I went to the Pleasance this afternoon to have a coffee with my friend Al and his young family. His daughter Scarlett (who has probably now forgotten the time I told her
that her house came out of a bum) has just turned seven, and was playing with her younger sister Willow when I arrived. Although a charming young lady to everyone else she came into contact with, she seemed to delight in being cheeky to me and calling me names. She has learned young the correct female response to Richard Herring. Al must be very proud. Even though she said I was stupid and stinky and so on (she is so childish), I think she still liked me a bit.
After a while I decided to do some leafleting and Al asked his daughters if they would like to help me. They both wanted to be a part of it and I gave them a wad of leaflets each and we went from table to table. Willow who is about three of four I guess, was rubbish at it. She kept dropping the leaflets and was too shy to give them to anyone. I should have shouted at her and sacked her on the spot, but bizarrely the public seemed to like her despite her total ineptitude. Luckily Scarlett was a bit better and would hand over a leaflet with a smile that charmed many of the punters in the courtyard.
“Have you seen the show?” one man asked her.
“Yes,” Scarlett lied, “it’s rubbish.”
“Don’t say that,” I said aghast, “You have to pretend that it’s good. That’s your job.”
Scarlett just giggled and carried on slagging me off. We were quite an effective double act.
Willow’s interest soon faded – luckily because I was about to give her her marching orders anyway, the tiny idiot – but Scarlett wanted to carry on.
“Are you helping your dad?” asked one woman.
“He’s not my dad,” Scarlett protested with undisguised scorn and then added with justified pride “My dad is Al Murray!”
It was all causing quite a lot of amusement to the people we encountered. I had a bit of fun giving her a hard time for giving someone a leaflet the wrong way round, telling her that I would have to dock her wages. Suddenly when she realised there might be money in it her eyes lit up (like father, like daughter) and she briefly did a stint where she pretended that she thought the show was good. Which was just as funny. Every time I stopped to chat to someone she would chastise me and tell me we needed to get on with it. It was the most effective half an hour of leafleting I have ever done. My only worry was that people would turn up tonight and then say, “Where’s the funny one? The little girl. She’s what we came for.”
I paid her a pound and she looked at me like I had said her house had come out of a bum and demanded more (there really is no doubting whose daughter she is). I gave her another 37 pence and she seemed satisfied.
I donÂ’t know if it was down to her or not, but there were about 160 in tonight, which is great. A young lad of about 10 was on the front row and I wondered if his dad had seen me leafleting and thought this was a family show. It was a bit unsettling to have someone so young seeing my stuff, but I couldnÂ’t change anything and they all seemed to be enjoying it. The youngster particularly enjoyed the hand job material, which made me laugh. Probably ten year olds make up my ideal audience, itÂ’s about the right intellectual level. I was really, really tired though and wasnÂ’t totally on top of the show. A few other things threw me. There was either someone with TouretteÂ’s Syndrome in or a man who took quite an objection to me very quickly. SomeoneÂ’s watch started beeping in the middle of a routine. I got some bits in the wrong order. My throat hurt, my brain was frazzled and it was very hot and my forehead was covered with that oily hangover sweat. But I got through it, though over-running a bit because of all the distractions. People seemed to like it though, but it was one of those shows where they let you know at the end through applause, rather than through too much laughter!
Mawky McMawk was in the bar afterwards and told me that she had not realised that I was Richard Herring, saying I didnÂ’t look like my poster and she had assumed I was just the person setting up for the act. I donÂ’t know if she has had her attention drawn to my blog, but she said that she must be annoying me. Mainly she thought because her play-out music was getting into my head as I was always singing it.
Talk of the Fest was much more fun and though it turned out it wasnÂ’t as I had been led to believe a show entirely devoted to me, it was still great to do a bit of my show and then have a brief chat about it. I did much better than in my own show, even though I was quite drunk and inevitably the success lifted me and I carried on drinking into the night, despite my bad throat and my need for sleep. But thereÂ’s only two nights left and I have to make the most of it. This week I have been living on chips and beer and I am getting fat, but not as fat as I would have been without those first two weeks of fish, fruit and exercise. When I get back home I am going to be sensible for a couple of months, so this weekend is my holiday, before the return to the serious business of recording 10 radio shows (four of which need to be written as well) and re-writing two TV scripts. Oh man pass the chips and beer and the pants suit! Watch out Edinburgh! There is an ill and tired old man on the loose.
Still tickets left for both final shows. Not too many for Saturday though, so ring 0870 745 3083 immediately if you want to come. I will be less tired, I promise.
