No Complications: First the Books Then the Musical

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Hicks in the City XII

We shall see that at which dogs howl in the dark, and that at which cats prick up their ears after midnight.
- H. P. Lovecraft

Or:

All rationalism tends to minimalise the value and the importance of life and to decrease the sum total of human happiness.
- H. P. Lovecraft

Or (if you want to be all obvious about it):

As a baby, Shakespeare showed few signs of becoming the most significant figure in literary history, so nobody bothered noting down the details of his life.
- P. Cunk

The Him’s making a noise.

The Him:  Frrrrmththththththtrrrrrrrrrrrrrrpfffffssssssss...

Me:  I don’t think that a slow puncture counts as a spirit animal.

The membranous noise continues.

Me:  Satisfied sea lion?

The Him:  Hrrrrrmphhhhhhhhhflfffflf...

Mystery Voice:

Me:  Sounds like a bear lying down and being quite happy about it.  Is it a sea badger?

Him:  I don’t know, but it’s getting really difficult to do.

Me:   Yeah,okay.  So, we did our annual pilgrimage to Edinburgh to see the Socks, amongst other things-

Him:  Yes.

Me:  - and this year, you got to come along with me and the Mystery Voice and see some other acts.

Him:  Yes.

Me:  Did you enjoy that?

Him:  I dunno.

Mystery Voice:

"Oh hi, Denny."

Me:  Different experience to usual?

Him:  It was certainly a different experience to usual.  It involved two trips to Edinburgh.

Me:  In a helicopter.

Him:  Sure.

Me:  Hmm?

Him:  Sure.

Me:   We always go in a helicopter.

Him:  Do we?

Me:  Yes, you spoon.

Him:  I don’t remember that part of the continuity.

Me:  We went in a helicopter last year as well.  You were mostly asleep.

Him:  I don’t remember that part of the continuity at all, but if you want to keep track of it…

Me: Well, someone’s got to.  It’s all in m’head.

Him:  That’s true.

Me:  Yeah.

Him:  Everything’s in your head.

Me:  Along with your, ummm…

Him:  Along with me.

Me:   Ha!  No!  You’re not imaginary.

Him:  I am.

Me:  No more than this sea badger is.  Well, it’s imaginary at the moment, but not for long...  Right!  Who did we see first?

Mystery Voice:

Him:  Well, that’s up to you.
 

Me:  We saw Stewart Lee first.

Him:  Yeah.

Me:  It was a smaller venue than we saw him in last year, and it was a work in progress.

Him:  Well, I wasn’t there last year.  I kind of was, because I am you, but…

Me:  Yeah, so…  Actually…  Apart from the Pun Run last year, that was the first – ah, no it’s not.  The Socks’re comedy…  It was more traditional stand-up.

Him:  What were you going to class the Socks as, if not comedy?

Me:  They’re not stand-up though…

Him:  The Clocks!

Me:   The Scottish Falsetto Clock Puppet Theatre!  I don’t know how that would work.  I’ve done enough on clocks recently what with Watchmen and Suicide Squad and-

Him:  Oh!  Not that again!

Me:  So, Stewart Lee…  You’ve seen the Comedy Vehicle.

Him:  Yes.  But the Comedy Vehicle was too good and too many people were watching it.

Me:   So the BBC killed it?

Him:  Yeah.

Me:   To see where all these golden eggs were coming from.  It was more of a traditional show that he did.

Him:  That’s definitely something you’ve said.

Me:  We had great seats for that show.  We were right at the front and-

Him:  We weren’t right at the front.

Me:  Well, tucked up to the side.

Him:  There’s such a thing as being too close to Stewart Lee.

Me:   Ha!  What, on the stage?  Close enough that he can steal your pint?

Him:  The seats up front were on the stage!

Me:  They’re always like that.  It’s totally different to a music gig where you’ve got-

Him:  I’d have felt a bit threatened being that close to Stewart Lee.

Me:  -burly people in tight t-shirts, hearing voices in their ears and stopping the great unwashed getting too close to the gods of the stage…  Yeah, I thought it was really good.  He looked like he was enjoying himself.

