered the number you wanted. This still didn't guarantee entry, however. 

Last year, I attended the Scottish heat in Paisley Town Hall. They obviously wanted to go bigger this year, so they had booked the Barrowland. I imagined a packed, standing crowd of 1,900 comedy fans. The big time.  

Bob (now forever known as The Bad Man) and I arrived early, long before the shutters had even been raised. I chatted to the bouncer, trying to establish the layout for the gig. He informed me they were not using the main stage but had erected a purpose-built platform and laid out tables and chairs. So not standing, then.

When we got in, we had to wait to be shown to our seats. The Bad Man allowed us to be seated at the front, much to my consternation. I warned him that he was taking any flak from the comedians, not me.

This is how close we are to the stage!

Gareth Mutch was on warm-up duties again. He didn't pick on us, fortunately, and was a tad better than last year. One heckler threatened to stab him up the arse, an act never intended to involve a knife, which led to some confusion. We never got to the bottom of it (boom, boom). You've got to love Glasgow's East End.

Christopher Macarthur-Boyd hosted and was a revelation. Boy, has he grown up. I don't mean physically. He still looks like he buys his shoes from the kids' section in Clarks, but his style, delivery and demeanour have matured into those of a fine comedian.   

The judges were Daniel Foxx and Susie McCabe, with Fatiha El-Ghorri as head judge. Christopher made reference to Daniel's bright ORANGE trainers and BLUE notebook, suggesting that Daniel might have missed the memo about the event's location. The banter between Christopher and the judges had to be redone as a pick-up at the end, much to Fatiha's mock annoyance, bruv.

The five acts were all different: Ayo Adenekan, a tall, black, bisexual man from Edinburgh, did the same act that he performed at the GICF Gala last year. Forgive me, but I can't remember the other acts' names. One was a gay dude from Castlemilk (his material was great, including one gag about his junkie parents being drug-free for over six years now, may they rest in peace). The female comic was high-energy, with a touch of Catherine Tate and Harry Hill about her. This was when my nightmare began. Her eyes were drawn to me during a bit about the size of her breasts. I was picked on to maintain eye contact while she discussed what happens to them when she lies down, expressing in glorious detail how she needs to scoop them up when they splay across her front. I felt my face glowing red. 

The second-to-last act was a low-energy oddball, who made long grrrr noises as a run-up to his next line. He had to repeat some of his routine in the pickups, which he found awkward as they'd taken away his Terry Nutkins photo, presumably because they didn't have permission to use it.

And finally, on came the musical act with his guitar, after a false start because the instrument wasn't properly miked. On take two, he draws me into his conversation, asking what I had dreamed of becoming as a child, and then whether that dream came true. Cue a song, not involving anything I had said. Later, he asked what my name was and what I found most attractive about him. Cue awkward moment when my mind went blank. I stuttered, "Your height?" to which he took mock offence, before singing a song about his attractiveness, incorporating my suggestion dismissively.

During the interval, when the judges went off to deliberate their choice, two BBC officials descended on our table, presenting me with a release contract giving them permission to use me in the programme. Bad Man found this hilarious. 

I filled it in, signed it, and then stewed over all the better replies I could have given.  I was also approached by a comedy fan who tried to persuade me to attend a show at Oran Mor, handing me a flyer, suggesting that the ticket price could be reduced by using his name as a discount code. He was from Paisley too, but seemed out of his depth when I started discussing the Edinburgh Fringe shows I'd enjoyed. Strike one for comedy nerddom. 

After the interval, the judges announced the winner, not surprisingly, selecting Ayo Adenekan. He was the one I would have picked, too.

Then, there were the pickups, with Gareth having to remind the audience not to leave their seats, as the show was not yet finished. We got away just after 9pm. 

I still felt harried on the drive home, realising my ugly mug will end up on the iPlayer later this year. The BBC must have needed to tick off a few diversity boxes, such as old, straight, bald, fat, white and male. We're an underrepresented minority these days. 

