I'm a rubbish blogger

Yep, I let the blog slide. A few days. Then a few days more. Then...well, for the rest of the festival. To be honest, I couldn't be bothered to queue for an hour for a fifteen minute internet slot in a room full of university theatre groups cutting out hundreds of slips of paper with four stars on them and stapling them to flyers. Too much like hard work.

I'm home from Edinburgh now. Gathering my thoughts, and scraping together my memories. Flitting between "I wish I'd taken a camera" and "Thank the Lord I didn't take a camera". Nursing my injuries (a damaged ankle, a nearly broken toe, an achy neck and assorted leg-bruises) and licking my wounds (critics, bah). I'd be making a battle plan for myself but I'm too tired. I must be strong, however - have to maintain my record of not going to sleep before midnight, or I'll turn into a mogwai or something. Last night I went to sleep early (3am) and felt a little ashamed - the dawn wasn't breaking or anything.

As and when I achieve lucidity I will begin to write reports. But I can't be arsed right now. Laters x

Fatigue setting in....

A week in Edinburgh, and getting a bit knackered. Adrenalin and caffeine are keeping me going at the moment. The city is a seething mass of people, even more so than Manchester's Primark store during a sale. I'm beginning to really enjoy this performing lark....I was advised before I arrived that it would become addictive, and I didn't believe it at the time. but it looks like it's true. Maybe I'll carry on when I get back to the North West, who knows?

Over the first hurdle

Phew.

First proper show was last night. Proper as in, I had a set, and an audience, and...well, a coherent act. The panic attack beforehand evidently stood me in excellent stead, as I was better than the first night by a factor of approximately 10 (say conservative analysts). I made people laugh, and I entertained them, and I adlibbed, and I riffed of things people shouted out, and I only used about a third of my scripted material. I impressed myself, as well as my friend who had come along even though she was "sure it was going to be rubbish".

The run up was not without its crises. Mostly to do with the arrival - or non-arrival - of two crucial bits of my set (i.e. the front and the top). After recieving the parts the item proved impossible to assemble. Many nails later, it's still very rickety, but I think that adds to its charm.

In conclusion, I'm happy. Happier than I was 24 hours ago. The act is still very much a work in progress, and it needs polishing and refining, but I'm happy with my progress. BRING ON THE REVIEWERS, BABY.

Scotch Mist

Arrived Scotland, despite the inevitable car breakdown before even leaving Lancashire (Truckhaven services near Carnforth does a good line in cheese on toast and liqourice sticks). I've been in Edinburgh less than 24 hours and I'm already fighting the urge to talk in a Scottish accent continually - mainly resisting because I know my accent would be rubbish and offensive to real Scots.

My bedroom window faces onto The Meadows, which is a big green space in Edinburgh city centre. Unfortunately, The Meadows has a group of residents, who have tents set up directly opposite my bedroom window. The Lady Boys of Bangkok, who apparently are on twice nightly except Saturdays. When they're on three times.

Keep an ear on Justin Moorhouse in the afternoons on Key 103 (103fm in the North West, online everywhere)... cause I'm making guest reports for the show from North of the Border.