This evening before my show I popped up to the massive Festival Theatre to take part in a brief bit of nonsense in Stewart Lee's Silver Stewbilee. My erstwhile double act partner had put together a big gig to celebrate the launch of his new book and to further the aggrandisation of him as a comedy god. And judging by the packed theatre of excited punters it seemed to be working.
Stew had got some of his favourite acts to perform alongside him, and obviously I was not included in that role call, but instead he had rung me up to ask if I would come on at the end of the first half, rip up a copy of his book and swear at him. I was delighted to do this, even though I knew he was only asking me to rub in the fact that he was much more successful than me and to make people think I was somehow bitter about this (as if). But it sounded like a fun idea and I suspected the audience would be glad to see a Lee and Herring reunion, no matter how brief or odd.
I sat in the audience for the first half, conscious that if things over ran I might be late for my own gig, which was some way across town. But I was wishing I could stay for the whole thing, as it was an enjoyable line up, composed of my talented friends. It was satisfying to see these acts in a massive theatre in front of an appreciative audience. The brilliant Kevin Eldon did his smarmy poet Paul Hamilton, although there were moments when the heavy-handed poems criticising Thatcher seemed to be taken at face value by the audience. Paul Putner also gave us his Earl Stevens, an American stand up who has failed to check his references with anyone from Britain and so whose jokes are unintelligible nonsense, aptly demonstrating the weakness of comedy that relies on just reminding people about stuff they already know about. He did this character in a show in the early 2000s and lots of people didn't get that it was a joke, so it was ace to see him doing it in this massive theatre and getting laughs (as well as some confusion). He is a brilliant performer and the mannerisms and movements and cadences of the act are spot on. And there was also a welcome return for Simon Munnery's greatest creation Alan Parker Urban Warrior. The Steve Harley faced comic looked almost younger than he did back in the early 90s when he created this wonderful monster and yet somehow it seems ultra-relevant to today. It's funny that he's still going on about Thatcher in 2010, making him even further our of touch and more ridiculous. Munnery is probably the one true genius of my generation of comedians and has not had the appreciation that he deserves and again I got a vicarious thrill out of seeing all of these acts being given this amazing platform. And Stewart's stuff wasn't bad either. He coolly commanded the stage and pushed people's buttons, doing some daring stuff about the babies savaged by the fox as well as his fantastic bit about William Wallace, neatly juxtapositioning Scottish pride in their history with the shift in the attitude towards homosexuality.
And then it was my moment and there was a real sense of tension and discomfort as I shouted "Tell us a fucking joke" with some aggression from the auditorium. Stewart appeared to be genuinely thrown, "Just do a proper fucking joke for once," I yelled and I was quickly on my feet telling him he should get back with the funny, short, fat one. I could feel the realisation spreading through the audience and by the time I was on stage the relief that this was actually just a bit (or was it? - from Twitter at least I think quite a few people didn't think Stew was in on this and I had invaded the stage of my own volition) meant the awkwardness became applause and cheers. I mocked the fancy gatefold sleeve of the book, telling Stew he was vain and flicking the cardboard into this face and then started ripping the book to pieces and flinging the pieces at him, telling him he had missed out the chapter where he owed everything to me.
There was something spectacularly naughty and awful about ripping up a book (especially one that I had enjoyed so much) and congratulations to Faber and Faber as their books are so well constructed that it was quite hard to pull apart. I had had a few ideas about what I might say in the back of my mind - something about the copious footnotes about how he came up with the idea of repeating the same word with a different inflection for half an hour - but in the end a load of random stuff came out and I attempted a weak promotion of my own book and show before following a retreating Lee off stage. It was exhilarating and fun and woke me up after a day when I had been tired and grumpy (as evidenced in
Collings and Herrin podcast 127) and I enjoyed it, even though I had been, as I immediately observed, Stewart Lee's Andrew Collings.
There had been an affectionate and warm response from the crowd and it was nice to know that Lee and Herring are still held in high regard, at least by this select band of idiots. Although heading down to the Assembly Rooms to my smallest audience of the run so far brought home the disparity between Stew and me and a part of me felt envious and annoyed. But I think that was mainly just the tiredness eating away at me. I felt a bit like an outsider in something I had once been a big part of and wondered if I would ever get the kind of recognition that Stewart is currently deservedly receiving.
But this was just Edinburgh paranoia and maybe I had somehow fooled myself, because, of course, I had been part of the show, even it might have seemed like an unscheduled invasion. Ultimately I did feel proud of my friends for putting together a great show and for having this evening of vindication after the years of struggle and being misunderstood or overlooked. I was actually annoyed that I had to go and miss Bridget Christie being an ant, the Frank Chickens and Franz Ferdinand. It was a brilliant and electric evening of entertainment. Stew endured some tough times in Edinburgh over the years and petty jealousies aside I am genuinely delighted for my former colleague.
But if Andrew Collings gets a night like this then I will have to kill myself.
In any case bit by bit my own stuff is getting noticed. There were some lovely responses to
the AIOTM podcast, even if it is something that will go unnoticed by the media (there's something satisfying about it being a secret) and each year at the Fringe more people are discovering me. Even if time is passing by and I am getting older.
I did a good performance despite the relatively small crowd and the fact that I had forgotten to have any dinner and was flagging anyway. I had the chance to go back up to the theatre for the after show party, but decided to stay in on my own eating some M&S Thai Fish cakes. Perhaps I should have gone up there for a drink of water, but rest and sleep were probably more important. Though I have been feeling very boring and have missed out on lots of fun things this week. All work and no play.
I must get out and socialise a little bit in the last week and a half (amazingly the Fringe is only just over halfway through), but it's probably not surprising that I am wiped out. And although it's a relief to have AIOTM out of the way, there's still much work to be done. So once Collings has gone home and I don't have to shout at him and break all the rules of impro by blocking him and telling him that none of his jokes are funny, I may be able to give some time to writing the Radio 4 show.
But just in case you think I am slacking I am also doing my final
How Not To Grow Up book reading on Monday. Hope you can make it. Feel free to buy one of my books and rip it up in front of my stupid face. You will feel both disgusted and liberated at the same time.