Him:  And the drinks!  The drinks were in glass!  Glasses.  Glasses made of glass.

Me:   Yeah!  Which isn't something you get in a music venue, either.

Him:  No.

Mystery Voice:

Me:   No.  And you be- you met him.

Him:  I don’t remember betting him.

Me:   You bet you could make a horror movie, and then next thing you know: Manos.

Him:  'Mangoes'.

Me:   'Cans of Fruit'.

Him:  My rendition of Manos would be swell.

Me:  How would it go?

Him:  It would star me.  Well, it would be Manos, but with me.

Me:  Would you do all the parts?

Him:  Yeah.  I would.

Me:   How would you do Torgo?

Him:  Um…  Carefully.

Me:  Give me an example.

Him:  Oh, you want to hear some of the lines?  Well, I’ve been doing some of the motions there for a little bit.

Me:  Yeah, but that doesn’t really help people who are reading this.  I mean even digital-  As interactive as this is, and it is ergodic literature, you’ve still got to-

Him:  Hang on, this is being typed up, isn’t it?

Me:   Yeah.

Him:  So it doesn’t matter.

Me:   No.

Him:  Alright.  So…  This is how I would do Torgo.

Me:  You’re not going to make an effort and put on a voice?

Him:  I did put on a voice.

Me:   You never put on a voice!

Him:  I did put on a voice!

Me:  You always do it in your own voice.  Even when I complain, “Do the voice!” you never do!

Him:  I just did do a voice!  I did the Torgo voice.  It was about as Torgo as it gets.  I’m still doing it now.

Me:  But that’s the way you always talk.

Him:  No, it’s not.

Me:   Wait a minute…  Are you… Torgo?  So, who did we see second?

Him:  Well, it wasn’t Torgo. 

Me:  It wasn’t Torgo.  It was Katherine Ryan.

Mystery Voice:

Him:  I think we spent too long talking about Torgo actually, given that he has absolutely nothing to do with the situation at hand.

Me:  It’s fine.

Him:  Alright.  So, Katherine Ryan.

Me:   Uh huh.

Him:  Did you enjoy yourself?

Me:  I thought it was great.  Like I said, her star’s been in the ascendancy ever since I held her baby…  In a tiny oven, about two years ago, with the Mystery Voice.  We were in the front row for that one and…  Yeah…

Him:  You should stop – y’know – stalking Katherine Ryan.

Me:  I’m not stalking Katherine Ryan.  We just go and see her show and give her money.  It’s not the same as stalking somebody.

Him:  You do like her though.

Me:   That’s because she’s really good.  She’s excellent.  So confident.  You had an interesting moment.  You got missed in the Audience Participation round-

Him:  That’s because no-one can see me but you.

Me:  Ha!  She asked me how I was doing.

Him:  Yeah, and you said you were ‘bettering up’.

Me:  I said I was bearing up, but she couldn’t hear what I was saying.  I became quite conscious that I was accidentally derailing the gig and…  I should just’ve said…  I don’t know.  “My leg’s fallen off,” or something.

Him:  Am fine.

Me:   ‘Am fine’?

Him:  Am fine.

Me:  That sounds like someone that would write romance novels.  Actually…  Isn’t Anne Fine a writer?

Him:  You would know that.

Me:  And the, after the gig – which was great – we malingered around outside.  We hung round in the rain, and then she came out.

Him:  Yeah.  About half an hour after everyone else had left.  She’d seen us and was, like, “Sigh.  Let’s just get this over with.”

Me:   She wasn’t at all like that!  She was lovely.

Him:  She waited as long as she could, but we just weren’t leaving.

Me:  She gave me a hug.

Him:  Yes.

Me:  And we got a photo that no-one’ll ever see.

Him:  Yes.  That even you will never see.

Me:   She signed your ticket too.

Him:  I don’t know where you put that.

Me:  It’s just above this section in the blog.

Him:  Okay.

Mystery Voice:

Me:  So, the second day…  In the morning we went into the Arctic and had a look around, and then late afternoon we headed up to see the Socks.

Him:  Yes.

Me:   That was… So, what was the theme of the Socks this year?

