I am going to the Edinburgh Festival this August. That declaration could be said in a number of ways. Celebratory (unlikely). Showing off (possibly). Self-promotion (in there somewhere). However, I’ve been in comedy a while and have reached what my wife recently called ‘solid middle-age’, so announcing I’m going to the Fringe is more of an incantation: a chant designed to steel myself for a taxing endeavour.
Not that there will be much tax owing afterwards, I’m not likely to make much money. No-one in Edinburgh does as well out of the Fringe as some bloke called ‘Josh’ who rents you his airing cupboard for six grand.
I’m assured this year should be special, as the festival hasn’t happened (properly) since 2019. The ‘vibe’ is going to be incredible. However, ‘vibe’ could also mean ‘lots of competition’. Having extricated myself from happy family life for three weeks I need to sell some bloody tickets.
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