Cool Blue Shed - Dave’s Shelf

This blog has now closed.

Dave’s new blog can be found at http://www.coolblueshed.co.uk/

I’m closing down the Cool Blue Shed.

Just for a while. (If all goes well it’ll just be for a few hours.)

When it comes back, it’s going to be different. It’ll just be one blog (again), but not a personal blog. The new Cool Blue Shed is going to concentrate on comedy. A few of the older posts will remain, but most will be humanely destroyed (after they’ve been copied on to a CD).

Why the change?

The Cool Blue Shed was originally envisaged as a way of getting me to write. The title was deliberately obscure, so I could write about whatever I wanted.

Back in April, I launched a page dealing exclusively with music. I put a lot of effort into it. I redesigned the site, thought about what I was going to write about and spent weeks working out a plan. And no one read it. 6 or 7 weeks after launch, it was barely registering 10% of website traffic.

Less than three weeks ago I launched a comedy page. I put very little effort into it, spent no time redesigning the site and even less on what I was actually going to write about. Just days after the launch, website traffic was dramatically up and the comedy page was responsible for 75% of all hits.

I think I’ve found my audience.

I could continue as before, but having the different “shelves” somehow dilutes the site’s impact. Better to concentrate on one thing, I think.

So, the Cool Blue Shed now has an agenda.

The Cool Blue Shed is a blog written by a comedy obsessive.

I’ve always been one of those and I reckon I always will be.

A few days ago, this little beastie decided to take up residence in our living room. Actually, it’s one of several reasonably sized arachnids that have paid us a visit over the last week or so. It’s not the biggest spider I’ve ever seen (that pleasure took place in a Scottish caravan about six years ago) but it’s certainly big enough to be a problem. Or at least it would have been during my previous existence as an arachnophobe. Before May 2007, the site of this thing would have been enough to have caused me to flee the house in terror. Not anymore.

Eighteen months ago I attended London Zoo’s Spider Friendly Programme. I went with my partner’s daughter, G. We were both pretty bad when it came to spiders. It affected our lives. One summer, after a large spider was spotted in her bedroom, G pulled her bed into the centre of the room and kept as far away from the walls as she could. A spider of the same size was later found in the hall and was quickly squashed with a boot. We convinced G that this was the one from her bedroom. It took a few more days, but eventually the bed returned to its intended position, although covers and pillows still had to be checked each and every night.

I’m no better. Once, I picked up a cloth that had been left on the floor. I felt something wriggle. I opened my hand and saw that as well as the cloth, I’d also picked up a spider. It wasn’t even a big one, but it still caused me to let out an involuntary, enormous, girly scream. Enough was enough, I thought. It’s time to do something about this.

I’d been thinking about doing something about my arachnophobia for years. I’d read about the Spider Friendly Programme before, but last year I went for it. I mentioned it G and she was up for it too, so I booked two places.

If not the very best money I’ve ever spent, it came pretty close.

Three hours after walking nervously into a lecture theatre, I was holding a Mexican Red-Kneed Tarantula. Not a small one, a dead one, a model of one or a picture of one – the real deal. A fully grown spider that was bigger than a hamster. And it was a beautiful thing. Soft and delicate, elegant and splendid. A stunning creature.

All well and good, you might think, but no. The problem with having a sub-conscious, irrational fear removed is that, for most of the time, you’re not aware that it’s gone. The conscious part of your brain has had a lifetime of spider induced panic attacks and there’s no reason why it’s suddenly going to think that that’s all in the past. The conscious part of your brain has to learn that the sub-conscious fear has gone. The conscious part of your brain doesn’t want you to come into contact with spiders, because it knows what the result is – in my case a rocketing heartbeat, waving arms and a girly scream. The fact that that no longer happens has to be learned.

The problem was that, after walking away from London Zoo on that May afternoon, feeling elated and amazed, I then didn’t see a spider for months. Indeed I didn’t see one single large spider during the whole of last summer. I saw plenty of small ones, but no beasties.

So, I started to worry. I was worried that the affects of the Spider Friendly Programme would wear off, that it had been too long between my tarantula encounter and getting up close to a reasonably sized British house spider. British house spiders are ugly things anyway. Tarantula’s have beautiful markings. The British house spider always scared me more than the big tarantulas I saw in films and at zoos. As time went on, I became more and more convinced that my spider phobia was still there. At best, I thought, it may have been slightly reduced, but that was all.

