Kiri Pritchard-McLean "Peacock", Oran Mor, Glasgow. Sunday 8th September, 2024.

I do not like Oran Mor. As a venue, it's seating sucks. They are too small, too close together and are very uncomfortable. Fidgeting is compulsory unless you don't mind getting bed sores on your bum. Tonight was no different, even though this was my first time in the upstairs venue.

I arrived early, not knowing how early. There was an ambiguity. The ticket stated 7.30pm, and the website said 6.30pm, neither making it clear if the indicated time was for doors opening or showtime. I arrived at 6.15pm to be safe. This is what I saw.

No queue

It turns out, though, that I was at the wrong door. I should have been standing here.

Still no queue

By 6.30pm, a few people had gathered, and we all traipsed up the winding stone stairs. The venue was beautifully laid out, with rows of the aforementioned torture devices. I selected a seat in the third row, fourth from the middle aisle. I wanted to sit at an angle in case the person in front had a tall upper body, a massive perm, or had come in a full Marge Simpson costume. This was a Kiri Pritchard-Mclean gig. Anything was possible. 

The front row filled up, as did many others further back, but there were empty seats to my left and right. An overweight woman forthrightly asked me if the seats were taken. I said no, and she plopped herself down right beside me despite there being a more appropriate choice one further over. She had a drink in one hand and a coat over her other arm, a heavy bag slung over her shoulder. She couldn't get comfortable. I got the impression that she thought this was my fault as I did not budge over to allow her the space she required. 

She got up and moved to the row in front. Shifting the seat back four inches to give herself more legroom (eating into my row), she placed her bag and coat on the seat in front of me. She reclined, crossing her leg over her knee, her white flat-soled trainers revealing a partial tattoo on her inner left foot. She finished her drink and then took out a hardback book, "The Best Way to Bury Your Husband" by Alexia Casale, which she read for a time.  

I detect that the music playing is all by female-fronted Welsh artists, such as Duffy, Catatonia, Marina and the Diamonds, and The Joy Formidable. Then, I hear Propellerheads. Are they Welsh, I wonder? I look it up. They are from Bath. Then Shirley Bassey appeared on vocals, and I realised no mistake had occurred. 

We're nearly at showtime, and the woman in front decides to get up. She places the open book face down on her seat and covers it with her jacket. She tells the people beside her not to let anyone take her seat. It's a bold move this close to the start. Is it deliberate, I ask myself, but she returns with another drink before Kiri begins. Settling in again, she pulls forward the chair again so it is in line with the one beside. 

Kiri performs her own warmup for about ten minutes to ease her nerves, she says, because she really wants to nail her show right from the off. She's very proud of it. Then she introduces her support act, Ruth Hunter, a bisexual Dubliner living in Glasgow, who also happens to be six months pregnant. I'm not her demographic, but she did have some lines I found funny.

Then, after an interval, Kiri returns to the stage, now attired in her Peacock jumpsuit, like a Welsh Elvis but with more sequins. As she starts her show—about fostering—I find the man behind me has a laugh so strong I can feel it on the back of my neck. And I don't just mean from the spray coming from his wet mouth. His guffaws are like a cold, repetitive draught. I lean forward, wishing I'd worn a scarf. Don't get me started on the volume of his clapping.   

The show itself is funny, heartfelt, and wicked. Kiri's journey to become a foster parent deserves to be a sitcom, one that could break your heart as much as split your sides. It opened my eyes to the possibility of becoming a non-biological parent.  An idea I quickly shut down and thought, Don't be a silly fecker. You're about to retire. You don't need the stress, regardless of how rewarding fostering might be emotionally and financially. The show itself would have benefitted from being held in a more intimate venue, like The Stand. The high ceiling did somewhat suck away the sound.  

At the end of the show, Kiri indicated she would wait behind to meet anyone who wanted a photo or a chat. I decided against it. I'd been picking up Baby Reindeer vibes from the girl in front after her empty cup fell onto the floor, and she turned around and smiled at me. I did not want to engage with her in any shape or form. You can see how far back her seating position was by the end of the show. 

The space between our rows at the end

Instead, I headed for the car and made my getaway. If she turns up at my place of business and requests a 'private consultation', I'll demand a witness chaperone. Fortunately, I don't have a bus stop within viewing distance of my home. Such is the power of television on my imagination.  

