Nearly Done.

Only two days to go.

I'm tired, drained, sick, ugly and fed up. That is definitely the spirit of the Fringe. I feel like I'm trapped in Groundhog Day but with a boring script written by Simon fucking Nye and it's been directed by a blind dog with rabies. And I'm not even Bill Murray, I'm Andie MacDowell, the worst actress in the fucking world.

I really need toast.

Has anything good happened over the last two days? Can I even tell the difference between the last two days and any other two days that have happen in the expensive and drunk moth of August? No. Not much. This isn't like last year. At least last year I was angry all the time. This year I'm just fed up. I'm so fed up that I can't get angry. Even the nominations for the Edinburgh Comedy I'm The Best Present Prize couldn't get me angry. Know why? Because I, along with everyone else on the fucking planet, doesn't give a shit about the fucking Edinburgh Comedy Award Present Thing. We don't even know what it's called anymore. I mean, well done to all the nominees and everything but honestly, if you're not a nominee who gives a shit? You'll get an award. Well done. You're following in the footsteps of Lano & Woodley, Will Adamsdale and all those other household names who have been flung into fame's bosom after winning it. It's such a dull award now that the only surprise about it is that occassionally you meet someone up here who has a little bit of a moan about it. "Ooh, that's terrible. No women in either of the shortlists" or "This is a disgrace. Not a single ethnic act in either of the shortlists." For fuck's sake, the awards panel are made up of a group of comedy experts who's qualified opinion is clear: Only white men are funny, everyone else isn't. It makes total sense when you think about it. Thatcher, Mugabe, Papa CJ? Are they funny?

I think I need Toilet here this year more than ever. It would just turn my last couple of days in Edinburgh right round if he, a man who keeps ignoring me, would walk up to me and put his arm round my shoulder and say "I love you".

Has it all been so bad? No. Not at all. The show is great. That is the best hour of my day. I've also been doing some stand-up at The Stand which I'm really enjoying plus last night's stand-up set at BBC Comedy Presents was so enjoyable. This is going to sound weird but I got a crouching ovation. When I said goodnight to the audience a fair few stood up to applaud. How lovely is that? Except they didn't quite stand all the way up, as if they went "Wow! He was amazing!" then immediately reassessed their opinion to "Well, not amazing but certainly quite good". Plus I've been hanging out, too briefly mind, with Tara Flynn and her boyfriend Carl. They make you happy simply by being in their presence. They're both too good looking, too funny and, well, pretty damned marvellous. Carl's stories of growing up in gangland L.A. are hilariously harrowing. He once got told off by his Mum because she tried to shoot him. I could spend a lot of time with Tara and Carl. They're great.

Oh, plus I had a truly lovely moment backstage at The Stand two days ago. I was fed up (I may have mentioned this) and was sitting on the sofa with Stewart Lee waiting for the last act to finish so I could go back on stage and wrap up the show. We started talking about Robyn Hitchcock. I'm Robyn Hitchcock's biggest and most embarrassing fan and Stewart has a lot of his albums and has gigged with him many times. Then Stewart starts playing a Robyn song on his guitar. It's a beautiful song called Linctus House and we both start singing it together. I'm sitting on a sofa singing one of the most beautiful songs ever written with one of the nicest people I have met.

20 seconds later, the last act finishes and the singing stops. But for 20 seconds I was very happy. That's not bad for Edinburgh.

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