You may remember one of those things was stand-up comedy. You may recall I briefly became a universal figure of hate for decrying the standard of some open mic comedians.
You may assume that any sane person who completed such a challenge relatively unscathed would be happy enough to move on with their life, safe in the knowledge they would never have to confront a microphone, blue material and potential heckling ever again.
Such an assumption about me would bestow a great deal more sanity than I evidently possess:
|Thanks to Aurelie for the picture; and Dan for the design.|
Since going to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe in 2008, I've harboured a secret desire to do a one-woman show - in the vein of my dear friend and mentor Deborah Frances White. But I've kept talking myself out of it - I'm not funny enough, I don't have enough good ideas, I don't have any experience.
So you can imagine it was as much a surprise to me as anyone when I found myself filling out an application form for the BITS Festival - a "sampler" festival; a non-curated event that lets creative types perform whatever they like - whether it's a finished piece, or still in a workshop stage.
When they asked for a running time on my submission, I thought of Deborah's show, and the other shows I'd seen at the festival. They were all around one hour long. That seemed a bit much, so I plumped for something I figured might be more realistic: 45 minutes.
I've subsequently found out the average performance time at BITS is 15/20 minutes.
So, to summarise:
- This Saturday, at 3:15pm, I'm performing at the Fringe Bar.
- All I've come up with is the name, and the idea that it's about how my Grandma is cooler than me.
- I have no material.
- I'm on for 45 minutes.
- My sanity is obviously serious in question.
I've made a few sly mentions of this on Facebook and Twitter, and the overall reaction has been... well, nonexistent. It's like tumbleweeds central in the social networking sphere. I suspect that people who do realise are embarrassed on my behalf and giving me the opportunity to gracefully pretend it's not happening.
But it is happening. And screw it, why not. I don't expect anyone to come; frankly it would make life much easier if I wind up spending the time talking to myself over a pink lemonade. But I may as well give it a go. Because if my Grandma can damn well survive a Luftwaffe direct hit during the Blitz and live to join His Majesty's Royal Navy, I can damn well talk shit about it for three-quarters of an hour.
Anyway, I've discovered where I'll be performing is regularly used for cabaret burlesque performances. So, worst comes to worst, maybe I can get a head start on a new list of challenges - with "public nudity" top of the list.