This afternoon I felt tired. Properly third week of Edinburgh tired and it was only day two.
It had already been a busy day and there was lots more to come.
Before lunch I had been round to a house a couple of streets away from mine, been led down a rather stinky corridor to the flat where Jamie Kilstein and Allison Kilkenny are staying. They are the comedians behind
Citizen radio which has amongst other things a podcast. They've interviewed all kinds of amazing people (including in the past Janeane Garofalo, Noam Chomsky and Tariq Ali) and in the wake of the still bubbling Guardian furore they wanted to chat to me.
And it was a lively and interesting interview (I think). I was spending most of the time envying their rather swanky microphone, wishing we had one for our podcasts, rather than the crappy internal mic on Andrew's Macbook, but I didn't let them know that. They asked good and intelligent questions and let me explain both what my show was about and what had been said about it. This is why I love the internet as a broadcast medium, because we had plenty of time to discuss it all properly and in context without having to pander to some fictional listener without an attention span. But also it's not a big enough story to be covered in depth by a national broadcaster, yet there will be enough comedy fans (even ones who don't know who I am) who would be interested in hearing it. As TV and radio get dumber and more averse to risks and at the mercy of focus groups and pathetic images of their average viewer/listener, the internet is getting smarter (and a lot dumber too at times) and taking chances and putting out the stuff that is interesting to the people who are creating it, in the hope that amongst the 4 billion people on the planet there might be a few thousand who want to tag along.
It's a wonderful and exciting freedom. Traditional broadcasters should be quaking in their shoes and doing something to counter this. But maybe they're already fucked. Why not go out with a bang though hey and produce some stuff you can actually be proud of rather than all the lowest common denominator shit you're peddling. At least then you can go to your death bed with a kind of dignity. It doesn't matter about viewing figures or audience share or column inches, do what is right. If just one executive at the BBC said, "Look, I know this might seem crazy, but let's not give Morden and Horden another great wadge of money to make a second series of their frankly shite programme, let's give it to Stewart Lee to make a second series of his Comedy Vehicle. It's just obviously a million times better and something we can be proud of, rather than ashamed and when we're old men and women, frail and looking back at our lives at least we can say, "I did something right and true and beautiful and prevented something ugly and embarrassing. It's not much. But it's something." Oh an while we're at it, let's give Richard Herring a show as well. He was always the funnier one, as everyone knows."
All right, spoiled it at the end there and I don't know where this strange digression came from. My brain is bewildered by the rollercoaster of Edinburgh.
I'm just saying it's nice to get involved with something that is smart and funny and where the people involved are excited and passionate about what they're doing, rather than looking dead behind the eyes as they do their best to deliver jokes that are beneath them, their rictus grins doing nothing but to betray their desire to be anywhere but where they are now.
I'm doing it again. Knocking TV whilst at the same time clearly still wanting to be on it. But that's OK, because that's the truth. I do love it and would love to do something if it could be on the right terms, but it seems increasingly likely that the internet is the only place where that is likely to happen.
I'm just saying it was fun having this unstructured conversation in the kitchen of a tiny flat in a house with a smelly hallway. I don't know when you'll be able to hear it. But you can got and see
Jamie's show at the Assembly Rooms. I can't because he, like 90% of comedians, is on at the same time as me. But I've seen him at work in his kitchen and that's enough for me. And
this article gives some indication about how funny he is.
After that I went on the old fashioned radio, on the BBC's Asian Network, another gig I got off the back of the Guardian article and my response to it. I was glad to get the chance to repair some of the damage caused by such quotes as "I hate Pakistanis", and to let people know that my show was actually anti-racism. The show was being broadcast from a lovely Indian restaurant in Infirmary Street, and although they had a bit more equipment was almost as ramshackle as Jamie and Allison's kitchen. They took up only two tables in the small cafe, one for the host and her guests and one for two technical guys, who were able to patch in callers on the small box of tricks in front of them.
Most of the team had seen my show last night and enjoyed it, so I thought it would be an easy ride, but the discussion got a bit confused and the host quizzed me about my use of the word "Paki" in the show, whilst another guest argued that that word should never be used. In the hustle and bustle it was difficult for me to make the context clear. It comes as part of two involved and long routines and they are not easy to sum up in a few words and without doing the whole thing. I didn't really want to talk about it out of context either. It's something I thought long and hard about and I think it works in the routines, but it's a word I hate and one that I wouldn't want to use off stage and especially not on the Asian network. And though the host had enjoyed the show and was trying to be supportive I knew that if I was at home listening to this conversation I would be affronted and upset by what it seemed my show was about. Perhaps I should just not talk to anyone about this. So far I have nothing but positive feedback from the show, especially from people from different ethnic backgrounds to myself. I should just let the show speak for itself.
Luckily I was there for an hour and I think managed to make it clear in the second half of the show how I felt about all the issues. Different callers and guests had varying ideas about what was acceptable in comedy, some saying you shouldn't joke at all about race and religion, some saying it was OK. I think the only solution is for each individual to decide for themselves and not to go to a show that they think might offend them, but to let others do so if they wish. So the present system is the best.
My show tonight was a much tighter performance and though the audience took a little time to get going at the start, by the end there was an amazing atmosphere and I felt more relaxed and enjoyed it a lot more. It was so hot that sweat was cascading over my eyebrows into my eyes, which made it uncomfortable at times, but I was very happy with the way it went and to have another sold out performance.
I then did two extra gigs, the first one of which, where I was mildly inebriated went very well and the second one, when I was rather more oiled was mediocre at best, with the majority of the audience staring at me blankly. I tried every trick in the book to get them going, but they weren't going to like me and I was, alas too drunk and my mock arrogance clearly came across as too real. It wasn't a disaster, but it made me glad that I haven't taken too many extra gigs this year. I just want to concentrate on the show and let people see the whole thing in context. And not to exhaust myself by filling my day with interviews where I have to defend myself and gigs when I could be relaxing elsewhere.
I walked home down the hill, feeling calm despite my final failure of the day. Even two years ago a disappointing gig like this would have made me depressed, but I took it on the chin, accepted my responsibility for being rubbish and felt good about myself. I love this late night walk through the dark streets, sometimes filled with noise and bluster, sometimes oddly quiet. I get quite philosophical and in my crapulous state felt like I was the wisest man in Christendom. I wasn't though. I was just drunk. But oddly content about my life.
As I approached our flat I saw a black cat in the street. I think it was the same one that I used to see on the same walk last year. I stopped to say hello. It was initially a bit scared of me (maybe the moustache) but then I stroked it and it became my friend again. "Do you remember me now?" I asked, but the cat maintained a mysterious silence. Probably he didn't, but didn't want to say anything out of embarrassment. Or maybe it was actually a different cat. I don't want to say that all black cats look the same to me, for fear of it being taken out of context and forcing me to appear on the BBC's Cat Network next week...
The cat was now firmly my friend though and started walking alongside me, like it planned to come and live with me now. It cantered along beside me for several metres, and I stroked it a bit more, but eventually I had to say, "Look you can't come with me, I haven't got anything for you. I'll probably see you tomorrow though." The cat seemed to understand the nature of our relationship and stopped and let me stagger on my way. My footsteps echoing around the tall dark stone buildings that surrounded me.
Good and bad I love this town. I love this festival. Finally I am at peace with it, whatever it throws at me.