On the way back, I listened to Scarlet Rebels' new album, 'Where the Colours Meet'. It seemed appropriate, given their country of origin.

Ticket Price: £16 plus £2 service fee = £18 from Ticketweb.

The Karma Effect, "Promised Land" Tour, Garage Attic, Glasgow. Thursday 5th September, 2024

After a busy, short-staffed day at work, I wasn't sure how much energy I'd have left for this gig. I quickly munched down my Greggs Mexican Chicken Oval Bite and glugged half a 500ml bottle of Coke Zero, then headed out to join the others who had gathered at The Hengler's Circus, a Wetherspoons pub near the venue. There, I managed to finish off a whole can of Irn Bru (at a fantastically cheap price of only £1.67), restoring my wakefulness for the night ahead.

I had a ticket, an actual paper ticket, so the bouncers waved me in. There are a lot of stairs up to the Attic at The Garage, but my lungs and knees managed it without too much distress. The venue is tiny, only holding a hundred and fifty punters, and it was already busy, with the first band, Battalion of Flies, nearing the end of their set. The sound of BoF is reasonably riff-heavy, which I liked for the short time I heard them. 

Gaps in the audience appeared after they finished, punters heading to the bar or toilet, so we snuck in near the front (or, in Trish's case, at the front). Initially, I felt uncomfortable going so far forward in front of others, but that feeling didn't last long. One of the benefits of being in the company of friends who are already tipsy and don't care.

Austin Gold was a revelation. They had great vocals, tight playing, and proper rock music. They finished with a song that reminded me of Foo Fighters, so that was a big win for me.

Two short young girls slipped in front of us before The Karma Effect took the stage. One was outstandingly gorgeous in a Gemma Arterton way. She was rocking a Tomb Raider vibe with a white Lara Croft vest top and tight trousers, her long brown hair clipped up at the back so it fell over her bare shoulders. There was a risk the rest of this blog would have been about her if I hadn't managed to remember I was here to see The Karma Effect and not to be a perv.

When I saw the band at Maid of Stone, I was unsure about the singer's voice. It was raspy in an end-of-tour tired kind of way, struggling to find power in the upper range. Tonight was similar. It's just how he sings. The big difference, though, was that the sound was so much better here. Their parallels with the musical stylings of Aerosmith were more apparent, too, with the band's walk-on song being Heart's Done Time.

The band had a new keyboard player who coolly rocked at the side in his black fedora and sunglasses. The other young girl seemed totally obsessed with him, shooting videos of him to the exclusion of the rest of the band. Which struck me as odd. At one point, her attractive pal started filming one song, turning the phone from portrait to landscape during the performance. My heart sank. This was how I ruined my recording of one of the Those Damn Crows songs at Maid of Stone. I wanted to point out her mistake but resisted. It was inappropriate and too late. The damage was done.   

Trish had a fantastic time down the front, dancing away, wheeling her frizzy perm in big circles. My mates kept disappearing to the bar, returning with more drinks for themselves and her, which she protested about but still accepted. She was very merry by the end of the night. I usually find someone from the audience to complain about, and tonight, it was them. They were the night's irritation, chatting and carrying on while the band played. That's alcohol for you. On the plus side, they had no qualms about suggesting to Trish she snag the paper setlists from the stage for me. Which she did.

Austin Gold's setlist

The Karma Effect's setlist

After the show, Trish commandeered Liam Quinn, their bassist, to record a cameo for her pal Kerry, who could not attend. It was nice of him to agree. Pity the background noise was so loud.

The two young girls were talking to the keyboard player. After he left, Trish went up to hug them, having bonded with them during the show. This opened an avenue for Bob to start a conversation as is his wont with a drink in him. The keyboard player was the other girl's boyfriend. The one in the Tomb Raider top was originally from London, though she now lived in Glasgow, having moved here ten years ago for work. Christ, I thought. She's in her mid-twenties. 

Anyway, I chipped into the conversation about the problem she would have with her video and recommended she try PowerPoint to switch the orientation to fix it. She looked at me like I was speaking Martian but thanked me for the suggestion. Afterwards, I realised I'd tried to mansplain how she'd used her phone wrong. Well done, idiot! This is why I don't talk to strangers. At least my friends know what I'm like. 

Ticket Price: £12 plus per item fee £2, Processing Fee £1.50, Delivery £2 = £17.50 from Ticketmaster.

