I bought a big suitcase. BIG SUITCASE – the most essential tool of the character comedian. I poked around charity shops and Freecycle and Facebook Marketplace with no luck. It needed to be BIG and it needed to be available soon (it was purchased in advance of Brighton Fringe in May, when I was doing 5 shows over 2 consecutive weekends, travelling back and forth from London to Brighton every day.)
My search took me to a sparsely populated shopping centre in Dalston, the kind where, yeah sure, you’ve got normal shops, with doors and lighting and railings and all that SHOP stuff, but look at this! You also have pitches set up in the middle of the walkways, obstructing the prams and old folk on walking frames, where a man in a too-warm coat indoors (almost certainly talking on his mobile phone at all times) has lined up a hundred suitcases in loose configuration, all available to the desperate traveller for a reasonable price.
It’s not always suitcases; sometimes it’s sunglasses or handbags or loose bits of meat, but I was looking for a suitcase. Now we are into negotiation territory. Nothing is priced. If something is labelled, it’s with 4s that could be 9s, 5s that could be 3s, £s that could be smiley face emojis. What’s your negotiation strategy; demure and charming? Brash and knowledgeable? Dumb? I choose dumb every time.
I don’t know anything about suitcases, but I know these are not the world’s greatest suitcases, for sale here on the tile of Kingsland Shopping Centre. “This one has good wheels” – “look at this sexy little lock” – “one zip or two? Or seven?” I had 3 requirements; Big; Wheels; Not very expensive. Gesturing vaguely in the direction of the cases sized like a small chest of drawers I say “tell me some prices, this sort of size.”
I was offered one thing, I asked for cheaper. I was offered another thing, £10 cheaper, I asked if I could have the first thing for that price. He said no. I said, “are you sure?” He said yes. Then I saw her. A deep blue monstrosity, covered in weirdly textured plastic shell, some sort of spiral pattern, with red, green, and white paper tags branded ‘LUGGAGIO’, true Italian quality. 4 wheels. Extendable handle. SO MANY ZIPS.
It was fine. And after a discount of around 40%, it was mine. 40%? I always wonder how low that price could have gone. I wondered it out loud with a note of melancholy as I wheeled it to the bus and it felt like the cheapest flimsiest piece of crap I’ve ever laid my hands on. But here we are, 2 months later, a dozen work-in-progress shows later, and my big blue monstrosity is serving me well.
Filled to the brim with hats, jackets, props, fake blood, 4 x lighting stands, coat hangers, and so many knitted sausages. I’ll be dragging it round the cobbles of Edinburgh Old Town for the whole of August, maybe you’ll hear me coming, maybe you won’t. PLEASE COME AND SEE MY SHOW AND MAKE THIS WHOLE ORDEAL WORTH IT.
About the show
Chris East: My Brain is Soup, Your Hands are the Spoons
Date(s): Aug 2-11, 13-25
Time(s): 13:55 (1 hour)
Location: Hoots @ Potterrow – Wee Yurt
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