Ticket Price: Free.

Chris McCausland "Yonks", Theatre Royal, Glasgow. Tuesday 23rd September, 2025.

Chris McCausland is a comedian who happens to be blind. He's naturally funny, telling stories ripe with humour from his life. He won 'Strictly' last year, dancing with Dianne Buswell. The nation took the pair to their hearts, thanks to their astounding choreography despite his disability, and their humorous social media posts. As Chris joked, someone had to tell him how the other dancers did so that he wouldn't clap enthusiastically if they did poorly. 

Tonight, on the back of that bump in public awareness, he packed out the Theatre Royal from top to bottom, something I doubt would have happened without that TV programme. He could tell we were a more senior audience, though, from our old laugh. 

No support act tonight. Chris performed both halves of the show, leaving us on a cliffhanger on his Ed Sheeran routine.  

Needless to say, Chris is not an animated comedian. He speaks at a considered pace, which helps smooth out his Liverpudlian accent. His blindness forms the core of his material. It provides his alternative perspective on events, elevating the most mundane, occasionally hack material into something more engaging. All the punchlines regarding his blindness raised a stronger laugh, be it Brian Connolly trying to convince him that the two of them should get their cocks out behind Ed Sheeran for the billion-strong TV audience at the Queen's Jubilee celebration or the doctor holding onto his scrotum longer than expected, waiting for Chris to comment on what was on the scanner screen.  

It's not unusual for a comedian to rib the BSL interpreter, making them sign rude words, but that service had been changed tonight to live captioning instead, with small screens on either side of the stage. Chris occasionally challenged the captioner with long words, relying on us to tell him how she did. I found the service helpful whenever I didn't pick up what Chris said, my eyes glancing to the screen to catch up. The funniest bit, though, was during his Audio-Described porn routine, where the captioner had to relay the sounds of Chris's impression of what he could hear. 

"glog, glog, glog, glog, glog, glog, glog". (I won't repeat the dialogue) 

Chris deserved his standing ovation, not that he could see it, which was just as well, as most of them were already making their way to the exit. How rude!

Ticket Price: 2 x £35.18 plus £3.50 Booking Fee = £74.31 from ATG Tickets

Breaking the News Turns 10, BBC Radio Recording, The Stand, Glasgow. Tuesday 23rd September, 2025

 

Host: Des Clarke.

Panellists: 

Stuart Mitchell 

Elaine Malcolmson

Mark Nelson

Jay Lafferty

My second visit to the new Stand in Glasgow, and this time there were surprises. 

The first surprise was that the BBC didn't know ticket validation had been advertised as starting at 11.30 am. They were not ready until their usual time, midday, by which time the queue was huge, stretching way along past the Kelvin Bridge. I leaned against the bridge wall, unaware of the writing on the brickwork, until my wife pointed out that I had chalk all over my jacket. The sun was unseasonably warm and bright. I was pleased when the BBC staffer moved us down the side street, though even that was too short to accommodate us.

In the end, over forty people were turned away, the event way oversubscribed. I suspect the BBC's ticketing department didn't realise The Stand has a lower seating capacity than Drygate. They certainly didn't comprehend that the Stand has a tiny footprint for places to wait. We managed to squeeze into a corner near the door, so we could hear when they called out the numbers for going in. Only that didn't happen. They called Accessibility forward first and then Purple stickers. We had purple stickers, numbers 175 and 176, so by the time we got in, the majority of the seats in the centre were already filled. We ended up on a hard pew at the side, near the entrance. 

I then realised two things:

1. The programme was being recorded for TV, not Radio, to be shown over the festive period, with multiple cameras set up to face the stage.

2. The room was far deeper than we'd experienced at Josie Long, double the depth of that event. 

The recording was brilliant. The comedians had a blast, providing answers which were hilarious but wouldn't make the edit. Des showed off his talent for mimicry, showcasing his impressions of The Donald, as well as George Galloway and Raymond Mearns. Mark Nelson cracked some hilarious jokes, such as "I've been inside a voting booth more often in the last ten years than I've been inside my wife." Stuart Mitchell had some dark humour lines, too. This is in relation to DJT's second state visit: "Usually, the only time Americans return to Scotland a second time is to get scattered."

