Party Man.

I am hungover so yesterday must have been a bit more Edinburgh.

I saw abortions that slipped through the net exclaiming brilliance about their show by the dozen pretty much wherever I went. More Edinburgh than that though was the amount of bored children dumping their leaflets on our table at the Pleasance Courtyard (or as I like to call it, The UNpleasance Palace of Cuntment). They are hilarious to watch simply because none of them can actually walk. They just shuffle about like walking is something illegal and look around like they've just been beamed on to the planet that second.

Not all are like that because I had the pleasure of meeting our flyerers yesterday. Johnny and I met thjem in the normal way that everyday folk meet everyday folk. You know, by doing a one-off preview of our show in front of them. It was weird to say the least. There were 20 of these lovely, lovely Skins extras making a special effort to watch us and we are very grateful. We needed it. Not sure they did though. Our venue was boiling hot, we haven't finished writing/figuring out the show yet and they had already seen 8 shows that day. They were knackered. Later I found out that the last show they had seen before us was Alistair Barrie's. Well, to misquote Spinal Tap, they were still booing him when we were on.

Oh, but there were drinks last night. I needed them too. I went to two Edinburgh parties, the sort of thing that people would kill for (either to get in or to get out). The Just The Tonic party seemed OK. You got free drinks and there were some very nice people there. And one utter cunt, despite the fact that a sign on the door read "No Dickheads". Then I was off to the Five Pound Fringe party to see our flyerers again. It was an interesting party. I've never been to a party that is just below the 6th layer of hell, hotter than a fire that is on fire and the air is so thick you have to utterly patronise it and give it directions to your lungs. But it was £1.25 a pint. That, to me, is how civilisation should be.

Then it was off to my favourite bar in Edinburgh: Brooke's Bar. It's a great place to hang out during the festival because, luckily, most cunts prefer the Library Bar so Brooke's is normally pretty cunt-free. I hung out with my friend Marisa and the excellent comic Michael Fabbri while pausing to reflect on how damn good looking Corry Shaw is (I think Michael and Corry are an item, if they're not then I'm sorry to have even mentioned it. If they are then FUCKING WELL DONE, MICHAEL, MY SAHN! Ahem...). We talked about Jerk and I immediately felt guilty about leaving her at home. Then someone brought a dog in and I realised it might not be as difficult as I thought to look after Jerk while I'm up here. I'm a fucking idiot.

Our first show is today. It won't be right but it will be good. It won't be right for a few days even, I reckon. That's OK. It's got some great jokes in it and plenty of room to muck about. It'll be interesting these next few days.

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