Him:  Why…  Why did you look at the ceiling when you asked that?

Me:  I dunno.  I thought I might’ve been having a stroke-

Him:  It was confusing.

Me:  Yeah.  Exactly.  Everything went a bit swimmy.  Yeah, so… Erm…  So, what was the theme of the Socks show, this year?

Him:  It was Shakespeare.

Me:   And was it good?

Him:  Yes.

Me:  Was it very good?

Him:  Are you going to give your thoughts on any of these or are you just going to ask me repeated…?

Me:   I’ll stick them in at the bottom.1 

Him:  Repeated questions.

Me:   I’ll stick them in at the bottom.

Him:  You can say that all you like.

Me:  Yeah, but it won’t make for a very interesting read.  It was great, wasn’t it?

Him:  Wait.  First of all you go through and pretend you’re talking to someone else so you can write up your reactions-

Me:  Yeah.

Him:  Then, afterwards, you write up your reactions.

Me:   Yeah.  One day, I’ll have a syndrome named after me.  We’ve written over a quarter of a million words on this blog.

Him:  Do you…  even need to pretend that you’re talking to anyone else?

Me:  Doing your voice hurts my throat.  And makes me sneeze.

Him:  It just makes you look insane.

Me:  Yeah.  Do you know what the really difficult bit is?

Him:  What?

Me:   You have to use the second set of vocal cords for doing – when you do throat singing, you access your second cords.  That’s the only way I can do the moments we talk across each other.  Using the two voices at the same time is very, very difficult.

Him:  But…  You’re typing this up.

Me:  I know.

Him:  And we’re not talking across each other.

Me:  No, but-

Him:  Because there’s no way to type that.

Me:   No, but I have to do it in such a way that it sounds like two people speaking.  It was great, the Socks’ show was great.  And afterwards, their manager – the wonderful Kev Sutherland-

Him:  Yis.

Me:  - took us for drinks.

Him:  Well, he took you for drinks.

Me:  That’s true.

Him:  Because I’m not real.

Me:   No.

Him:  Ethereal beings don’t need to drink.

Mystery Voice:

Me:  That’s true!  The Mystery Voice got orange juice-

Mystery Voice:  

Him:  Yas.

Me:  I got my sparkling water, and I had to go up and pour yours into plastic glasses from the water jug on the bar and put them in the space where you’d be sitting if you existed.  Mr Sutherland was really good though and didn’t mention it once.  We had a good natter about things and stuff.  I thought it was great.  The show was…  The show was more together than last year.  You laughed a lot.

Him:  Yeah, it was good.  It was very good. 

Me:  Hell of a lot of work’s gone into it.  Some of it’s incredibly clever.  Right, after that we kind of squared-off a circle.  This isn’t part of the Fringe ‘review’, but we went to see Finding Dory.

Him:  That was not at the Edinburgh Fringe.

Me:  No.  I think we should mention it because…   I’d like to capture your thoughts in this sort-of digital amber.  When we came out of it – because we stayed right to the end – it felt…  To me it felt as though it really – and not all sequels do it – it felt like an incredibly well-crafted conclusion to the story begun in Finding Nemo.

Him:  Like the second Godfather film?

Me:  Yeah.  It dovetailed together so well .  A lot of care and love and effort-

Him:  That’s why it’s taken so long.

Me:  Yeah. 

Him:  It hasn’t been churned out a year after the original film came out.

Me:  You said something interesting about the theme of it.

Him:  Did I?

Me:  You did.

Him:  Well, I can’t wait to hear what that was.

Me:   The way it addressed mental illness.

Him:  Oh!  That was you, but…

Me:  And how the first one’s about parents and Finding Dory’s about-

Him:  I feel really sorry for anyone who’s not seen it and’s reading this, thinking, “Oh, the Edinburgh Fringe and – what’s this?  Endless, endless spoilers!”

Me:  We haven’t really said anything spoilery.

Him:  Oh, I dunno.  You named it.

Me:   That 'Boy With the Tail' ad at the start was a bit…  Well, we tweeted about that.  What was it you said?

Him:  At the start I made up a joke about seeing someone escape from a van and, only after the film did I realise there was a better joke to be had, in that they’d been advertising fish fingers before a film about sentient fish.

