The Fringe of ’22 is over

Its all done for another year, everyone’s left town, so many venues already look like there’s not been anything happening at all, even the streets are looking cleaner (yes, the binmen went back to work yesterday – was it really a strike or a dirty protest against the Fringe?!). At least I was able to console myself watching the Scat Rats yesterday evening in Whistlebinkies, and at the reasonable time of half nine! It’s Scotty boy’s birthday today, I’m sure there’ll be shenanigans afoot; just as long as he’s recovered by Friday when there’s a double dose of Marah and Rough – at five in Binkies, then down in Stramash at seven, sweet!

Anyways, you probably popped in for some end of Fringe waffle, like, did Accordion Ryan do a new song? Yes, he did and very good it was too, all about him seemingly giving off long term relationship vibes when, well, sometimes it’s nice just to have a bit of fun! Another clever, funny, slightly bittersweet song. It was a brilliant last show, a total blast, it’s gotta be ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐. As is the usual with these things venue staff came along for a final send-off, I’m sure Ryan brought plenty of sunshine into their lives this last month (mine too!)

Earlier that evening walking up Blair Street I noticed that the Alternative Comedy Memorial Society Awards 2022 were taking place that night, obviously I had to get a ticket, what better way to round off the Fringe (especially in case nothing turned up on Monday)? Needless to say it was very silly, rather anarchic and quite random, like any evening at the ACMS. Thom Tuck managed to keep some semblance of order (Professional), or did a good impression of doing so. Throughout the show various nominees for Best Song went up and performed, my favourite was definitely John Robertson’s, short and very much to the point BINS!! As this was ACMS Awards there wasn’t actually an award for Best Song, of course not. The whole thing was done and dusted by around two thirty, a very reasonable time, considering.

announcing the winner of the Least Likely award

Monday? The few flyerers left descended on the remaining Fringers, by god, they had one last show to flyer and they were determined to got some bums on those seats! They circled around us like seagulls going for discarded chips, saying you already had a show to go to almost felt mean. Oh, I wasn’t just saying it, I did, the chaps from Out To Lunch were quite engaging so I bought a ticket, and that was my final Fringe show, in the afternoon! No final night, didn’t even bother with Binkies Open Mic Night, this slow, wheezing demise of the Fringe is no fun. Just end everything on the Sunday night!!! The last Monday gets more tragic each year.

Out To Lunch was rather good, by the way. It’s a comedy-musical but there’s not too much singing in it. Indeed, when the first song started I’d forgotten that it was a musical it was a fair way into the play, oh and the two male actors weren’t particularly musical when they tried to sing but that just made it funnier. Emily Cairns playing Angie made up for them, she has an awesome voice. I was amused by the main protagonist Marcus Tuckwell, a failing food critic, when I realised he was coming across like the bastard love child of Bernard Black (Black Books) and Jack Whitehall! Yes, I had that going on in my head.

Must finish, I’m hungry. There may be a ranty post later, possibly; well, a Fringe round-up that may become ranty. I may even get round to some Bruce T Moose awards this year, I’m feeling a tad inspired by the ACMS, Best Song nominees welcome!

Thom took his MC duties very seriously

How to make a moose smile

Bored now. Following random thoughts around Facebook at two in the morning after Buffy is not a good sign. My long walks have tailed off a tad too. When will life be normal again? Will it ever be normal again?

Its late July, the town should be plastered with show posters, the Pleasance should have it’s bar built by now, George Square Gardens should have a giant purple upsidedown cow being inflated in it, Bristo Square should be all cordoned off as this year’s creation is created, Charlotte Square is empty and locked up. I’m not bored – I’m down!

But then, sometimes in the wee small hours following Facebook trails can throw up wonderful things. Things like John Robertson talking about mental health stuff, the guy is just sooo brilliant. Yes, he’s scary too, and definitely not for everyone, but if you get him you love him (like marmite, or vegemite).

Quick scrolling through, he’s a pandad. What?! Yep, he’s a pandad in an inflatable panda outfit. This guy has not let a little thing like Covid19 slow him down, John Robertson seems to have slipped online with ease. He does a lot of stuff on something called Twitch, sigh, another new-fangled wotsit. Oo, and a mention of his book The Little Town of Marrowville, it’s doing rather well; apparently Amazon UK had run out again!! Of course, I’ve no idea how many that actually means but hey, it’s got to be good news (unless you have yet to get a copy).

It couldn’t happen to a nicer book! I notice there’s an audio version with Mr Robertson himself reading it, wow, that’s pretty tempting! I could quite hear him as I read it, I could actually hear him with the audiobook, hmmm. I was umm-ing and ahh-ing over getting the book last year, I was aware he’d written it and had brought copies to sell after his Fringe shows. I didn’t, but a good friend went along to Teviot to buy one and even got it signed for me. Hurrah! Best Christmas present last year!

