The last gig.
The last word. Was "gig".
Tonight was our final performance as a group. Tomorrow, three of us are going home. And I'm fucking delighted. So much so that I've included some superfluous profanity.
That's not to say that I haven't enjoyed it...
But that's a discussion for another time. I'll do a full Edinburgh conclusion post-mortem post (mortem) later. So hang on to your hats and breath for that one.
But I don't want to ignore today aka yesterday, aka Day 11, aka my twelfth day in Edinburgh, aka The Prince of Mystery, aka Tuesday.
I woke up late, and went into town, getting distracted by a really cool bookshop. It was the books more than the shop, though no doubt the shop was an important factor. Would I have stopped to look at a pile of books on the street? Probably. But navigating the categories would have been more difficult without the shop element.
But if it was just a shop with no books, I probably wouldn't have stopped. There were many shops on the way that had no books. But did I stop in any of them? Yes. One. To get a smoked salmon roll. But that's clouding the issue.
It was a good shop, that's all. The bookshop. And the roll shop. Shops are nice. And so, I suppose, is capitalism. We're all learning something today. Eg. EDIT YOUR WRITING.
After the shop debacle, I wandered around, met objects, listened to shiny pavement, looked in a cathedral, got baffled by tartan, went to see Matt do a gig, drank some Diet Coke, did some tepid flyering, then went to our final show.
It was a really good one to end on. We weren't full, but the audience were great from the outset. Everyone did well. I did OK, but went a little bit crazy.
At one stage, I fumbled my line, but blamed the character I was playing at the time (a teacher). I named him Mr Amnesia, and improvised about three minutes as that character. Mr Amnesia, it seems, is just a weird idiot. I just staggered about dropped the mic, messed around with switches, and generally behaved like a fool.
The audience were incredibly patient. At times, it felt like I was approaching art. I probably should have done it for longer, but retreated back to my safe act. It was decidedly odd.
I think all of us have gone slightly crazy at various points, and I'm glad I saved mine for the end.
I wonder if Mr Amnesia might make a comeback. He could be my Alan Partridge.
I'll get working on a sitcom pilot.
After the show, we rushed to see Matt in the Chortle Student Comedy final. Except we didn't get there on time, as he was on first. Though that was annoying, we watched the rest of the night, which was of a pretty good standard, though we did have some cast-iron dicks sitting in front of us.
By which I mean decidedly annoying people, rather than mettalophalluses.
We went out for pizza afterwards. Bantering loudly, we teased each other and acted like idiots. It was fun. After Bantergate (which I'll name for Alex who loves banter and the suffix "-gate"), I went home. And here I am.
We need to get up early for the return trip, so I shouldn't be doing this at 3:09am. And yet... and yet...
Oh, and before the gig, I insisted (like a petulant nerd) that we had our picture taken. No-one had a camera, so we used my rubbish phone one. An audience member kindly took it. I've doctored it to make it look slightly less/more shit. I was going for a Doc and Marty from Back to the Future III-type deal. But it just looks like a poorly treated birthday snap from 1990.
Still: the memories...
Home, James!
Sorry, Jon.
Home, Jon.
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