Edinburgh Jaunts: Part Three

September 19, 2010

For the concluding part in my trifecta of Edinburgh trips, I went with just my mother. I always feel weird typing “mam” on the internet, which is what I call her in actual real life. Being from the north of England does not make for classy speech, but that is her name, so from here on whenever she is mentioned, she will be “mam”.
This was the longest I stayed in Edinburgh out of all three trips, as we were going to be there for two nights and three full days. I was jazzed. I became instantly unjazzed when, as soon as we arrived at the hotel, I got a migraine. The last time I had one was when I was maybe 14, and I got sent home from school and got to watch cartoons all day. But now, I am a grown-up! I have funny gigs to attend, dammit! Boring story short, we wandered all through the street of Edinburgh, bought some tablets to ease my pain, and I was fine in about twenty minutes. Yay health! Speaking of which, we went to McDonald’s.
We were back at the Pleasance Courtyard, queueing for David O’Doherty (who is a lovely actual real man with huge hands, if you ever meet him), when we spied Tom Wrigglesworth just milling about in the crowd. Maybe he was stalking us. Maybe we were stalking him. It was difficult to tell at this point.
I’ve seen DO’D gig three times, and this was the first proper venue I’ve seen him in. The seats were so comfy! And we were right in the middle, and three rows from the front. I tried not to make eye contact with him for most of the night, rigid with fear in case he picked on me to be hilarious and I would fail miserably. He didn’t pick on me, and I later learned that Jimmy Carr had been in the crowd. Phew, escaped that comedic minefield. That was a close one.
For breakfast, the hotel didn’t even have beans. Is this a Scottish thing? Sheep liver but no Heinz nearby? Instead of eating my feelings, I spent them in Topshop. I am usually morally opposed to Topshop, because they make fat girls look fatter, which is something only a fat girl would say, but following on from the bean fiasco I thought I’d grant myself a pass.
My mam and I sat on a windy tour bus for a while, as I tried to ensure her hand was not dangling her camera over the side of the bus in her haste to take pictures. It was. Numerous times. This is one of my irrational fears. Like nails touching glass or terracotta. It just shouldn’t be done, you mental.
Before our next gig, we went to Gusto’s, which I think is actually a chain of restaurants. As you’d expect it was pretty nice, but when it came to ordering the chocolate mousse they did not inform me that it would come with a load of shit on top of it. By shit I mean nuts. By nuts I mean WHY ARE THEY ON MY DESSERT. The menu did not mention them. What if I’d been allergic, rather than just really finicky? Where would we be now?
At a Rhod Gilbert gig, probably. It was honestly the worst gig I’ve ever been to. I’ve seen him do tv stand up, and it’s been decent. Recently he did a documentary-type programme where he had to adopt the professions of others for a week. That was hilarious, so I had moderately high hopes, as this was my mam’s choice.
She enjoyed it, which is all that counts I guess. He did a similar thing to Tom Wrigglesworth, with patching up all of his anecdotes, but this was less a quilt of amusement, more a Bayeux tapestry of shit. It didn’t really pay off, but that’s just my opinion. And the man sitting next to me, if his general stony silence was anything to go by. He recycled his jokes, there was a fucking huge amount of swearing, and he mentioned how women never listen. Lazy comedy I thought, and I’m not a comedy snob, but I like to think I’ve refined my taste what with all this here gig watchin’.
The next day, I skipped breakfast entirely. Bed is better than substandard nomz, I think. My mam and I then wandered round a graveyard for a bit (morbid) before going into The Elephant Cafe, where JK Rowling wrote most of the Harry Potter series (not so morbid). Rocky Road is delightful.
We settled on nipping into the Hard Rock Cafe for lunch, and apparently Kevin Bridges had the same idea. I didn’t harass the man because he was both eating and Scottish, which is a dangerous combination. Although, I did engineer it so we both left at the same time, and I’m sure people thought we were together. Ahh, simple pleasures. I was semi-famous by proxy for half a second.
After all that excitement, it was time to come home. Too many paps were following me, and my autograph hand was tired.


One Response to “Edinburgh Jaunts: Part Three”

  1. Andrew said

    You went to Scotland to eat McDonald’s and Hard Rock Cafe? You’re such an American Tourist.

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