Not so. As I said, a number of fairly large spiders have recently wandered through our home, and each time I see one I feel slightly calmer than before. I’m expecting the panic to kick in, but it doesn’t. I’m gradually learning that my sub-conscious fear of spiders isn’t there anymore. It’s a wonderful feeling. Where once I would have ran, now I can reach for my camera and take a pic.

Right, I think to myself, I’ll make some coffee and then take a wander upstairs, sit down at my little desk and get to work for a while on the Cool Blue Shed. So I check that there’s water in the kettle, flick the switch and gaze out of the kitchen window to the back garden, which is basking in beautiful September sunshine. Life is good, I think, and I let out a contented sigh. The kettle starts its prolonged swooshing crescendo. I turn away from the window and wander over to the doorway that separates the kitchen from the living room. I look at the TV for a few seconds and then a thought pops into my hazy head. Lately, the latch on the door that separates the kitchen from the living room has been sticking. My hand reaches out and I try the handle. It doesn’t feel quite right. I’m not a DIY expert, so I haven’t got a clue what the problem might be, but when I pull the handle down, the latch doesn’t move as well as it should. I move the handle up and down quite quickly for a few seconds, as if this is going to achieve anything. And then, without thinking too clearly, I close the door.

Click.

I pull down the door handle.

Nothing.

I start yanking the door handle up and down as violently as I can manage at this time in the morning.

The latch isn’t budging. I’m trapped in the kitchen.

The kettle clicks off. Coffee is ready, but I have nowhere to take it.

“Oh, that’s just fucking great!” I say out loud, and instantly realise that this is a bad situation because I’m actually saying things, rather than just thinking them.

I live on an overpopulated island where the overwhelming aim in life is to make as much money as possible. Consequently, I live in house the size of a shoebox. The kitchen only connects to the living room. There is only one doorway. With the door jammed, I cannot get to any other part of my house.

Luckily, Sue hates driving. (Bear with me.) Sue hates driving so much that she doesn’t like reversing the car off the drive, so this morning I got up early, reversed the car for her and then off she went to work. The reason I mention this supposedly unconnected event is that it has led to the fact that I have a set of keys in my pocket. Normally, whilst just standing around making my first cup of coffee of the day, my keys would be elsewhere. On any other day I’d be trapped until Sue got home, which would be for five hours. Not so today. I have keys! Oh thank you, Sue, thank you for being a shit driver!

Living on an overpopulated island, the task of getting from my back garden to the front of the house is a bit more complicated than it should be. It basically involves me walking through the back gardens of two other properties, however, I struggle on and eventually I’m through the front door, into the living room and I’m staring at the other side of the jammed door.

I won’t bore you with all of the details (you have busy lives), but during the time I was supposed to be sitting here, calmly updating my website, sipping a warm mug of Kenco Columbian, I was unscrewing a door handle, trying to force out a latch that didn’t want to budge, driving to a local branch of Homebase (“make your house a home” – chuckle, chuckle), searching for an identical latch and then refitting it. I should also mention the mess this caused to an area of carpet that, not two minutes before flicking the switch on the kettle in the first paragraph of this post, I’d run the vacuum cleaner over.

Do you ever feel sometimes that world exists just to piss you off?

Eagle-eyed visitors to this site may have spotted that a new item has been added to the menu bar just below the header. The Cool Blue Shed now has a third shelf – The Comedy Shelf. Big drum roll followed by Fanfare For The Common Man and impressive lighting effects. I thank you.

For some reason, travel and drinking beer both make me mildly constipated. Those two things together can make me more than mildly constipated. As far as my insides are concerned, travel and beer is not a good combo.

So picture the scene. It’s about nine o’clock at night. I’m sitting at a picnic table in a square in Edinburgh, which for the purposes of the Festival has been turned into a big alfresco bar. The place is buzzing. At a table close by sits a famous comedian. He seems to be enjoying himself. Whenever I glance across, he is in fits of giggles.

Unfortunately, I’m not enjoying myself as much as I should be. I feel bloated and uncomfortable and the pint of Guinness sitting on the table in front of me is only going down very, very slowly. For four days now there has been an awful lot going into my stomach, but very little coming out of it. I feel as though my insides have been filled with cement. It isn’t a very pleasant feeling. But I soldier on. Sipping back more Guinness and producing the occasional belch.