Testify

The Promised Land

Bit of an angle on this 

Battalion of Flies

Austin Gold

The Karma Effect

Merch - signed photo £5 
(with the old keyboard player - doh!)

Edinburgh Fringe: Trip Three - Mark Simmons, Anna Akana, Ania Magliano & Jordan Brookes. Saturday 24th August, 2024

This was my final visit to the Fringe for 2024. The wind was blustery, but otherwise, it stayed dry, if a little chilly.

As we joined the M8, my sat nav sounded like she was trying to justify her subscription with regular "Recalculating route now" messages. It's a straight road, I thought—how can there be a faster way to Edinburgh? It turns out she did know best, as there was a car crash at Junction 2, so we only made it as far as Livingston before she directed me to leave the motorway and crawl in via the A8 instead. 

This wouldn't have mattered, except I wanted to see Mark Simmons. His show was unticketed, so there was no guarantee of getting in. I was well aware that often, many got turned away once the room was full. He had also just won Best Joke of the Fringe (I was going to sail around the globe in the world’s smallest ship, but I bottled it), and it was his last show, so I knew we needed to get there early. I also wasn't exactly sure where the venue was, which fretted me more.  

Mark Simmons - More Jokes

Description (from Ed Fringe website)

More jokes from the UK Comics' Comic Best Act winner Mark Simmons (Mock The Week), whilst taking a break from his sold-out national tour. If you like one-liners, this is the show for you.

The queue at the venue was long. We didn't even reach the open area initially, only making it as far as the narrow access corridor. With no stewards to speak to, we waited, with me feeling nervous that we had arrived too late despite there being half an hour before showtime. The din of people chatting bugged me. When I heard someone in authority shouting something about the shows, I couldn't make him out, so I snapped at the loud young girl behind me, telling her to shush. She did, visibly recoiling, making me feel both assertive and rude. I still didn't hear what he'd said. Then, the queue began to move. Only it wasn't for Mark. This queue was waiting for a magic show. Mark's queue was expected to form along the side wall, then around the bar area. How was I supposed to know that? Uncharacteristically for me, we skipped through the seating area and joined the queue at the midpoint, my wife edging further into it as time passed. We weren't alone in doing this. It was chaotic.

Fortunately, we were among the lucky two hundred who made it in (Mark later posted an apology to the two hundred others who were turned away).           

The show itself was billed as a work in progress, so Mark had his clipboard listing his jokes, which he ticked off to what extent they'd worked as we went along. He is a master jokesmith, crafting the wording and delivery until he achieves perfection. He even detailed how one joke worked better than in its previous iteration, explaining how the difference in expression altered it for the better. For a comedy geek like me, this was pure gold.

The jokes all worked. He did his hobby schtick with the front row, where they say a hobby, and he tells them a joke about it. I'd heard a couple of the subjects and resultant jokes before, but they were still good. One call for an example of a drink from the audience failed, though. Usually, everyone shouts out so noisily he can choose 'Coffee' and deliver his joke. Today, only one person shouted out, saying 'Irn Bru'. Mark squirmed. He didn't have a joke primed for that. So, instead, he explained how the bit usually went and did his coffee joke anyway.

After the show, as we shuffled towards the exit, where Mark awaited us with his bucket and card reader, the lady behind me 'glassed' me. Not deliberately, and no harm was caused. She'd put one glass into another, and the outer one shattered, sending shards down the back of my jacket and trousers. I didn't dare risk frisking myself in fear of cutting my hands, so I let my wife conduct the inspection, removing the one piece of glass that had stuck.

Afterwards, we headed in the direction of our next free fringe show, Olaf Falafel.

We didn't make it. The lure of ice cream from Alandas Gelato proved too strong. We sat eating it on a nearby bench and watched the crowds pass by. I noticed Ian Stone, a comic veteran I'd seen decades ago at the Comedy Store, wandering by, trying to entice people to see his show. He passed out flyers to those willing to take one. I felt sad for him, but he seemed happy enough. I didn't take his picture, though.

We then went over to The Foodie's Bistro for an early dinner. It was the right choice, as the service and food were fantastic. We didn't have time for dessert, though they looked delicious, as I wanted to be on time for the next show.

