Fringe 2016: a nod to myself

Written yesterday, posted today... 

I'm writing this in quiet gardens tucked away from a main run of bookshops and cafés. Seagulls are bullying the other birds in the sky above me. If they get into a fist fight, I'm outta here, mainly because of the birds-not-having-fists thing.

I've got half an hour until I see Sam Simmons, whose show last year won the Foster's Comedy Award. I bumped into him after seeing that show last year ("hey, front row guy!") and he was really flipping lovely.

The turnout to my first show was enough to fill the front half of my (larger) venue. A good size for the morning of preview day. I'm happy about that.

The show feels sketcher than last year, pinballing from one idea to another. More rattly but, looking at the audience response, no less funny. Fresher, p'haps.

There's one bit where I sneak in pictures from pieces rejected from the final show (dinosaurs written for Speak Easy, Spice Girls written for First Draft), not that the audience would know. A little nod to myself, that.

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