Me:  Ha!  It was really harsh!  “If you’ve enjoyed this film, why not eat the cast?  There’s a restaurant only fifteen yards from this cinema.”

Him:  Ha!

Mystery Voice:  

Me:  Right, we better wrap up there, so…  I’ll explain why the square’s a circle and write up the other stuff underneath this…  Can you make the noise of a sea badger, please?

The Him makes the noise of a sea badger, using all his cords.

Me:   And, on that bombshell…

The Him’s Socks Review.  It’s a tradition, or an old charter or something.

1.

STICKING IT IN AT THE BOTTOM

Or: 2
A CIRCLE SQUAR’D3

This is usually the section where I blather on with an actual ‘review’ of the shows we saw.  I’m not going to do that this year because, well, things change.  And that’s okay.  It’s certainly nothing to be scared of, to misquote Adam Ant. 

There’s a mountain ledge in the Arctic’s Werewolf Country that’s clear of snow this time of the year.  It’s high enough to allow you to look down on the clouds, but the road to the ledge is often closed, even in ‘Summer’.   The seasonal melt releases incredible amounts of water to piss joyfully down the slopes, dislodging boulders that bounce like rolled cheeses onto any vehicle unlucky enough to be grinding up the ascent at the time.  I neglected to mention this might be a factor to the Mystery Voice, which is mostly why he agreed to drive up there in the first place.

A lifetime ago I took the Him to see Finding Nemo at a cinema that doesn’t exist anymore.  I’m not sure, but it might well be the first time he’d even gone to the pictures.4

We’d lost all coverage as the road started rising, so the Mystery Voice had to rely on my directions.  He’s obviously braver than anyone realises.  We reached the ledge and parked up.  Within seconds of getting out, all of us were drenched.  The ground falls away quickly there, thousands of steep feet lead to a plain sprinkled with trainset-sized Christmas trees.  All the life-threatening torrents are distant enough to look like tears running down a wall.  The further away you are, the more real it feels; the way patterns naturally repeat becomes more obvious.  The air tastes white and the border between the world below and the other one are thin enough for you to feel fictional.  If you’re prepared to look, to properly look, then you can get a brief glimpse of how time works.

They skinned the cinema first, exposing its concrete skeleton and hidden chambers.  Discarded slabs that used to be walls were ground and smashed by bright yellow machines, until they were rendered removable.  The walls of a cinema hold dreams and memories in the same way a mountain stores fossils.  But cash, like rust, doesn’t understand sentimentality.

There are tributes scattered around the ledge, looking into the valley and the clouds.  Flowers, bleached cards, metal plaques: all of them mementos mori.  The dead see things differently. 

The Him and myself watched Finding Dory in Europe's tallest car park disguised as a cinema.  The film itself is stunning.  Individual grains of sand fall and clump, foam foams, scales sheen, all of it a tribute to Moore’s Law.  There’s something else though, something lurking inbetween the callous certainty of cold binary.  It’s like a ghost, but ghosts aren’t real.  The Turing Test misses the same, most obvious, test of what it is to be human, that English exams do.  Y’see, there’s no difference between low art and high art, and there never was.  Art isn’t objective, agendas are.  Does it move you?  Does it make you feel?  Does it tell you something about yourself?  It’s not enough to know how it was made, or even why it was made – those explanations are almost always wrong anyway – the only thing that matters is that it’s there, and that encountering it changes something in the you that lives behind your eyes.  Shifts it.  Maybe only momentarily, maybe for the rest of your life – avalanches gotta start somewhere, after all – but there’s a reaction to it that takes place on an animal level.  That’s all that matters.  That’s all that counts. 

After twenty minutes there were still no werewolves, so we got back in the car.  The creatures we used to be watched us turn back onto the shrinking ribbon and head downhill, growing steadily less distinct.  Eventually we vanished into the cloud and they went home.

2.  You pays yer money, you takes yer choice.

3.  Arf.  Just kidding.  I’d only type something like that if I was passing myself off a ‘professional writer’, darling. 

4.  It definitely wasn’t the first film he saw though.  That was The Wolf Man, which remains one of the few watchable films set in Wales.  Certainly the best one with a werewolf in it.