At nine thirty, or thereabouts (I can’t be too specific), my stomach, bless it, starts to make rumbling noises. If I was back at the hotel, I’d be delirious with joy. At last, I’d cry, at last there are signs of movement. I’ll be empty again soon. I can enjoy filling myself up again. But I’m not back at the hotel. I’m at a makeshift outside bar and the toilet facilities are none too promising. The toilet facilities are just a few steps away, but I don’t want to go there. They’re bound to be awful. I curse my body for its bad timing. If I don’t go now, the urge will disappear and I’ll remain blocked up for at least another twenty four hours. That won’t be good.

After a few more minutes it becomes clear that on this occasion, my stomach is not going to let me forget that it needs to empty. The situation is becoming critical. There’s nothing for it. I’ve got to use the toilet facilities here.

I get up from the picnic table, wander across to the sign marked “Gents”, climb up three steps and enter the harshly lit toilet. A couple of guys are using the urinals. The doors to the cubicles are all closed. I push one and thankfully it opens. Also, thankfully, it looks fairly clean. I enter, close the door behind me, pull down my jeans, take a seat and my stomach immediately goes to work. It isn’t pleasant. I was hoping for a quick exit, but it isn’t like that. This isn’t going to be a nice experience. The remains of everything I’ve eaten in the last four or five days have been compacted into a substance that resembles dark treacle. And it stinks. My god, it stinks. It’s evil stuff and once it starts oozing out, there’s no stopping it, there’s nothing I can do. It just goes on and on, with the stench getting worse and worse.

Eventually it’s over. And almost as soon as it’s done, I hear a familiar voice. It’s the famous comedian. He hasn’t entered yet, he’s still outside, but he’s heading this way.

“Nah, I’m just here to see stuff this year,” he says. “Catching up with a few friends, that sort of thing.”

He enters, he’s inside.

“Just enjoying myself, you know.”

Then he stops. There’s a pause. Then he says:

“Jesus, that’s enough to make your eyes water, eh?”

And I know he’s referring to me. Well, not me, but the rotten, horrible stench that I’ve just created in stall number two.

“Jesus,” he says again.

I hang my head in shame.

When I’m ready to leave, I wait for a while. I make sure the coast is clear. When I think it is, I open the door and head over to the sinks. Thankfully there’s soap and thankfully the place is empty.

I head back to my seat. The famous comedian isn’t there. He must have moved on. He didn’t see me come out, so therefore he can’t connect me to the horrendous smell he’s just inhaled.

“Feel better?” asks a concerned Sue.

“Not really,” I say, sitting down and picking up my pint of Guinness.

As for me, well, I had a fabulous time at this year’s Fringe. Here’s a quick look back at some of the stuff we saw.

Bale de Rua
A dance thing from Brazil. I don’t think the show really knew what it wanted to be – an in yer face, high energy, one-hell-of-a-good-time extravaganza, or something more thoughtful, more exploratory. The show veered from one to the other, starting with somersaults that stirred the senses and then slowing down for a weird, meandering piece about the history of slavery. The finale was better, with the performers jumping into the audience and encouraging the crowd to get out of their seats and DANCE. Which, of course, we all did. When it was good, it was great. Pity about the section in the middle.
Verdict: 6 out of 10

Mark Watson
Mark began his performance from the back of the steep Pleasance Grand venue and spent a while chatting with the audience. He had plenty to work with on the night I was there. Someone had brought their ten year old son along, which had Mark questioning whether bringing a child to a stand-up comedy gig was particularly wise. He pondered for a while as to whether he should tone down his language and played with the audience’s reaction to him almost saying a certain “c” word. Later, it became apparent that a guy in front row was already late for Michael McIntyre’s gig next door. This show had started a little late and the guy hadn’t left any time to get from one venue to the next. It also transpired that Michael’s gig had cost slightly more. There was touching moment when Mark reached into his pocket and gave the guy in the front row the £3 difference between show prices. Mark’s easy manner in front of a paying audience made for a warm and funny stand-up experience. This was a very good start to a very good night.
Verdict: 8 out of 10

Stephen K. Amos
OK, so some of the material was a little old, but boy can Stephen K. Amos work a crowd! The show had a theme – there is humour in all situations, however bleak, however harsh, however cruel, there is always humour to be found. So, people of the world, find the funny! Again, like Mark, there was a lot of interplay with the audience, but again in a way that felt comfortable. You weren’t scared that you were going to be picked on. Indeed, it was the opposite. Over here, Stephen, talk to me! Although that may have been the drink making me feel more relaxed. Whatever, this was very entertaining hour in the presence of a very skilled performer.
Verdict: 8 out of 10