The only downside to the recording was that it ran over by fifty minutes. By the time Des was recording his pick-ups at the end, many of the audience had decided to escape, causing a noise problem with chairs being scraped and footfalls on the steps. 

At the very end, the producer presented a candlelit caterpillar cake to Des, and we sang "Happy Birthday" to the show. 

On the journey home, intending to collect the dogs first from doggy daycare, I entered our destination incorrectly into the sat nav. Fortunately, crossing the Squinty Bridge, I noted that the journey time was showing 2 hours and 45 minutes, and I realised my mistake. I'd hit the Favourite button 12. Cruden Bay, instead of 13. Pawz & Co. The joys of a touchscreen. 

I'm pleased future recordings of the show are returning to Drygate. Fingers crossed my application for tickets is accepted.

Our view of the stage

Ticket Price: Free from BBC Tours and Shows

Eric Idle "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life LIVE!", SEC Armadillo, Glasgow. Saturday 20th September, 2025.

There was something joyous yet melancholic about this show. The stage was mostly bare, except for a couple of chairs and side tables with stands for sheet music and a guitar. A large screen at the back displayed the title of the event, while brass band music played gently over the PA. There was no merchandise for sale in the foyer, only a couple of banners directing people to The Eric Idle archive via a QR code (or splodge, as it was referred to).  

Eric Idle is quite open about why, at age 82, he is touring, and that is for the money. He even showed us the Monty Python song and dance sketch about Money. I suspect his relative destitution may have arisen due to the cost of his US medical treatment for pancreatic cancer, saving his life but not his bank balance. It's not for the John Cleese excuse, alimony, as Eric has been happily married for decades. 

Rather than spend money employing a band to tour with him, he recorded a virtual band—a trio of musicians—to accompany him on the frequent music numbers. Cheaper that way. Obviously, being a Python, he played with the device, appearing with them at one point when he should have been on stage, getting Mickey Dolenz to fill in, performing I'm a Believer with the band, while he 'rushed' back to join us. He also duetted with Puddles (of Puddle's Pity Party) on the Galaxy Song from Monty Python's The Meaning of Life. 

Essentially, the show was a trip down memory lane for Idle, recounting the standout moments from his life and career, the happy and the sad. He had cue cards tucked in his hands, though he rarely referred to them, except perhaps when he was sitting down waiting for a video clip to finish. He regaled us with showbiz tales, name-dropping frequently but in a matter-of-fact manner, as that was his life back in the day, where the Rolling Stones could pop round for a party while Carrie Fisher and Harrison Ford were staying with him, shooting The Empire Strikes Back. 

Python formed the backbone of the show, as it did his life. He felt so lucky to meet the future Goodies and Pythons during his first year at Uni, going on to perform in Edinburgh and in the West End, then on television and on stage in America, where Python was huge. Their film work brought them into contact with super-fan rock bands, such as Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, and Jethro Tull, who helped finance The Holy Grail, shot nearby at Doune. Thus, he dubbed his career 'Mock and Roll', where music and comedy became intertwined. 

His friendship with George Harrison saved The Life of Brian, as the Beatle mortgaged his home and studio to raise the £4.5 million needed to finance the movie after EMI dropped out due to script concerns. When asked why, George replied, "Because I wanted to see the movie". The most expensive cinema ticket in history, as Eric dubbed it. 

George and Eric were good friends, so Eric found it hard to write a eulogy for him, instead choosing to write a song for him, which he then performed at the funeral and sang again for us tonight over a montage of photos of them together. 

He had to do this again when Robin Williams died. Their lives had intersected many times, both personally and professionally, and it was a sad loss to lose such a comic genius in such a manner. Another photo montage, another melancholic song, another beautiful sendoff.