Holiday Special: Hicks in the City XI

Truth and reality in art do not arise until you no longer understand what you are doing.
- Matisse

or

Before you criticise someone, walk a mile in his shoes.  That way, if he gets angry, he'll be a mile away - and barefoot.
- Sarah Jackson (attributed)

Me:  So, the Socks.

Him:  What's wrong with the recording that you got?

Me:  The one in the helicopter?

(Something marine, blinky and badgery this way comes.  Slowly.)

Me:  Okay, the recording's fine, but I'm fed up with transcribing like that at the moment.

Him:  Why?

Me:  Just because.

Him:  Is there any reason?

Me:  Yeah.  Tell me about the Socks.

Him:  It was ages ago.

Me:  It was less than a week!

Him:  That's a long time.

Me:  I remember when a week was a long time and I'm not even a politician.

Him:  Is a week not... No.  It's a lot shorter for you now.  It only lasts a few seconds.  But that's okay because you can take twenty mental snapshots every second.

Me:  They aren't that bad.  Some of them even look like something.

Him:  That's nice.

Me:  Puns?

Him:  Couldn't you just have said, "We'll never record it again after that last one"?  Oop - almost killed the phone.  But you could've just used the one we recorded.

Me:  I've not totally given up on recording.  And, anyway, most of the recording was about Perseus or rude about Zeus.

Him:  It wasn't rude about Zeus -

Me:  I called him a golden shower.

Him:  - and I've already forgotten who Perseus was.

Me:  Right.  No dessert until you've finished your Harryhausen.

Him:  What?

Me:  Do you remember anything about Scope?

Him:  I've never even heard of Scope.

Me:  You have.

Him:  I haven't.

Me:  You have.

Him:  I really haven't.  You can't implant these false memories.

Me:  See?  This is why I prefer typing live when we can.

Him:  Why?

Me:  The Pun Run was in aid of Scope.

Him:  I thought Scope was a TV show or something.

Me:  I think there might've been something regional and Seventies with a similar name.  Bit like Look Around You.

Him:  Okay.  You write 'OK' wrong.

Me:  Both are acceptable.

Him:  No.  Your one's wrong.

Me:  The Pun Run?

Him:  Typing it like that makes me look like an idiot.

Me:  This is why we never get quotes on posters!

Him:  Can't you just go back and fix it instead of drawing attention to it?

Me:  I'm in the zone now, so no.  You could ask the Mystery Voice for a clue.

Him:  I doubt that's a good idea.  The response'd be random.

Me:  Oh, I don't know.  I think it's more calculated and workshopped than you'd imagine.  Try it.

Him:  You ask.

Me:  Okay.  I will.

Him:  And stop typing 'OK' wrong.

Me:  This is ridiculous.  Mystery Voice?

Mystery Voice:  Hmmmm?

Him:  I see what you mean about being calculated.

Me:  Tell us about the Pun Run in aid of Scope, Mystery Voice.

Mystery Voice:  Hmmmmm...

Me:  I've already done the sea badger gag. 

Him:  I think that quote would actually go quite well on a poster.  "The Mystery Voice says, 'Hmmmm...'"

Me:  It's worth a shot.  Shall I just explain in the footnotes?  Along with -

Mystery Voice:  I didn't realise I said so much.

Me:  - the rest of this year's 'Hicks in the City'?

Him:  Yes.

Me:  Okay, that'll be 1 then.

Him:  Stop typing 'OK' wrong!

Me:  Tell the nice lady and gentleman about the Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre's new show, Minging Detectives.  Please.

Him:  I've already reviewed it twice.  You lost the first recording and you refuse to use the second one.

Me:  AAAAARGH!  What was the theme of the show?  Anyone?

Him:  R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

Me:  "Find out what it means to me"?

Mystery Voice:  Crime.  Well, TV cops.

Me:  Yay!  Thank you, Mystery Voice.  Anyone want to describe my humiliating brush with authoritah?

Him:  No.

Mystery Voice:  Is that the one where the helicopters were overhead?