Mervyn Stutter’s Pick Of The Fringe
If you’re new to the Fringe, my advice is to go along to Pick Of The Fringe at least once. Basically, over the course of 90 minutes, you get extracts from 7 or 8 Fringe shows. It’s a good way of bolstering up the number of performances you can see during a Fringe visit. On the day we were there, we saw three women stand-ups, all of whom were very good, a guy performing Noel Coward songs and a great Australian folk-rock band called GWQ, who I spoke to briefly afterwards.
Verdict: 8 out 10

Diet Of Worms
We went to this because Sue fancied the guy giving out the flyers. He was Irish. Sue has a thing for the Irish accent. I haven’t yet travelled with her to Ireland. I dare say we’ll go there one day. This was a very weird sketch show, which featured a creature called the Puffincat, which was half puffin and half – yes, you’ve guessed it – cat. It also, for some reason, featured a lot of characters from Soviet era Russia. One sketch that worked particularly well, I thought, was when the whole audience had to play the part of a trainee spy.
Verdict: 7 out of 10

Michael McIntyre
I’ve only recently discovered Michael McIntyre, but I think I can safely predict that he’s destined for big things. Quite simply, this was one of the most assured stand-up performances I’d ever seen. What was particularly impressive was the way Michael remembered the ad hoc stuff that happened during the show and kept weaving it in and out of his written material. It was simply brilliant.
Verdict 9 out of 10

Joan Rivers: A Work in Progress by a Life in Progress
After seeing this show, I’ve gotta say, I have a lot of respect Joan Rivers. A two-hour show, built around a play set in Joan’s dressing room on Oscar night, but in which Joan frequently breaks through the fourth wall and talks openly and honestly about her life. It was dense stuff, at 75 there’s a lot of life story to get through, but it was expertly told and her choice of phrases was, in some instances, utterly spellbinding. One line in particular stunned the audience into silence - “there’s so few of us left who once shared the same sunlight”.
Verdict 9 out of 10

Stefan Golaszewski Talks About a Girl He Once Loved
Stefan Golaszewski is a member of Cowards, a sketch group in the mould of other sketch groups whose members also do a lot of solo stuff. I was expecting pure stand-up, but this was more of a one person play, with Stefan playing his 18 year old self and remaining in character throughout. Even when bringing the story up to the present day, it was the 18 year old Stefan who was still with us. The girl in question was Stefan’s flash of lightning moment, the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen and who he ended up actually talking to. They arranged a date – a night out a Walthamstow Dogs – but then things went downhill. I won’t spoil the story in case you ever get the chance to see this yourself. This was delicate stuff and it had a few members of the audience in tears. It has also stayed with me since the afternoon I saw it. A rather wonderful piece of theatre.
Verdict: 8 out of 10

A Life In The Theatre
I went to see this because it had David Cann in it. David Cann played the doctor in Blue Jam. Blue Jam is my favourite radio show. I had to see David Cann. A Life In The Theatre is a play written by David Mamet, which explores the relationship between two actors. One is older and has his best years behind him, the other is young and seems to have a bright future ahead of him. The play mixes dressing room chat with excerpts from the performances they share together over the years. Often, the scenes are short and just a few words are spoken. I wasn’t in the best frame of mind for this. An afternoon of drinking had made me a little tired. Everyone else had gone back to the hotel and I saw this alone. But, like Stefan previously, this was a show that has stayed with me.
Verdict: 7 out of 10

Pagagnini
I wasn’t too sure about this one when I booked the tickets. A comical string quartet. This would either work very well indeed, I felt, or not at all. Fortunately, it was the former. When I left the theatre (it was in a proper theatre, this one!) I felt totally elated and for a while wondered whether this was the greatest show I’d ever seen at the Fringe. I later concluded that it wasn’t, but it was still bloody good. The show was presented as a serious evening of music and we were given a programme as we entered. But as each piece was played, a comical situation developed, one which could then be interpreted in the music itself. The long standing ovation that the audience gave at the end was well deserved.
Verdict: 9 out of 10

La Clique
Described by The Culture Show as the hottest ticket at this year’s Festival, this was mine and Sue’s second La Clique experience. La Clique is a late night cabaret consisting of some of the weirdest acts you’ll ever see. There’s Mario, who juggles to the music of Queen. There’s Captain Frodo, who can dislocate parts of his body and squeeze through a tennis racket. There’s Ursula Martinez, with her interesting find the hanky routine. Add a handful other delightfully strange acts, a drunken crowd and the intimate splendour of the Spiegeltent and you have, what is indeed, a seriously good show. Three years ago, La Clique was great. In 2008, it was even better. I’d love to take a busload of friends to this.
Verdict: 10 out of 10

