Dreadful Nonsense

HEY! Today is a good day. Today, and indeed yesterday, we are only seeing one or two shows. The days where you only see one or two shows are the days when your brain starts working again, you can think about things in terms other than star ratings, and you don't have to be nice to people whose shows you've just seen, which were actually a bit rubbish but you don't want to say.

Last night we were sitting in the perfomer's bar in the Pleasance, a place we have literally begun to call home on account of the fact that we're there for roughly the same amount of time that we are in our luxury flat, and a man who is in a sketch show came over and started to talk to us. The show that he does really is quite good, honest guv, nothing spectacular but it's not a terrible waste of time or energy either. Thing is, when people hear you've seen their show, and also hear that you're mascarading as a member of the press, they want to know what you think, and then start asking you what you think is wrong with it. They say that they want your honest opinion.

They don't.

Honestly, no matter what they say, they don't. A few years ago, I had a conversation with a performer in a bar, and we were discussing the review I'd given him the year before. He asked why it was only a three star review, when he thought it should have been a four. I started trying to explain my reasonings, but soon realised he didn't want to hear my reasons - he wanted to tell me his. And that's the first lesson that must be learned whenever you're talking to comedians or performers - they don't want to know what you think, they want you to know what they think. That's universally applicable.

So we've spent the best part of the last two weeks drinking, watching shows, laughing hysterically (quite often in the wrong places) and drinking. It's actually becoming difficult to be awake and still sober now. Somehow it seems wrong to be concious in day light hours and not have a pint of something in your hand. We walk in to our favourite bar and the blonde barmaid starts immediately pouring our drink of choice. Honestly. I'm not kidding about that. That actually happens.

Mrs D was here for the best part of the last week, and she was inducted through the rites of comedy lounge into becoming, as lovely Dave Mum ("schoolgirl's favourite") put it, a "lovely lounger". To do this, she had to see over 20 shows in five days, one of them twice, had to learn all the words to the Gary Le Strange album, had to know who everyone in the room was - including agents, promoters, producers and techs, as well as performers - and had to bitch about every last one of them. Finally, late every night, she had to sit watching Fr Ted on DVD while eating crisps. All of these things Mrs D performed with ladylike dignity and she passed every challenge with flying colours. We are both proud and ashamed to announce that she's now officially a Lovely Lounger. God Bless the poor bugger, she's only been gone for a day and she's already texting us for gossip.

I've finally made heavy inroads in to the backlog of reviews, mainly by staying indoors and happily and contentedly writing about the Fringe rather than being involved in it. At the moment, I'm feeling almost permanently stoned. It's a beautiful time in my life.

Tattoo happens in 10 days. Bring it on.

This entry was posted on 15 August 2004 at 6:39 pm. 0 comments

Dreadful Nonsense

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