Edinburgh Fringe 2019: The Aftermath

Yes, the Fringe is well and truly over for another year. This was my fourth year performing at it, and the second time Fonmanu Creative produced a show. It’s also the first year I’ve made a profit, yaaaaaas!! I’m the ultimate baller now £££$$£££$$£££$££$ Ker-CHING. But asides from that, how was it? Weird.

That’s right, weird. I applied to PBH Free Fringe, which was great because it allowed me to put the show on for free. However, I didn’t get given a slot for the show until 11th July. I was given two slots, one in week one and the other in week 3. With getting confirmed so late on, and having the shows spread out, I felt very “meh.” There wasn’t the same buzz I had had previous years. I didn’t bother buying posters, or doing a shitload of marketing like I previously did (£2493.20 for In Utero, to be precise), so I just didn’t really get excited about it. Which is a shame because Don’t Talk To Me About Love is a great show. It received great audience feedback and I’m really proud of it. It would have been great for more people to go see it, so I sort of feel like I let it down. But also, it’s given me reassurance that it is a good show so I’m confident in putting it on again. Massive thank you to the 34 people who did come to see it over the 2 days. I was seriously not expecting those numbers, so thank you again.

However, only having two shows to perform (well, three. Performed at Improv Cage Match with my beloved Trojan Hearse, and we won (damn right)), meant that I could actually enjoy the Fringe, and see a bunch of shows. I have had mixed experiences at the Fringe over the years, and have more or less always been hella stressed. For good reason too.

2016: In Utero. First ever theatre production. Doing the full run. Actor/writer/producer. Hella busy.

2017: Improv Ninjas Save The World. 7 nights. Just out of hospital 3 days before first show. The team was on strained terms. Ill and stressed.

2018: The Cutting Room. 10 shows. But also still working nightshift in Glasgow. So it was work till 7am, be in Edinburgh for 2pm, show 3-4pm, back to Glasgow for work at 9pm. Repeat. Hella shattered.

So 2019 I had a mini break, and sort of embraced the relaxing Fringe time. I saw thirteen shows! I got hella drunk (top lad)! I spent all my money! I had a one night stand! I shouted a lot! I had fun. It reminded me that I can write and produce shows and still have fun, rather than have a constant breakdown.

The Fringe was great. Yippee. However, I’ve been feeling weird too. My show is about love, and mental health, and being single, and feeling unlovable, and how things are a bit shit, but everything is going to be ok, because of potatoes. So every time I’ve rehearsed the show or performed it, I’m reminding myself that I am single and unloveable and things are a bit shit. I’m completely forgetting the part about everything is going to be ok, and instead I’m constantly reminding myself how I am along and how no one wants to be with me and the person I like does not like me back, so I’ve been feeling shit. Hence the drinking and spending. I’m trying really hard to focus on how hot I am, and that everything is going to be ok, but it’s hard. I’m drinking chamomile tea. That might help. My romantic life is empty and barren, and I have strong doubts over whether it will ever blossom again. My bet is on no. But that’s ok. Because I am hot. Just focus on how hot I am, and then everything will be fine.

What’s next for Don’t Talk To Me About Love? I’m not sure. I would like to put it on again as part of the Glasgow Comedy Festival and take it back to Edinburgh Fringe, but nothing set in stone yet. I have a few ideas for other Fonmanu Creative productions, so just have to wait and see what happens.

I start a masters course at uni in 3 weeks. Plus working full time. I am going to have very limited free time, so who knows what will happen. But I will do something, because I don’t know how to relax. I will get this degree and I will put on a spectacular set of shows. And do you know why?

Because I’m hot.

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