Richard Herring
Richard Herring was the nerdy kid at school. He wore a blazer, had a briefcase instead of a sports bag and, worst of all, his dad was the headmaster. I’ve been going to Richard Herring shows for almost as long as I’ve been going to the Fringe, but I’ve never seen him like this. He’s usually good, but this was in another class. This was jaw-droppingly awesome. If he tours this show, I’m going again.
Verdict: 10 out of 10

Ed Byrne
The thing I’ll remember most about this gig was that it was absolutely pissing it down when we came out. It was so bad that the staff at the Assembly Hall gave us free plastic ponchos, which I thought was very nice of them. Ed was in good form and is another performer who you instantly feel very comfortable with. I like that. I think it’s fascinating to watch performers who can come out and really connect with an audience. The audience transforms from a group of strangers to a community of friends. Then the show ends and we’re strangers again, slipping on our ponchos and heading out into the wet night. I love that about comedy.
Verdict: 8 out of 10

So that’s that then. A lot of stand-up this year, more than usual, and all of it very good. Indeed, en masse, Edinburgh 2008 will go down as my favourite year for stand-up. One show in particular, Richard Herring, is currently tied with a Sean Hughes performance I saw years ago as the best stand-up I’ve so far had the pleasure of experiencing.

Sadly, I didn’t get to see as many shows as I’d hoped. This was a “family” trip, so our little vacation had to include non-Fringe elements as well. Damn and blast. I was thinking that this may be my last Fringe trip for a while, but it’s just left me eager for more. At the Michael McIntyre gig I sat next to a retired local couple who were spending every day cramming in as many shows as they could. The shows they liked the best were ones I’d marked down as possibilities. There was Deepcut at the Traverse. This is How it Ends at C Soco. A play about Ian Dury at The Zoo. Rich Hall as Otis Lee Crenshaw in the Pleasance cabaret bar. There were dozens and dozens of others. I knew that I wouldn’t get to see them. Towards the end of our chat, the lady leaned across and said “the best thing I’ve seen so far is Stefan Golaszewski”. That made me feel a lot better. I already had the tickets in my pocket.

Ah well, the dust has settled on another Fringe. Time, then, for a little reflection.

I mentioned in an earlier post that this year’s Fringe got off to a bad start. The new ticketing system didn’t work properly. And now it seems that Edinburgh really was quieter this year. Ticket sales were reported as being down by 10 per cent.

Jon Morgan, Fringe Director for just 18 months, resigned almost as soon as the Fringe ended. An enquiry is underway. More heads could roll. So what went wrong?

Well, apart from the ticketing system, not much. It rained a lot. It coincided with the Beijing Olympics. People were perhaps affected by the so-called “Credit Crunch”. But one and a half million tickets were still sold. For any other festival, that would have been one hell of a success. Maybe for some people it just didn’t feel right this year.

I suppose Edinburgh needs to decide whether it really wants to keep doing this. Edinburgh is a proud, patriotic city and one that likes to think of itself as a hotspot on the global culture map. But the reality is that many of its inhabitants quite like the place to themselves. Every year the population of the city doubles, as foreigners flood in to have a good time. This upsets some of the locals and indeed changes have been made to reduce the impact of the Fringe in some areas of the city. Some of the pubs and venues don’t open as late as they used to.

There’s a standing joke at the Fringe that most of the locals hate it. I don’t think that’s true. I read somewhere that around 70% of tickets sold this year went to people with Edinburgh postcodes. I stood in line at every show surrounded by happy, laughing Scots. There are plenty of local folk who want nothing to do with the Fringe, but there’s an awful lot of local folk who are fiercely proud of it.

The Fringe’s problems include spiralling costs and a rather low profile outside of Scotland. The first has been caused by Edinburgh being classed as the best place to live in the UK for about the last fifteen years running. The second is that the Fringe operates with little central funding, so it doesn’t have a great deal to spend on marketing. And, sadly, word of mouth just won’t do anymore.

This year, four of the big Super Venues – Assembly, Gilded Balloon, Pleasance and Underbelly – formed their own “Comedy Festival”; a brand which they attempted to market with the aid of a sponsor. The sponsorship never happened and some of the Fringe’s smaller players were unhappy that the Super Venues were taking this route.