Anna Akana - It Gets Darker

Description (from Ed Fringe website)

After performing stand-up for over a decade, a stalking incident forced Anna into retirement for six years. She's back – armed with a restraining order and a plethora of new stories to tell. Anna Akana is a comedian, actress and writer. Her YouTube channel has a following of over 2.8 million subscribers, where she tackles a variety of mental health-focused comedy content. She can be seen in Marvel's Ant-Man, Comedy Central's Corporate, Netflix's Jupiter's Legacy and the Emmy-nominated YouTube RED series she also executive produced, Youth & Consequences.

In my typical fashion, we arrived early. There wasn't even a queue. We waited until a few others started one, then joined them. 

This show was a punt. I knew nothing about Anna beforehand, except what I'd read on the Fringe website (see above). Her comic credentials seemed valid, and I love a dark show, so I picked this one over the timeslot competition.

Despite the show being billed as 'dark,' Anna has such a sweet nature that you instantly fall for her. Her jokes are delivered with a twinkle in her eye, reassuring us she is okay, regardless of the harrowing story she is telling us. She admitted that this run at Edinburgh was intended to hone the work prior to a Netflix pitch, hoping it would become the next Baby Reindeer. Having now seen this show, I can see why.  She has a lot of good material to work with beyond just the story of her murderous stalker. She's got a crazy mother who delights in sampling exotic animals and a military father who went to fight in Ukraine rather than honour a promise to her mother to move to the Philipines. Then there's also the story of her sister's suicide, aged fourteen.  

Lots of LOLs, obviously. I enjoyed this show immensely. 

Ania Magliano - Forgive Me, Father

Description (From Ed Fringe website)

You know when you're trying to wee on a night out, and you're interrupted by a random girl who insists on telling you all her secrets even though you've never met? Imagine that, but she has a microphone. After two critically acclaimed, sell-out runs, Edinburgh Comedy Award Best Show 2023 nominee Ania Magliano returns to Fringe.

We saw Ania on her debut tour earlier this year. I was blown away by how funny and clever she was, despite her young age, so it was an easy choice to select this one. Ania is the epitome of the 'All about me, GenZ', but we love her for it because she owns it. 

We got lucky with our seats despite being near the end of the queue, snagging two on the aisle in the third row. This show starts with Ania discussing her Instagram stalking of her boyfriend's ex. He went out with her for eight years, which is too long, she says, and she needed to understand why. There's one superb punchline, which I won't spoil, about the moment her boyfriend tells her his ex has moved to France. She weaves celebrity divorces with family and blames her coil for everything that's going wrong with her relationship with her boyfriend, Will. It all ties up neatly at the end (unlike her coil strings). 

I loved the way she threw in a bit for the boys before discussing her gynaecological doctor's appointments. It was both a funny technique and a clever callback. Such a good show! 

Afterwards, Ania sold her tote bag merchandise outside the venue, but despite having time, I couldn't bring myself to chat with her. One day, I'll overcome my innate shyness.

Jordan Brookes - Fontanelle

Description (from Ed Fringe website)

I recently had a near-death experience. I was on stage at a mental health charity fundraiser and thought the black walls were made of soft material. I turned to the audience, cheerfully asked 'may I?' and head-butted it. Turns out, it was solid concrete. The noise my skull made echoed around the room. I spent the next few days waiting to die. This show is loosely inspired by that.

I was supposed to see Jordan Brookes' last tour but caught Covid and couldn't go. He's a previous Edinburgh Award winner, so I took a measured punt with his new show.

Initially, I couldn't find the Queen Dome within the Pleasance Dome and had to ask at the box office where it was while my wife waited in the queue that had formed inside the main door (which, it turned out, was for the King Dome). To my surprise, as we arrived at the venue doors, Jordan was first in line, talking to a couple of fans. I became starstruck again and, rather than try to chat with him, found somewhere nearby to sit. I'm sure he's delightful. Though, on the basis of this show, maybe not.  

The fontanelle is the space between the bones of the skull in an infant or fetus, which, if struck, can cause death. It usually fuses closed by the age of three. I expected the show to be about his near-death experience, as mentioned in the show description, but it wasn't. Well, not just that. What we did get was a lot of information about the Titanic, 9/11 and his discovery, aged thirty-eight, that sticking things up your bum hole is highly pleasurable, and not in a gay way. There were also inappropriately small props and numerous musical interludes, including a showstopping finale - in the middle of the show.  