Not that everyone was treated with such respect. During the Aspen film festival, all five living Pythons were being interviewed by comedian Robert Klein. However, the absent Graham Chapman, absent on account of being dead, did not get to miss out as they'd brought him along in an urn, which Gilliam later 'accidentally' kicked over, knocking his ashes all over the stage. Cue chaos as everyone tried to sweep him back up again, escalating from brooms, to brushes and pans, then to a handheld vacuum cleaner, which their butler engaged.

Idle also covered his other major work, that of The Rutles, his parody of the Fab Four, filmed for NBC, thanks to Lorne Michaels, as they would supply him with a bigger budget than BBC2 could offer. 

Some of his script's jokes were telegraphed, overfamiliar, but I could forgive him for that. He had to say them. It was what the appreciative crowd wanted, and he met their expectations well. Some of the superfans would pump their fists in the air when they recognised a reference or relished the clip being shown. A young female nerd sitting nearby intrigued me with her encyclopedic knowledge of all things Python, as I eavesdropped on her regaling her friend with details I hadn't been aware of, such as how they interrupted each other's audiobooks for comic effect, just as they had on their soundtrack albums. Gavin Mitchell, Boaby from Still Game, was a couple of rows behind me.

I enjoyed seeing Eric's photographs the most. All the clips he played could have been tracked down elsewhere, but his snaps allowed us a deeper insight into his personal life, holidaying with George Harrison, filming with Robin Williams, and partying with the Star Wars actors. 

He brought mirth into many lives over his career. It was a pleasure to be allowed to share a couple of hours in his company. It's unlikely, given his age, that the event will be repeated. 

Spoiler: he finished with a massive fart.      

Ticket Price: £75.00
Per Item Fees £10.15 (Service Charge) x1 & £2.50 (Facility Charge) x1 = £12.65
Handling Fee £2.50
Total £90.15 from Ticketmaster.

CANCELLED Tom Davis & Friends, Paisley Town Hall. Friday 19th September, 2025

This was the email I received informing me that the event had been cancelled:

Due to unforeseen circumstances, this event on Friday, 19th September 2025, at Paisley Town Hall has been cancelled.

It’s hoped that the show can be rescheduled at some time in the future. We will be in touch to let you know if that happens. We apologise for any disappointment.

Ticket Price: 2 x  £25 plus £5 fees = £55 from One Ren. 

FULLY REFUNDED inc Fees.

Bloody Scotland 2025

Bloody Scotland: the premier Scottish Crime Writing Festival, where the world's best crime writers share the spotlight with the up-and-coming (and those who are on their way to becoming up-and-coming). I'm not a regular attendee, but as my pal, Belinda Bauer, was travelling up for a panel, I made the effort, along with a few of my friends.

I loved the title of my first event, though my attendance was a surprise as I hadn't purchased a ticket for it. Unfortunately, Janet Laugharne had fallen ill, and our mutual friend, Jacqueline Harrett, texted me early in the morning asking if I wanted to use the now-spare ticket. I made it to the Golden Lion Hotel with seconds to spare, somewhat out of breath, the pacy walk from the cinema car park to the hotel having been a challenge. Jacqui and I had missed the crowd going in, so we sat near the back. I spotted my friend, Bruce, with his partner, Doris, over at the side and gave him the book parcel he'd asked me to bring. Two authors/bloggers, Sharon Bairden and Noelle Holten, sat in the row behind.

I wasn't familiar with the works of the authors on this panel, but I still found their enthusiasm for their leading ladies and historical fiction fascinating. Agent Jenny Brown chaired the panel with a deft touch, asking intelligent questions and ensuring everyone shared the available time. The audience questions ran over slightly, so afterwards, I said my goodbyes to Jacqui, arranged to meet her later and dashed off.

Having ignored the grumblings of my bladder prior to going in, the pain was now more pressing. My next event started in less than thirty minutes, but I made time to relieve myself before making the journey over to the Albert Halls. Chris Brookmyre had the same need, too. I didn't ask for his autograph. It wasn't appropriate, and there wasn't time.    