Help may be at hand, though. It seems that Edinburgh is serious about maintaining its position as one of the world’s cultural hotspots. Plans are afoot to jointly market all of Edinburgh’s Festivals around the world. A substantial amount of money has been earmarked. The story of Edinburgh’s festivals may be approaching a new chapter. And if you haven’t been, you really should.

So this American guy in a grey suit and a trilby comes up to me and says:

“Are you interested in jazz and terrorism?”

And I know I’m at the Edinburgh Festival.

What a fabulous place to be.

Think I’ll take another wander down the High Street…

So, what big stories have emerged from the first week of the Edinburgh Fringe? Let’s have a look.

Week One Round Up

Fringe 2008 got off to a bad start. Edinburgh hotels reported that plenty of rooms remained unbooked and the Fringe Office announced that their brand new ticketing system wasn’t working. Oh dear. Happily, the first weekend saw record-breaking sales. Unhappily, this made the ticketing problem even worse. BBC’s Reporting Scotland showed a few shots of grumpy Fringe goers lined up the Royal Mile. Things seem to have settled down now, but not before the big venues took back the tickets they allocated to the central booking office. These venues are going it alone, so not all tickets this year can be bought from a central location.

***

It seems that I’m not the only person to have noticed that over the last five years a lot of the Fringe has migrated to a fairly small area of the city. Writing in the excellent Three Weeks, Tommy Sheppard of The Stand Comedy Club commented that some areas of the city centre now feel unconnected to the Fringe, something that wouldn’t have seemed possible a decade ago. He’s called for The Fringe to spread back out. I have mixed feelings about this. Certainly, in my earliest Fringes there did seem to be more walking between venues and it felt that the whole of Edinburgh was involved in the festival. On the other hand, though, it’s nice to have an area concentrated with venues. It makes it easier to cram more shows in. It provides a location to head to each night.

***

Fighting for their share of attention, a growing trend this year is for free shows. At first that may seem like a daft idea and you may be wondering how on earth performers are going to make any money if they give their tickets away for nothing. The thing is, however, that performers don’t make money at the Fringe. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Performing at the Fringe can cost the performer thousands of pounds of their own money. So, knowing that, it now seems a more reasonable idea to do away with the £5 or £10 barrier between performer and public. There are lots of free shows this year, with Forest Fringe and Laughing Horse venues leading the way. It’ll be interesting to see if this sparks a new trend. My wallet certainly hopes so.

***

Docudramas are big this year, with a number of plays exploring real events. At the Traverse, Deep Cut has been wowing critics with its exploration of the issues surrounding the deaths of soldiers at the Deepcut Barracks in Surrey. Parents of those that died have backed the play. Also at the Traverse, Pornography delves into the lives of people caught at the edges of two events that rocked London in 2005 – the awarding of the 2012 Olympic Games and the suicide bombings that quickly followed. The play is so called as it looks at the way human beings can reduce each other to mere objects. Over at the Underbelly, Motherland consists of ten monologues from wives and mothers of those fighting in Iraq. Charlie Victor Romeo, at the Udderbelly’s Pasture, consists entirely of transcripts taken from the black boxes of doomed aircraft. Unnerving stuff, especially if your trip to Edinburgh has involved a flight or two. Heading further into the past, The Factory, performed in a cellar at The Pleasance, invites the audience to imagine what it was like to be herded into the gas chambers at Auschwitz. Actually, you don’t need to imagine that hard. If you choose to see this show, you’ll be herded and you’ll be shouted at. This is theatre as experience.

***

On the comedy scene, Tim Minchin and Michael McIntyre appear to be this year’s hottest tickets. Michael McIntyre announced extra shows just a couple days after the festival started. Also going down well this year are Rhod Gilbert (Pleasance), Richard Herring (Underbelly), Stewart Lee (The Stand), Ed Byrne (Assembly Hall), Glenn Wool (Underbelly), Russell Kane (Pleasance), Stefan Golaszewski (Pleasance) and a late night sketch show called Dead Cat Bounce (Gilded Balloon).

***

If it’s big names you’re after at this year’s fest, then they probably don’t come much bigger than US legend Joan Rivers. Ms Rivers can be found the Udderbelly’s Pasture each afternoon at 3:45. Clive James will also be in town during the Fringe’s last week to host a nightly chat show. Also chatting daily are Nicholas Parsons (Pleasance) and Christine and Neil Hamilton (Pleasance Dome). The big crowd pleasing play of the this year’s fest appears to be Surviving Spike, which stars Michael Barrymore as Spike Milligan and Jill Halfpenny as his long-term manager, Norma.