Right, well. I’m off to my venue. Gosh!
Naturally, I’m sort of bricking it, but it’s a controlled bricking, if you see what I mean. I don’t feel fear, just a keenness to get on with it and make it as good as it can possibly be. I’ve prepared as well as I can, I have good material, and it’s just a question of doing justice to myself. In other words, it’s like the feeling of jangling anticipation before my English A Level, which I was primed and ready for, rather than the empty dread before my Physics A Level, when I knew I was fucked.
After this first show is out of the way, things will be a little bit more normal. The start of a run always has a curious effect on your mental landscape. It says something that Arcade Fire’s new album is out – after a 3.5 year wait – and I’ve only found time to listen to it once; my football team are being linked (probably spuriously) with a bid to loan Michael Owen, and the season starts in two days, and yet I’ve hardly bothered going on the websites where people talk about these things. The rest of my life is on hold, in other words. But not this blog, of course. That’s never on hold.
I’ll report back to you tomorrow.
A couple of blog regulars are coming tonight. I’ve already chatted to one of them in the street. In case I haven’t said so already, if you find your way to my show, make sure you introduce yourself afterwards. Don’t be shy. Where’s Watson? has never been won by a shy person. Or by anyone, yet.
The sun is finally setting after what has been another very pleasant Edinburgh afternoon/evening. I’m going to walk to my theatre – the Assembly Hall, normally the School of Divinity, a gothic, menacing building which gazes solemnly down over the rest of the city centre – and have a think and a glass of wine and listen to Jason Byrne, who’s on before me, reducing his audience to near-fatal hysteria. The bastard.