With twenty minutes before showtime, the queue outside the Albert Halls stretched all the way up the hill. 

I had noted in the previous panel the ease with which the bloggers had taken photos, sitting in the back row, so I decided to adopt that policy with this one. The hall was already two-thirds full by the time I got in, so the decision worked out well. I ended up with no one sitting directly on either side of me. 

The larger events at Bloody Scotland give over a few minutes at the start of each session to introduce a debut author, under the 'Crime in the Spotlight' banner, sponsored by The Open University. This time, it was the turn of Laurie Courtie, a multi-award-winning bridal hairstylist turned psychological thriller author from Motherwell. She did a great job reading a short extract from her novel, The Life She Stole. 

This panel was slightly different as it didn't have a moderator. It was a conversation between old friends Mick Herron and Nick Harkaway, whom I had never heard of, but who turned out to be the son of John Le Carré, author of the George Smiley spy novels. The pair's chat was warm, relaxed and jovial. Mick read an extract from his new book, Clown Town, the latest in the Slough House series, and the dialogue was hilarious. 

I really enjoyed listening to these guys. They both were funny, though Mick more so. He has a finely tuned sense of the absurd. When asked if he thought there was anything better about the TV series than the books, he immediately replied, "The theme tune". When asked to consider his influences as a child, he stated "The Wind in the Willows", though, as a spy novel, it didn't work as it revealed the Mole too early. 

Ticket price: £12

After this panel, I caught up with Jacqui for a refreshment. We'd first met on a writing course in 2022 at Ty Newydd, where Belinda Bauer and Sharon Bolton were the tutors. We'd kept in touch via the students' WhatsApp group, sharing successes and frustrations with one another. The catch-up was great, as it allowed me to voice aspects of my work in person and receive support, encouragement and advice from an established author.

Then I drove home to walk the dogs, before heading back to Stirling later that evening for dinner.

I had been due to attend the "Dealing with Crime" panel at 7 pm, but AA Dhand withdrew, so I requested a refund as it was really him I had wanted to meet (again) - no disrespect intended to the other authors. Our last encounter was a car crash for me when I became tongue-tied, forgetting the vital information aspect of my question, leading to much confusion over what I was trying to ask. I slinked off quickly with his autograph, cursing my brain, feeling muchly embarrassed.

Fortunately, his withdrawal freed me to arrange dinner at The Maharaja with Jacqui, Jan, and Belinda (Jan took a rain check as she was still too sore to come along, her hip giving her serious jip). 

I'd booked the restaurant for 6.30 pm, using a website I was unfamiliar with. This made me nervous in case the booking had failed. I didn't want to let my guests down. Belinda picked up on this immediately, wondering what was wrong. My fears were compounded when the waiter asked us to wait, although it turned out they did have the reservation. Ten minutes later, we were led to our table, and I began to relax. 

The company was terrific. The only downside was the loudness of the busy restaurant. I feared for Belinda's voice, knowing that she had historically had problems with it, and was due to be on stage for an hour the following day. She reassured me her voice would be fine. 

While we ate, Belinda's publicist arrived to pick up a takeaway, accidentally knocking the table next to ours with her bag as she greeted Bel. The locals sat at it were not slow to voice their disapproval. 

Later, I spotted the restaurant staff pushing tables together for a large party, who turned out to be the Criminati of Bloody Scotland: Mark Billingham, Luca Veste, Mick Herron, Chris Brookmyre and his wife, Marisa Haetzman, and others I didn't recognise. I always turn into a fanboy at the Edinburgh Fringe when I spot comedians, and this was no different. I had hoped the waiter would snap them in the background when he took our picture, but it wasn't to be.

Belinda kindly signed my copy of her book, so I wouldn't have to queue the next day.