As you might imagine from this description, his work defies expectations. It's physical, informative, challenging, confrontational (in an apologetic manner), and quirky. During the show, he reclines on the stairs, sits amongst the audience, chats with them, berates one for being sleepy and another for folding his arms, keeping us on edge. He breaks into song, then stops just as quickly. There are a couple of big surprises woven into the narrative, which I won't spoil.

It was weird and funny (butt funny, you might say), though he didn't convince me to stick anything up my bum, not even if it was shaped like a vagina. 

A short, foreign-looking, bearded chap in a baseball cap and layers of clothes sat in the front row. He seemed sleepy, closing his eyes as he rested his head on his hand. When Jordan noticed (and how could he not), he offered the lad the opportunity to leave. The chap declined and then snoozed some more. I have no idea what was in his water bottle, but from his droopy eyes, I suspect it was Benylin Original. Comedian Jin Hao Li was also in the audience. 

On the tram journey back to the Ingliston Park and Ride, we were 'treated' to a work in progress from an inebriated, thirtyish Liverpudlian with foppish brown hair and a thin beard. With one leg crossed over the other, he reclined in his seat, his shorts revealing bare legs and absent socks (unless he wore No Show ones) and belted out the first line of his opus, "En-gel-and and Scot-a-land". He repeated the phrase over and over, at high volume, as if practising until he got it right. He then moved on to "Everywhere We Go" before progressing to the whole football chant about Bob Paisley and Bill Shankly because "We are fucking scousers, alli, alli, alli".

He fell asleep before we reached the Park and Ride.

The trip home from there was a traffic nightmare as thousands of Catfish and the Bottlemen fans flooded the area. Cars blocked every siding and grass verge as parents waited to collect their children. Roadworks closed one lane of the A8 access road, causing a massive bumper-to-bumper tailback. Further on, when we finally got moving, streams of young lassies with bare legs and trailing lads played dodge the traffic as they crossed over the road. It was like an episode of The Walking Dead at one point as a horde of fans stumbled down an embankment at the start of the M8, determined to reach the pavement on the other side. Nuts!

We got home at midnight, even though the last show finished at 9:30 p.m. It was worth it, though. Another fine Edinburgh done! 

Ticket Price:

Mark Simmons £10 donation each

Anna Akana £13 each

Ania Magliano £16 each

Jordan Brookes £16.50 each

Edinburgh Fringe: Trip Two - Adele Cliff, Paul Merton & Suki Webster's Impro Show, Riki Lindhome, Paul Foot. Saturday 17th August, 2024

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.

 

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.

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.

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. 

Paul Foot: Dissolve

I'd never been a fan of Paul Foot's work before, finding him peculiar and unfunny. He was an acquired taste I'd yet to acquire. But his show Dissolve won many five-star accolades last year and promised to explain the secret to happiness, so it was worth a punt.

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.

    

Ticket Price
Adele Cliff £5 each

PM&SWIS £20 each

Riki Lindhome £15 each

Paul Foot £16 each

Boo! (I hope she's alright)

Yay!

Edinburgh Fringe: Trip One - Melanie Bracewell, Jin Hao Li & Elf Lyons. Monday 5th August, 2024

Our first trip to this year's Edinburgh Fringe was nearly derailed by industrial action. Our train would have brought us back to Glasgow, but because of the revised timetable, we would have missed the last one back to Johnstone. So, plan B involved a drive to the Ingleston Park and Ride and then taking the tram into the city. This was the cheapest option (other than risking a parking ticket). 

As we left Paisley, the weather was wet and drizzly, and it only got wetter. The sat nav took us to Silverburn to join the M74 and then bypassed the M8, continuing on until we reached the M73, only later joining the M8. By then, the surface water was horrendous, and every flare of brake lights in front of me triggered a pedal slam from me, too, because I couldn't see what lay beyond. Eventually, the rain thinned, and the clouds lightened, so by the time we reached the Park and Ride, it was dry. And warm. Seriously warm. I had three layers on, two of which were unnecessary. We bought the tram tickets at the machine (the kiosk closed at 3.30pm, though the assistant was still sitting there scrolling on her phone). 

The tram trip was way more relaxing than the drive. However, travelling on a 'train on the road' did feel a bit weird, passing shops and pedestrians instead of railway embarkments and the backs of buildings. We got off at St Andrew's Square and made our way to the Pleasance, the venue for all of today's shows.