Me:  It is!  I got jumped for drinking mango juice with bits of sick in it.  Fifteen huge security guards wrestled me to the ground and gave me a thorough doing.  Thanks for sticking up for me, gents.

Him:  It was pretty funny.

Mystery Voice:  But the-  What?  Hey?  Did what?

Me:  How many stars would anyone who isn't me but still involved in this conversation give the Socks?

Him:  There are none of those people.

Mystery Voice:  Out of how many?

Me:  Five.

Mystery Voice:  Hmmmmmm...  Somewhere between four and four and a half stars.  Are we doing half stars?

Me:  We're not.  Give 'em five.

Mystery Voice:  Four and a half of a half.

Him:  And a half?

(At this point the conversation degenerated into maths and I'm afraid that I stopped listening.  The Socks were glorious as ever - the correct star rating's just above the footnotes that'll explain the rest of the Adventure.  Don't phone in, it's not for fun.)

Mystery Voice:  There y'go.  Do you not want to be included in our maths conversation?  I've got a conundrum for you.  It involves maths.

Me:  We could make it a quiz.

Mystery Voice:  I've forgotten what is is. 

Him:  Have you forgotten how long it is?

Mystery Voice:  It's about three.

Him:  Three what?

Me:  Go on then, give us a quiz.

Him:  What's negative B plus or minus the square root of B squared minus 4AC over 2A?

Me:  And on that bombshell, here're the 'reviews'...

1.  You found it!

Audiences, eh?  What’s that all about then?

The Gilded Balloon's helipads.

I made some mistakes last year, so this ‘review’ is going to be as spoiler-free as possible.  And by that, I mean it’s largely going to be a list of who we saw and why they were great.  Feel free to spend the time you’d lose reading it doing something fun instead.  The world needs more pictures of foxes.

Dave Sim once made an observation2 that I can’t properly remember, but I’m still going to paraphrase here.   Oscar Wilde was appearing in Cerebus at the time and the gist was that anyone writing about Wilde has a tendency to start writing like Wilde.  It’s the literary equivalent of adopting the accent of whoever you’re chatting to - which security guards just hate.  Trust me.  Seeing as I’m about to write about puns, I'm obliged to warn you that there might be some in the following.  They won’t be intentional3 but that doesn’t mean there won’t be any.

The Pun Run is an event that was set up by Bec Hill and usually, unlike David Bowie, appears in London a couple of times a month.  Tonight’s special Edinburgh appearance was in aid of the marvellous Scope.  The Gilded Balloon donated their Nightclub for it and deserve a massive hug for that, but be gentle ‘cause they’re getting on a bit.

Earlier in the day, the Socks'd announced they’d be making an appearance at this, and seeing as the times lined up with our helicopter landing, it seemed rude not to attend.  Also, I think it’s important that the Him get to see as much live comedy as possible.  I’ll explain why at the end.

Since last year I’ve developed an urge to be in the front row as often as possible when it comes to live performances.  I’ve got a theory as to why, but it’s wrapped up in the exciting conclusion so you’ll have to wait for that as well.  We managed to get seats in the second row – if you squint at this you’ll notice we’re in almost every shot – and started sweating immediately.  I’m not sure why so many Fringe shows are held in saunas, but they don’t charge extra for the weightloss which is nice.  It’s great to again be able to fit into clothes that've shrunk in direct proportion to the amount of typing I've been doing.  As we sat down, one of the Socks popped out from behind the side curtain for a selfie.

The night was compered by Darren Walsh, a highly personable and charming fellow who kept things moving smoothly.  And those smooth things are (and were):

Pun Man, a shimmering superhero who'd borrowed Peter Capaldi’s eyebrows. 

Jessica Fostekew, in whose brief set I first noticed the Him having a fine time, and quite right too – she’s very good. 

Steve McNeil and Richard Soames, who gave an incredible performance whilst stealing pints from the audience – I’ve got to give them extra points for stagecraft for that alone.

Next, the afore-mentioned Bec Hill - very good indeed.

The Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre. Who were great. (Hey – I'm biased.)

Yve Blake, who performed a jam-packed (and fruity) song.