Jacqui and I agreed to meet early on Sunday to queue for Belinda's panel in order to snag a spot in the front row (Jan was still too frail to come along). We were seventh and eighth respectively in the queue, so close to the front we were standing inside the venue, beside the cafe entrance, opposite the box office. A few minutes before we were due to be admitted, I took out my printed ticket and realised I'd brought the Mick Herron one by mistake. I searched back my emails but couldn't find the one with the barcodes, just the confirmation, so I jumped over to the box office and waited for the person in front to be served. Time ticked away. The customer's requirements were complex. It took so long, Jacqui texted me to say she'd keep me a seat. Just in time, before the doors opened, I got served, and the efficient Bloody Scotland team member resent the email with my ticket.

We got our spot in the front row. 

As before, a debut author got three minutes at the start to present her work. This time, it was Allison Meldrum, who read us a passage from her latest unpublished work. The hook, ending with a future diary entry marking the date of the protagonist's fiancé's murder, wowed the crowd. 

Chairing this panel was New Zealander Craig Sisterson. A renowned journalist, author and crime fiction reviewer, Craig showed off his knowledge with lengthy introductions to his questions. All very interesting, but we'd like to hear from the authors, please. I'm being a little unfair. The panel went well, but he only left time for two questions at the end before the techie told him time was up. Elly and Belinda were both entertaining and insightful.

I'm not sure why Elly looks so glum.

I only took a few photos, preferring to listen rather than snap (good word for a book title), but I was glad we sat on the right-hand side; otherwise, Belinda's choice of dress would have resulted in me being charged with upskirting. Good footballing legs, though.

Ticket price: £12 

Afterwards, I walked Jacqui back to the hotel, after she'd purchased a walking pole for Jan. It was such a shame for Jan to travel so far, spend a small fortune, and then damage a ligament, missing the entire festival. Once they were safely on their way to the airport by taxi, I returned to the Albert Halls to wait for my other friends, who were at the Adam Kay talk. As the audience departed, I spotted Sir Ian Rankin walking past, clutching two large boxes, one under each arm. I smiled, but he offered no response. He must get that a lot, being so famous.

Bruce, Doris, and I then went for a slap-up meal at The Birds and Bees Restaurant on the outskirts of Stirling - the food was fantastic, and it was good hearing about all the other panels I hadn't attended (they had festival passes). 

Thank you, Bruce, for paying. My turn next time.

Josie Long "Now is the Time of Monsters", The Stand, Glasgow. Thursday 11th September, 2025

Tonight I was excited because this was my first visit to the new Glasgow Stand. I loved the old venue. I have many fond memories of the time I spent there. It wasn't perfect: the stage was small, some viewing angles were questionable, and if you didn't arrive early enough, you could end up standing for the entire night. The atmosphere in the room, though, was intimate and electric. Everything about it was designed for comedy. The ceiling was low, the sound was crystal clear, and the bar even closed during the comedian's sets. The new place had big boots to fill.

We braved the new roadwork restrictions on the M8 to drive in, aiming to park at the Kelvinbridge Subway Park and Ride. I've never used it before (at the old venue, I'd always found somewhere free to park, even if it meant a bit of a walk), but given the likelihood of heavy showers, I decided this time to pay. Plus, my wife gets irritated if we end up miles from the venue.

We arrived at 7pm when the doors were due to open. I was disappointed that the chalkboard outside the venue displayed generic information about the venue rather than advertising tonight's show. It always felt more personal when they made the effort to promote the night's show in that way.  

Nothing about Josie's show on this side of the board.

Or on the other side, either.

The house wasn't ready, so we had to wait in the tiny, narrow bar where all the seats were already taken. Yep, while we waited, we had to stand at the Stand. There was nowhere appropriate to queue, so we bought some drinks and hovered against the old church doors, trying not to get in the way of the other people waiting at the bar.  We watched group after group arrive, winding their way through the crowd, then disappearing through the back, only to reappear a minute later looking sheepish. Thirty minutes later, a staff member announced that the house doors were now open. 