Apart from the unexpected heat, the first thing that struck me was the number of names on the show listing boards that I'd never heard of. I used to think I was quite comedy-savvy, but I had no clue who most of these people were. It also felt quieter, but then I remembered it was Monday. 

The benches in the Courtyard are a good place to people-watch. We noticed Alan Davies, Nina Conti, and Chloe Petts passing by. I also noticed that the number of young women not wearing bras seems to have shot up since I was a young lad. This is a fashion statement I applaud, but I didn't know where to look. So perhaps I missed other celebrities wandering by as I distracted myself on my phone, trying to avoid a dirty look or slap (from them and my wife). 

Melanie Bracewell - Attack of the Melanie Bracewell
17.50 Baby Grand, Pleasance Courtyard 

The first show we took was at the Baby Grand. This venue is located in an alley outside the courtyard, accessed further down the road. It's essentially a very hot container box with power, seats, and lighting.  Earlier that day, I'd received an email from Fringe Customer Services warning me that the show description for Melanie Bracewell's "Attack of the Melanie Bracewell" had changed, now including 'Swearing, Adult Content and Mild Audience Participation'. 

Melanie is a story-telling comedian from New Zealand (friends with Urzilla Carlson, it turns out, as she made a couple of guest appearances on video). This show's story is about Melanie's need to recover her missing earpods, which she believes have been stolen. As you'd expect from any hour-long show, it's not a simple tale, with lots of twists and turns. The humour is likeable, with most of the craft coming from the structure rather than the wordplay. 

It was okay. A pleasant appetizer.

Ticket Price: £12 (2for1)

Jin Hao Li - Swimming in a Submarine
19.10 Below, Pleasance Courtyard.

This is Jin Hao Li's debut hour at Edinburgh. He's Chinese-born, Singapore-raised, and educated at St Andrews (or Standrews, as he called it). He first came to my attention at the BBC New Comedy Awards in 2023. I loved his softly spoken wordplay, creatively using pauses for misdirection. His surreal vision was engaging. I had high expectations for this show.   

Which, unfortunately, it didn't meet. 

It still felt like a work in progress. It was good, but some bits missed the mark. A good director could shape this into something better, as the writing is brilliant, and his audience control is fantastic. He can still save it, but for me, it didn't quite hit the top marks I was expecting.

He did make my wife jump, though, during his bit about ghosts. That was a first. I used to think she lacked an autonomic nervous system as she never falls for any jump scares in the movies, whereas I always do.

Ticket Price: £12 (2for1) 

Elf Lyons - Horses
21.20, Above, Pleasance Courtyard
2for1 £15

Elf Lyons is a performer I've wanted to see in person for a long time. I had tickets for her Raven show at the Glasgow Stand but contracted Covid and had to cancel. I had no foreknowledge about this year's show, Horses, except the title and that it was "highly regarded". 

When the time came to enter the venue, she greeted us at the theatre door. She was tall, barefoot, wearing a leotard and a colourful, diamond-shaped waistcoat. She had grease paint on her upper face and forehead and lipstick reminiscent of a mime. She looked clownish, and that was the point. She was setting a tone.

The show itself is magnificent. She told us from the off that she was going to bring a horse onto the stage, and she did - in our minds. She is a fantastic performer, using movement to build and create her imaginary worlds. She engages us with playful but safe audience interaction. The subject matter can go quite dark (I've never felt an audience feel so nervous about an imaginary old horse facing an imaginary farmer's imaginary gun). She's also clever in the way she subverts the form, throwing out funnies like a muck spreader. Between scenes, she mimes the words playing on a backing track, involving conversations with her family members, which lays the foundation for the show's underlying theme. 

The whole show ties up beautifully at the end, and the message (SPOILER!): it's okay to play, even if we forgot how to when we grew up. We can all still be horses, just like some of the bolder audience members at the end—beautiful, pert young colts and fillies who gently cantered about the stage unbridled. (Yeah, sorry, I should have looked away). 

 

The trip home was horrendous, with multiple M8 closures at locations I'd never driven through before. Having to get the tram back to the car didn't help either, so we didn't reach home until 12:40 a.m. It was worth it, though, just to catch 'Horses'. 

All tickets were purchased from EdFringe.com. The booking fee was capped at £5.

She looks exactly the same in person

Addendum: Elf Lyons wins two awards: The Comedians Choice Award 2024   and the ISH Edinburgh Comedy Award 2024