I woke up to an aching pubic bone and walked like i was weighed down by my pubis for a couple of hours. I silently prayed this would ease up before my show, it would be pure torture working stairs and hills with this pain. I then spent the afternoon with newfound friends, Mpho and Allison. We drove to the Food Festival and well, ate. It was so therapeutic being away from the performance vibe for a day. And to be around regular folk. I handed out a couple of flyers. I just took a load off. I got home feeling relaxed, well-fed and ready to tackle this Edinburgh Fringe beast. Pubic bone eased up, much to my relief.

(21:00pm to 22:00pm)

Oh what a night! I had an awesome night. My show went well, I have a solid rhythm and I have figured out a way to speak to this touch and go audience. I have remained as true to my identity as I can, and accommodated the sensitivity of my pc UK audience as much as I can without self-censorship. I literally had them eating out of the palm of my hand, and when I pushed the envelope they came with me, and enjoyed the ride. It was AWESOME. I am exhausted though, I pushed hard tonight. And it is only the beginning, one gig down, teo to go.

22:05pm – 23:30pm

Brain fried, I hit the dressing room and try to write down the new stuff that came up tonight. I’m too hungry and getting sleepy ( I need to pack snacks, clearly this pickle of mine is making mommy work up an appetite), so i abandon ship and head off to my favorite Italian joint. Of course I forget my cellphone in the dressing room. So far, as porridge brain would have it, I have forgotten gags, shoes, lipstick, lost my SA simcard, forgotten where I was going… Yeah. Happy days. Anyways, I head off and have me a pasta al forno and a ginger beer. (Still jonesing for those hotwings but alas…) I begin putting my 10 minute set together for  Best Of The Fest show at midnight. I dread Best of The Fest, but I committed to it so… I feel NOTHING like I a member of the best of anything. (What left SA as a bangin’ show has felt like a laboured history lesson wrapped in offence and sass in Edinburgh for me. LOL! I think I just sounded like a reviewer there).  As I leave, I get a brownie as a gift from the dude who made me the pasta. He reminds me of his mom, so jolly (I eat there all the time). I head back to my dressing room to get my phone and figure out my ten minutes. Sleep is beckoning, but I trust adrenalin will kick it in the ass just now. 

23:30pm – 00:15am

I head to the green room with the rest of the cast. Shit-hot comedians, I decide I REALLY HAVE NO BUSINESS BEING HERE. They share truths of working the fest: some shows are great, some shows are odd, because the audiences behave like a polite theatre audience, not your typical club comedy audience. They’ve all been thrown by it, I feel relief. The talk about reviews. My heart sinks. I walk past loads of posters all over my venue, and I see star and one-liner reviews on 95 % of them. And mine sits there, naked, screaming “I am a gamble, watch me at your own risk.” They say those things stop being important to you personally, as long as you get a steady audience in and have a great time. They talk about the grind of an hour long show, and the ease of shorter spots in comedy venues around town. I want to kiss them, they have NO IDEA how this conversation is easing my anxiety and making me realise how well I actually am doing, all things considered.

00:15am – 01:20am

We are called backstage. Sleep is gone, morbid foreboding and adrenalin take over. I try the “You are Tumi Morake bitch” thing and all I get is “Oh shit”. I send an urgent appeal to the comedy gods. I am fourth on the line up of five. I watch one by one, as these guys kill. I think well, I’d better bend over because i clearly am… I begin to fade into half-slepp, clearly fatigue has wrestled adrenalin to the ground. I keep looking at my set, it makes no difference, the brain is offline.

Charlie Baker tells me to be me, do what I would do in South Africa. I just nod, I don’t think I even remember what I would do back home lol! I had a great night tonight though, I let that inform my confidence. Anyways, I get on stage, play, get less than I had hoped for but more than I expected. Ie, they laughed, but I committed no murder. Well, I feel confident that the people I heard chortling throughout my set will buy tickets to my show, the rest well….jury’s out. I head to my next gig. Two gigs down, one to go.

01:20am

I am exhausted. I trot to my next gig, SPANK! (You LOVE it!!!) Of course, I have forgotten that Spank is happening at a venue further up than the last time, about 5 minutes away from the last venue. And of course I get stuck in the heavy human traffic of party goers in the venue. And of course I take those million windy steps to the very bottom and realize I need to be at a place which is now 10 minutes away if I circumvent the human traffic and take the long way up to Bristo Square. I cannot call because alas, I have no contact number. I calm myself the eff down and proceed to hike uphill and weave through drunken crowds. I arrive just as they are about to go to interval. I breathe for the first time in an hour. we chat, laugh, reminisce about the last spot I did at Spank! ( we LOVE it!)   I am first after the break. The last act before me was a singing comedian. Great. Now I must pick up from that high, electric energy. OH BOY DO I! I got on that stage like a  woman with nothing to lose. I went ape shit. And they LOVED it! I said goodnight and the roar, was beautiful. I take in the moment. I hug it tight like I’m holding onto a lover who is leaving me for a while. This is home. This is what I do this for. This feeling. This, “You just made us tingle all over and laugh our asses off” feeling. This “we get you” feeling. I love that feeling. I do comedy to feel that love, that connection, that rapport. And these people give it to me freely. I want to book them all for my show tomorrow night. 

2:20am

I am beat, I try to walk home and the combination of cold and fatigue discourage me from walking. Tonight, I earned a cab ride home. I find those thunder thighs guys and get on that bike, snuggle under the blank, and brace myself for a bumpy but fun ride home. I go to bed with this learnt:

* Stop beating yourself up

* You know what you are doing, trust it

* Comedy clubs are home, a safe sanctuary to have your way with the audience

* Stop holding back. Its MY story. I should tell it MY way. I did not come here to conform.

* Stand Up comedy is NOT for sissies!