The bar

The room felt spacious with a high ceiling, sitting just above the level of the curtained-off balcony, which was not in use. The familiar round tables from the old Stand had been set up in front of the wide stage, taking up about half of the seating area. Behind that sat row upon row of chairs, with bench-style padded seating at the very back. There was another small bar located opposite the doors. The sightlines to the raised stage were good. Josie's backdrop seemed huge. The old place wouldn't have had the height to accommodate it. We sat in the middle of the first row behind the tables.

In the corridor, finally queuing to get in.

The view of the stage from our seats

I visited the loo before the room got too busy. They still smelled of paint, and the advertising frames were bare. Even though the place has been open for less than a week, there was already graffiti on the back of the door. 

Josie did twenty-five minutes in the first half, setting us up for her proper show after the interval. A party of Americans in the front row distracted her by talking when she came on. Despite it not being her vibe, she shut them down, making it clear this wasn't a conversation. Then she talked to them, explaining that this preamble wasn't the show. That would start after the interval and would last seventy minutes, sixty-eight if we were good. This bit was just her playing, serving up her thoughts and some prepared material, having fun, letting us know who she is, in case we didn't know.

The show's title is taken from a quote by Italian Marxist philosopher Antonio Gramsci, written while he was imprisoned by Mussolini's fascist regime in the 1930s. Gramsci had observed that the established ruling order was losing its capacity to lead, and the masses were drifting away from traditional ideologies. Portentous or what!

This she tied in with actual monsters, prehistoric ones that looked completely different to how we'd imagined them, not just because of her poor artwork. Then she threaded in some political thoughts about today's monsters, those in power who don't stand up for their beliefs or worse, allow others to dictate the agenda. Over the course of the show, she revealed she'd split from her partner and father of her two kids, confessing that she felt like the monster, the one who'd destroyed her children's lives by falling out of love with their father. 

While this was the overarching theme, the set did include some playful material and concluded on an upbeat note about choosing how we view the future. All in all, another typical Josie Long show: Lefty, but optimistic.

Yet I felt it didn't land. Laughter erupted in pockets, rather than rolling across the audience. A few superfans cheered and clapped disproportionately loudly, creating an odd atmosphere where it appeared the jokes were operating on a level I didn't understand. Maybe it was the room dynamics that interfered with the mirth. Whereas at the old Stand, the comedian was pretty much rooted to the spot, this stage was wide, so Josie had to race from side to side, expounding her material. Maybe I'm just lamenting the loss of the old venue. Regardless, we left feeling underwhelmed. 

Then there was the car park fiasco...

The only pay machine I could see was at the exit barrier, implying you pay as you leave. I rolled up to the barrier, ticket and credit card in hand, lowered the window and stretched out to insert the ticket. Only it was dark and parts of the machine were in shadow, so I couldn't see exactly where to put it. I must have found the right place because the machine was now waiting for payment. I tapped my credit card against the contactless panel and... nothing happened. I then noticed the tiny digital display now read Insert Card. I loosened my seatbelt so I could put my credit card into the slot and then tried to enter my PIN number, only it was too dark to see the numbers, so my first attempt was incorrect and was declined. I'd missed that there was another row of buttons at the top. I couldn't reach them from inside the car, though, so I had to unbuckle my seatbelt and step out of the vehicle. Illuminating the panel with my phone's torch, my second attempt at typing in my PIN worked. Immediately, the barrier lifted, leaving me flustered outside the car with my torch light still on, my credit card, wallet, phone and ticket still in my hand. I jumped back in the car and drove through, then stopped to sort myself out. Thankfully, there was no one behind me to witness such a rigmarole. 

The drive home was just as uncomfortable, with my sat nav telling me to avoid the M8, then a taxi driver racing to undertake me on Canal Street before slamming on his brakes as he pulled in front of me, the traffic in front of him observing the speed limit. It felt strange to return from a comedy gig feeling more stressed than when I left. 

Ticket Price: 2 x £22 plus £1.60 booking fee = £45.60 from The Stand.