David O’Doherty, who looked familiar and kept the musical theme going.

Star of stage and screen and... um... wireless, Milton Jones, who finished the evening with style. 

On the way out I nabbed flyers and shook hands with as many of the performers as possible, little knowing I was about to be extraordinarily rendered.   He’s at the age where he’ll deny it – and quite right too, it’s one of the few perks – but the Him had a fine, fine time.  We recorded the proper ‘review’ on the return flight, but you know what happened to that.

There’s a reason the Mystery Voice and myself didn’t manage to see Bridget Christie, but it’s a sad (and lengthy) story.4  Instead, here’s a link to a Twitter account that she doesn’t run. 

This year’s Stewart Lee show was easily the best one we’ve seen to date.  Even if he’d disagree.  Which he might not.  Who can tell?  Anyway, that’s about the highest praise I can give.  So there. 
 

The venue was substantially larger than in previous years.

 
Katherine Ryan’s had a good year.  Even I’ve noticed that.  Last year we saw her in a much smaller sauna and I got left holding a baby.  Perhaps some of the current material’s less caustic than it was, but not by much.  She’s an excellent performer whose confidence dazzles and she makes everything look effortless.  I got papped with her afterwards – I’m still on the ‘no photos’ deal though, lady and gentleman, so I’m afraid you’ll just have to imagine. 

Simon Munnery’s another act that the Mystery Voice and I’ve managed to unintentionally miss quite frequently.  I’ve got fond memories of being blown away by FuturTV in general and the League Against Tedium in particular.  “Attention Scum!” goes a long way to explaining the personality I used to wear on stage: blood and glitter glisten so seductively under stagelights that a terrifying sonic wall merely brings balance to the show. 

Simon Munnery’s performance wasn’t totally what I was expecting, but I thoroughly enjoyed it.  And he was kind enough to sign the final Dodgem Logic for me.

I’ve signed up as myself on Twitter.  There’re a few reasons for this and only most of them are to do with preening and #IncomprehensibleSelfPromotion.  The Him’s not as young as he used to be, but then again – who is?  Well, I am obviously, and so’re you.  We all fixed when we were around eighteen and’ve kept steering these steadily decaying meatsuits around, trying not to bump into the furniture, ever since.  Which brings me back to Twitter and ageing.  See?  Seamless.

Although we've been on Twitter for a while now, I think the time’s come for me to leave the nest.  Since this blog started things’ve changed, and entropy’s mostly to blame.  Following the Him’s encouragement I’ve taken on various projects that’re starting to move (some of them almost certainly won’t fly, but that’s okay because foxes need to eat).  It’s not going to be fair, or totally appropriate, for me to push them solely using an account that represents both of us. 

The world’s moved on.  Sojalmejuh’s now as near to a self-righteous moral panic (with digital tar, binary feathers and a hair-trigger) as anything Mrs Whitehouse once rode round on.  I’m conscious that doing - or saying – anything that might result in an attack from keyboard warriors, can’t involve Him.  Even though all our tweets have all been very clearly attributed, I’ve reached an age where I need to take more responsibility.  Stand on my own wobbly legs.  Get out there and meet people.  Things like that.

The Him’s opinions are his and it’s not fair that there even be a possibility that people could mistake something stupid I might say for his opinions.  Guilt by association and that – he didn’t sign up for shared accountability.  We've got Poe's Law for a reason. 

Ah, who am I kidding?  It’s yet another case of the unfunny one in a double-act deciding to launch an unsuccessful solo career and nothing else.  I’ll still bring my washing home on weekends, obviously.5

Last year the Mystery Voice introduced me to Katherine Ryan and I was blown away.  This year he’d decided we’d check out two artists that I knew nothing about.  Remember, I’ve not watched TV in twelve years. 

Other currencies are available.  (And far more likely to be accepted in shops.)

Jena Friedman wrote jokes for Letterman and works on The Daily Show (about which I really couldn’t tell you very much, sorry).  I failed as an audience member here – a few of the jokes went over my head and got lost in the darkness of the teeny air-conditioned sauna.  We’ve still got a 15 rating, so I can’t go into too much detail about the show, but I’d definitely see her again.  And this time I’ll do some groundwork first.

