I awaken at the crack of 2pm with butterflies in my torso and a brain already whirring at the start of a new day. This is because I am back to zero days without vaping and have a hangover that would drop an ox.
I can’t tell you which brand of single-use e-cigarette I go for for legal reasons, but what I can say is that the “something” about Mary is that we do not know where she is.
I start my day with an invigorating ice shower. This is not a conscious decision, controlled by the worm lodged in my prefrontal cortex after nine months of eating raw beef, but actually because my boiler has been gubbed for a week.
Truly a testament to my resilience and adaptability, the shock of the ice-cold droplets on my dermatitis-ravaged skin is a reminder that even the harshest conditions can’t freeze my determination, even though they can freeze my now microscopic cock and balls.
Eager to carpe this diem, I head out of the flat and up Arthur’s Seat. Arthur is really pissed off at me for taking his seat. I really like Arthur. He makes me get him a VSL (vodka, soda water and lime) or else he would “make me as silent as the whisper of an unspoken toast” (what?).
Arthur’s only got one seat to fill every day, and I’ve got loads, so I down my pint of Guinnegar (half Guinness, half vinegar – it saves time for the chips later and the smell of my breath staves off flyerers for at least 45 minutes), and leave him to it. I’m utterly desperate for his approval. He’s almost like a father to me.
Performing at the Fringe isn’t just about the glamour of the stage, it’s about the grit and the grind and the being publicly humiliated at an irrecoverable financial loss. You need energy. You need sustenance.
Timberyard, on Lady Lawson Street, was last year awarded its first Michelin Star, and right round the corner from it is a Sainsbury’s Local where I get my pre-show meal deal of butterless ham sandwich, ready salted crisps and, of course, the largest of three distinct sizes of energy drink that they for some reason let you choose from. (Why would anyone get the middle one?)
It’s showtime, and tonight’s a sellout. All but for one special reservation I have asked to be put aside. The show is going well, but I am repeatedly drawn to a single empty seat, slap bang in the middle of the front row. As performers, we are frequently tempted to dwell on shortcomings and not celebrate achievements – to deplore all those who are not in the room, and not do the best show we can to those who are. I fall short of this tonight.
“Good show tonight?” asks one of the venue team, helping to clear away the various detritus of a satisfied paying audience. “Haha yeah, thanks,” I muster, looking down at the rectangular piece of paper on the empty seat, reading a single name. “Arthur”
About the show
Date(s): Aug 20, 24
Time(s): 14:50 (45 minutes)
Location: The Stand Comedy Club 2 – Stand 2
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