The true grind of three weeks is starting to kick in. Generally a successful week with high points including an Avalon party with a free bar (Champagne that normally costs £7 a glass; I’ll have three please!).
Countdown continued to be a pleasure and finished in a tightly fought final between Stephen Grant and Alex Horne. Alex won out (maybe because he’s been on actual real Countdown on the telly and everything) and Stephen was a worthy and fitting second. Fitting because the show he brought to Edinburgh this year is called ‘Second’ and is about how he always comes second.
Yesterday I made the ill-advised decision to do the Leeds festival. Woke at 9am after four hours sleep, gruelling train, gig to 2000 people then tense journey back by the skin of my teeth. Then last night the gig was horrid. I’d so nearly made it through the festival unscathed and then all the bastards turned up at once. No goodwill, no spirit. This was replaced by anger and a hen-do. I think it might have been playable had I not been on my last legs. I fell asleep with my trousers on, face down in my bed, knees on the floor. A broken man.
After a sleep and a shower felt much better, but I’m approaching tonight’s gig with trepidation. It can’t be worse. It can’t. One more of them and I will start taking hostages until the mood changes positive. Or as positive as it can be in a hostage situation.
Homeward train on Tuesday, all that remains between now and then is the last Monday of the fringe, an arch excercise in pointlessness which I will spend, as tradition dictates, pissed.