The Mystery Voice and myself met Jena Friedman, briefly, afterwards.  She signed my ticket and later freaked me out by retweeting a tweet I got mentioned in before I’d introduced myself to the Mob.  Does that mean I’m real now?

The final act of the Fringe this year was also, for me, the stand-out.  I’m not familiar with Aisling Bea, so this show was a shock. 

We got to the sauna early and were given complimentary (and individualised) paper plates to fan ourselves with.  That’s a brave and confident move.  “Never arm the audience,” was the first thing I learned during my college years.6 

We filed in and -

Yeah.  That’s nearly enough of this.   

Aisling Bea’s incredible.  The energy.  The persona.  The mind.  Kroll knows, she’s going places.  All of the acts mentioned are – obviously – hugely recommended, but…

Well, that’s the problem.  I can’t compare these artists with each other – they’re too different.  And, I’m not going to judge them against an imaginary and arbitrary criteria either – I’m not being paid to pretend my opinion counts here.  And I’m not an expert.  In anything. 7 They made me laugh and that, surely, is the only thing that a comedian can be judged by.

That’s where this should end.  The house lights’re coming up and the ushers’re making a game attempt at clearing both of you out, but hang on a second.  I said there was a reason that I think it’s important the Him sees live comedy, remember?  I wouldn’t want you to leave before the pay-off.

Edinburgh’s a beautiful city.  Ignoring the volcano and castle, there’s a very good reason it’s the capital of Scotland, a wonderful country full of breathtaking scenery and incredible people.  Unfortunately, I live in the Arctic Circle of Hell.

That’s not a new observation.  I live in a cold place, y’see.  Most of the year it’s a barren, colourless and windripped place.  Eking out a living is hard.  Still, life’s tough all over.  Every now and again I manage to travel somewhere else and it gives me a perspective on things.  Sometimes I travel by helicopter, train or coach.  And sometimes I travel through words.  Whether those’re words I type or words someone else’s typed doesn’t matter, it’s travel and it broadens both my mind and the borders of my Hut. 

Brace yourselves.

The Edinburgh Festival Fringe represents the very best of what humanity’s capable of achieving.  All the poisonous, stupid stuff’s still there under the surface, naturally, but for a time you can ignore it.  Speaking as a tourist who lives in Hell most of the year, the atmosphere’s invigorating and the shows are…

Well… 

Near enough every sauna’s laid out the same: a mic stand and a mic.  There’s no scenery, very little in the way of props or special effects, just the performer and the audience.  Unarmed, hopefully.  There’s a danger to live performance; a frisson; an edge.  Things go wrong on stages.  People die up there.  It’s a high-risk business. 

The stand-up comedian kills or dies on two things: their words and their audience.  The words, as always, build the world, but more than that, they build the audience.  Luck’s involved as much as rehearsal, but foxes still need to eat.  Not everyone can make it.  Life’s not fair and, sometimes, those foxes get to chow down on something they don’t deserve.

I read somewhere that performing a stand-up show is the equivalent of playing Hamlet, but that’s bollocks.  It’s much more important than that.  Almost anyone can play Hamlet if they can read.  Very few people can do stand-up.  Stand-up's shamanistic.  The words build the worlds.  

You still here?

2.  No, not that one.  Shush. 

3.  Further reading.

4.  If you’ve got a spare twenty-five years then I’m happy to tell you it.  Otherwise…

5.  I’ve not explained that very well, which was kind of the plan.  Here’s my personal Twitter account for you to ignore.

6.  Punctuation and Shouting.  Came second, in case you were wondering.

7.  And that includes Doctor Who.  I just watch the damn thing, same as everyone else.  It interests me though – from a sociological perspective as much as anything else.  I may’ve read and written more about the show than some people, but so what?  All I can try and do is type things the way they appear to me, based on all the baggage I’ve accrued in the last few million years.  If it makes you laugh, then it’s good comedy.  If it makes you think, then it’s something else as well.  As to what that something else actually is?  Well, that's yet another tale for another day. 

And, possibly, a different Twitter account. 

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