Edinburgh Festival 2007 - A Tale of Two T-Shirts
Part One – Is That a Rucksack on your back or ………..
Risking life and limb by travelling through so many railway turnstiles with a rucksack on my back, I made my merry way to Edinburgh for the festival. I pitched up with L. at a small pavement café on Cockburn Street eating pasta and breathing in the heady scent of flowers in baskets hanging precariously above us, mingled with cigarette smoke wafting over from other pavement diners. After a leisurely pasta and smoke avoidance in the drizzle (because we are trying to pretend that it’s summer round here) we headed off to see Richard Herring, but not before R. had called to inform us that we were late and in danger of not getting in. (Note: we are always disgustingly late for everything but always seem to get in.)
Richard Herring did not disappoint. Perhaps the paedophile joke was teetering on the edge but he didn’t fall in to the muck and the Chris Langham reference was hysterical and got an excellent response from the audience. The sperm joke was surprisingly profound but perhaps that was just me.
I felt also that he was surprisingly restrained when two people walked out to the toilet right across his stage. He said absolutely nothing and said nothing again when they walked back in. It would seem that he’s a well brought up boy.
Now, I must bring up my concern with the T-Shirt that he was wearing. The T-Shirt in question was an intrinsic and funny part of his set and must have got pretty sweaty during the course of it. I am therefore seriously hoping that he has a few identical T-Shirts to wear during the course of his run so that he can perform the same joke without knocking his audience senseless with layers of built up sweat. Can you imagine the stink if he were to wear the same T-shirt for his whole run. I don’t wish to put anyone off going to see him, but you might wish to check with his agent about his T-Shirt strategy and cleaning facilities. You might also want to ask a similar thing of Robin Ince’s agent but that’s for the next instalment.
Despite this, go and see Richard Herring. He will not disappoint.
And then we were off into the city with its drinking potential stretched out before us and we certainly didn’t waste any of that potential. We pitched helplessly, from one bar of heaving humanity to another until we were part of that heaving humanity. We finally ended up squashed into the corner of a large bar with a beer garden where it would appear that half the lost souls of Edinburgh had chosen as their home for the evening. Despite the rain, people spilled out of the bar into the beer garden to watch helplessly as the rain plopped into their pints.
More people kept coming into the bar. It was standing room only as they squashed and crushed their way in, leaving barely room to breath, never mind drink. And drink they did, copious amounts disappeared down throats and into cavernous bellies. I kept banging into people with my blessed rucksack and those people were giving me some very strange looks in return.
The smile on R.’s face broadened and a wicked gleam came into her eyes.
“This would be a good place for the bombers” she said.
Risking life and limb by travelling through so many railway turnstiles with a rucksack on my back, I made my merry way to Edinburgh for the festival. I pitched up with L. at a small pavement café on Cockburn Street eating pasta and breathing in the heady scent of flowers in baskets hanging precariously above us, mingled with cigarette smoke wafting over from other pavement diners. After a leisurely pasta and smoke avoidance in the drizzle (because we are trying to pretend that it’s summer round here) we headed off to see Richard Herring, but not before R. had called to inform us that we were late and in danger of not getting in. (Note: we are always disgustingly late for everything but always seem to get in.)
Richard Herring did not disappoint. Perhaps the paedophile joke was teetering on the edge but he didn’t fall in to the muck and the Chris Langham reference was hysterical and got an excellent response from the audience. The sperm joke was surprisingly profound but perhaps that was just me.
I felt also that he was surprisingly restrained when two people walked out to the toilet right across his stage. He said absolutely nothing and said nothing again when they walked back in. It would seem that he’s a well brought up boy.
Now, I must bring up my concern with the T-Shirt that he was wearing. The T-Shirt in question was an intrinsic and funny part of his set and must have got pretty sweaty during the course of it. I am therefore seriously hoping that he has a few identical T-Shirts to wear during the course of his run so that he can perform the same joke without knocking his audience senseless with layers of built up sweat. Can you imagine the stink if he were to wear the same T-shirt for his whole run. I don’t wish to put anyone off going to see him, but you might wish to check with his agent about his T-Shirt strategy and cleaning facilities. You might also want to ask a similar thing of Robin Ince’s agent but that’s for the next instalment.
Despite this, go and see Richard Herring. He will not disappoint.
And then we were off into the city with its drinking potential stretched out before us and we certainly didn’t waste any of that potential. We pitched helplessly, from one bar of heaving humanity to another until we were part of that heaving humanity. We finally ended up squashed into the corner of a large bar with a beer garden where it would appear that half the lost souls of Edinburgh had chosen as their home for the evening. Despite the rain, people spilled out of the bar into the beer garden to watch helplessly as the rain plopped into their pints.
More people kept coming into the bar. It was standing room only as they squashed and crushed their way in, leaving barely room to breath, never mind drink. And drink they did, copious amounts disappeared down throats and into cavernous bellies. I kept banging into people with my blessed rucksack and those people were giving me some very strange looks in return.
The smile on R.’s face broadened and a wicked gleam came into her eyes.
“This would be a good place for the bombers” she said.
