So, the Edinburgh Fringe Listings are up, the guides have been sent out to people who wanted them, hundreds or maybe thousands of people are anxiously checking that they didn’t spell their name wrong, or put the wrong dates or times or something in the box as the final six weeks of preparation for the fringe begin.
I know that feeling all too well.
but not this year, after deciding to take a year out of the Edinburgh machine (partly money, partly boredom, mostly because it broke me and beat me last year). and thus I’ve been everso slightly annoyingly smug about the whole thing.
going to gigs and seeing comedians paling at the very mention of any word beginning with E, just in case its Edinburgh. How funds are scarce, shows are unwritten, fears are setting in and livers wince at the prospect.
I’ve not once doubted my decision to go. No decent idea has occurred to me (didn’t stop me last year (self-slam!)), finding the money with this credit crunch thing knocking about would be fun and now I have a cat I’m not sure what to do with him for a month (wait for my show next year – a double act with the cat with AIDS – then I can write off his vet bills for tax).
But now the guide is out and I can virtually flick through the pages online and see all the other people going, and like any party that you don’t go to, I can’t help but feel left out.
As I got to the T of the comedy section a silly idea hit the back of my mind and stuck. Maybe the rest of the comedy world, all my friends, family, the british government, surviving Beatles and my cat had all clubbed together and sorted Edinburgh out for me knowing that by this time of year I’d probably want to go.
Yes, that’s what would have happened. I probably knew it deep down all along, like any surprise party, I ignored the fact I found a pack of balloons and an invoice for a banner company in the kitchen drawer and just played along. Aren’t people lovely.
Or upon printing the guides they noticed my name was missing and decided to cancel the whole thing “Well, if lanky Tel ain’t coming what’s the point? his tiny half-empty shows of damp whimsy is really why we all keep coming back year-on-year – even those that only go and see the Ladyboys of Bangkok”
but of course, I’m not in the guide because I’m not in Edinburgh, which is exactly what I want, and after doing five of them this is the price to pay: a rollercoaster of emotions. A devil and angel on my shoulder equally telling me I’ve done the right thing and the wrong thing by staying home with the cat.
Pathetic really.