2020-07-29 12.40.35

It’s one of those books that’s supposedly meant to be for kids, but there’s plenty like me who will love it. It’s funny, surreal, dark (as hell in places), sharp, and it has that great Aussie dryness and wit through it. I love how descriptive the writing is, painting vivid pictures of the characters and their surroundings; I’m guessing our author may be utilising some dungeon mastering techniques here? I would definitely place it up there with China Mieville’s Un Lun Dun and Clive Barker’s Abarat as books to expand and encourage young minds. All three are deliciously creative and slightly warped.

Oh, you’re wondering why Neil Gaiman wasn’t included there? These three share a certain type of dark surreality that I don’t find in Gaiman, his darkness is different. I would say, a child who loves The Little Town of Marrowville will go on to like the Abarat series but not necessarily Neverwhere (which is one of my favourite books). Un Lun Dun is from the mind that gave us Perdido Street Station, nuff said, it will open a young mind to all sorts of realms.

So, what words of wisdom did Mr Robertson write in the front of my book?

2020-07-29 20.50.17                                                                I think he nailed it. The answer to life, the universe and everything maybe 42, but this is definitely the answer to, how do you make a moose smile? These words read like a big, warm, reassuring hug. Good man, that John Robertson!

Toodle pip!

A walk on the fringe side

Last night walking through the Cowgate, Fringe posters everywhere, I got to pondering if someone was trying to remember a recommendation …. “I remember it’s John, yes definitely John, the surname was something like Roberts, or possibly Robertson? What’s that? John-Luke? Oo, not sure, the guy said he was very good. Huh? Roberts? No, I think it was Robertson. Well, they’re both comedians, how different will they be?” Well, sir, they are very different, just like porters and golden ales are both beers but one style is bogging whilst the other is rather nice; pick the wrong one and the result may leave a rather unpleasant taste! Personally, of course, I enjoy both Roberts and Robertson but I don’t like porters.

Earlier today after seeing Scary Story at Paradise in the Vault I headed home the roundabout way down the Royal Mile, now the last chance saloon for flyerers desperately trying to drum up one last audience. Also walking along was one of the silent disco walking tours, yeah right, silent?! They dance around singing loudly and badly to the amusement/annoyance of other pedestrians. Today I happened to catch their rendition of Sheena Easton’s 9 to 5, damn them, it’s still in my head! And I remember all the words, oh the shame!

Let’s make it a threesome, yesterday afternoon heading from the Gilded Balloon up the Royal Mile I happened upon a chap typing up instant poetry on the street. Ho, I thought, never had a poem written just for me, so I commissioned him to tap something out. Him was Ben, a lovely American chap who’d seen it done in New Orleans and decided to give it a whirl himself. We had a lovely chat, enjoying the late afternoon sun as the world passed by. Here’s his endeavours, a new treasure to add to my Fringe Box.

 

 

 

 

Guilty pleasures

Yesterday afternoon I indulged myself with an hour of class, intelligence and charm – I went to Benet Brandreth’s show. Ye gads, he has charisma in spades, but, and this is a big but, he looks and sounds so like his father!! How can I have a moosecrush on someone who looks and sounds like Gyles Brandreth? I do find Brandreth Snr entertaining and amusing but Junior is something else. Bud and I went to his first Fringe show back in 2011 for a laugh, we came out swooning and disturbed, Gyles Brandreth’s son! So wrong it’s right. I shall be reminded of him every time I see a ramekin from now on.

Not quite such a guilty pleasure is Brendon Burns, this year Mansplainin’ at Heroes@Boteco, a Pay What You Want show though when I went most folk had bought tickets in advance to be sure of getting in. Why do I feel any guilt about Burnsy? It’s when people politely enquire how my Fringe is going (out of something to say and obviously not any genuine interest) I can say how bloody brilliant he is, what a great show, and then hope they’ll go along – I spoke the truth but omitted that he probably wouldn’t be their cup of tea! He’s definitely not for everyone, someone yelling “Anal!” repeatedly in your face, he’s an acquired taste. And I’d say Burnsy has mellowed out a bit, not so John Robertson.

John Robertson has been having a Sweaty, Sexy Party Party this year at Just the Tonic at The Tron, another PWYW show. This year he came aided and abetted by the stony-faced Dr Blue on guitar (when the good Doctor actually cracked a smile and laughed at something, JR was like all his christmases had come at once, obviously this was a rare occurrence). His opening number The Sadomasochism Blues set the scene, and boy, he can sing the blues rather well, even when improvising, which he does whenever an inspiration appears, like how polite we were about him just helping himself to other people’s drinks (he can really chug a beer down!)

I think what I find so appealing about JR is how I feel like I’m peeping into a world I find scary and alien, but it’s only a peep and afterwards it’s like an unnerving but hysterically funny dream. A dream that includes margerine-coated koalas sliding down trees!!

Toodle pip! Sweet dreams!