Past the halfway point of this turbulent roller coaster of a Fringe and I haven’t yet seen as single show that I haven’t been a part of. I have barely even socialised. I hope I can rectify this for the final (nearly) two weeks, but there’s still lots of work and chores that I need to complete. And my quest for fitness continues.
I felt a bit sluggish from drinking stout last night, but hauled myself to the swimming pool, where I was again surprised by my energy reserves. I swam for 40 minutes. Somehow I am still losing weight and getting fitter during the Fringe. Though I am also walking for at least two hours a day, which is a big help.
Tonight I went to Rasputin’s apartments for a big Russian dinner. It was the flat of Justin Edwards who plays the Mad Monkey, but it is such a grand and massive flat that it reminded me of being in the Yusupov Palace. The whole cast were showing up to eat blinis and drink martinis and eat red cabbage and beef. I haven’t spent much time with them since rehearsals (and even then latterly I was generally out working on my other show) and was worried that they might be disheartened by smallish audiences. But nothing could be further than the truth. They were wonderfully bonded and very positive and reporting that the play is getting better and better and the audiences slowly growing and becoming more appreciative. It’s a funny play, but it’s hard to make the comedy fly in a big room with not too many people in it, but they are managing it. I am very proud of them.
They were all very friendly and welcoming to me and it felt like a shame that I haven’t spent more time with them, but it’s probably best for the play that the writer hasn’t been hanging on the sidelines too much. Justin’s flat is unbelievably luxurious (in fact all the cast are staying in much nicer places than my overpriced residence). It’s a bit further from the city centre, but it is huge with a garden, a dining room, a massive kitchen (that’s bigger than our entire flat) and even a play room for the kids. It doesn’t even cost much more than our toilet-brushless hovel.
I am also slightly disturbed by the picture hanging above the bed in the second bedroom of our flat, which shows a woman with a massive hand and a tiny mouth holding her finger over her slips as if asking for you to keep whatever happens in this bed a secret. It’s just ever so slightly sinister. If I had come back with whoever lives here to make love with them I would feel a bit perturbed by this strange cartoon and what was in store for me. And it would put me right off making me worry I was in the lair of a serial killer (the chin up bar in the doorway doesn’t really dispel that fear). Why can’t I be in a massive palace instead?
I very much enjoyed meeting Justin's loquacious daughter who was funny and charming, but slightly scared of goblins for some reason. She is 28 years old. No, she’s 3. She tried some caviar which she said was salty and I tried to teach her the word “brackish”, which she failed to remember, the tiny idiot. She then sang an improvised song about how great her dad was. Everyone else applauded, but I didn’t. The song hadn’t even rhymed. 2 stars.
My favourite thing she said was “I say everything I think and I think everything I say” whilst pointing at her head. That’s why she couldn’t stop thinking about goblins. They were in there and she couldn’t help it. What fun it must be having a tiny, crazy person nattering their way through your life. But how do you know that you’ll get a good one like this one? It’s too much of a risk right?
Sadly I had to leave the merry band of actors to go and do my own show. It was a harder to please crowd than last night, but I dug my heels in and won them round and will take it as a victory.