Today I fixated on a man in the audience who I became convinced was fidgeting and from the Daily Telegraph and hated me.

He turned out to be a lovely man from Yorkshire who really enjoyed the show and nearly made me cry by coming up and saying how great it was, whilst I was mid rant about how the nine people in had obviously not liked it because they hardly laughed.

But it did turn out that three of the audience were reviewers. One a comedy reviewer (From Chortle). Since, without as much laughter and audience reaction as yesterday it felt much like a poetry show, so that’s possibly not so good.

I selfishly sought reassurance from whoever crossed my path for the rest of the day; from the lovely Molly Naylor whose poetic and funny show “Whenever I get blown up I think of you” is a personal story, but in the theatre section of the Fringe programme, her producer Sarah Ellis from Apples and Snakes,  from the nice producer at Radio Scotland who’s having me on Tuesday, from Claire from New Writing North, Tess the director, my long suffering husband Alfie, Natascha from the PR company…

I just restrained myself from stopping random people in the street to ask them to reassure me that there’s more to life than reviews.

There’s half glimpsed castle views, the smell of hops, the hopefulness of youth theatre groups dressed as penguins, balloons, baked potatoes on the Royal Mile, making words to give people feelings, old stars, news stars, cobbled streets, the sea…



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