Sunday, 30 August 2009

The Last King of Everything of Scotland.

And that's that.

I'm writing this on a train back to London after the final King of Everything show in Edinburgh. I'm not saying I had a bad time but I'm a wee, little bit completely over the moon that I'm leaving. It was fun but I'm too old and stupid to have that amount of fun for that length of time. My body hates me for what I have done to it in August. And today when I was on stage during The Shouting Sketch when my comedy partner and Edinburgh husband, Johnny Candon, accidentally spat in my mouth I knew that it was time to leave.

I've loved the show and loved being on stage with Johnny. Sure, he finds rehearsing a repugnant chore but he's very, very funny and that makes up for a lot. And there were other elements of Edinburgh that made me happy for a while. I saw some great shows and two very shit ones. Dan Antopolski's show was utterly predictable in as much as I knew it was going to be brilliant. He's just one of the funniest people I have ever seen and, in a way, that makes him a cunt. I saw Stewart Lee's show for a second time and it was even funnier than the first time I saw it which, in a way, makes me a cunt. What didn't I get before? Stupid Legge. Bridget Christie's show was so fantastic and I was proud that she chose me out of all the people in her audience (one of which was her own father) to stand like a fascist. I saw a good few other great shows but my brain is letting me down at the moment, which is fair enough as it's so often the other way round.

See? It wasn't all bad, eh? I even got quite happy when I heard Tim Key had won the Edinburgh Funny Trophy. He's excellent. And Johnny Sweet won best newcomer which shocked everyone in comedy. How dare someone we've never even heard of win the best newcomer prize? That is just too radical a step. Congratulations to both of them.

Oooh, look. I'm in Newcastle now.

Anyway, this time next week and I'll start missing it all over again. But for now I'm quite content to say goodbye to comedians who keep their reviews on their iPhones and show them to you, to fucking Sagres beer and to "young" comedians who say The C-Bomb instead of cunt. For fuck's sake. The fucking C-Bomb? If you ever use the phrase The C-Bomb, ironically that automatically makes you a wally. Yeah, I went there. A few days ago I was in Brooke's Bar and a line from the film Anchorman kept running through my mind and did so for the remaining days of the Edinburgh Festival: "We've been coming to the same party for twelve years now, and in no way is that depressing".

Bye, Edinburgh.

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