There's a thin line between being funny and being ridiculous. Between being the extreme embodiment of one strand of your personality and being a living caricature. Between 'not taking yourself too seriously' and your whole life being one long, drawn-out post-university fallow period.

It's well-known that comedians are liars. A story's at its funniest when it's been exaggerated out of all human proportion. Of course, all my onstage stories are true (see first sentence); it's offstage that I'm the biggest liar.

You know what's lacking at this here Festival Fringe? Forgiveness. That's what. Good old-fashioned, out-of-style, ridiculous, uncynical, dare-I-say "Christian" forgiveness. I read a review lately for David Whitney; in this year's show he addresses his head butting an audience member some Fringes ago. The reviewer begins by saying they intend to make fair judgment of his efforts, despite the original offence being "unforgivable".

I only ever go to a gym when I'm at the Fringe. To be honest I think I go for the same reasons I go to the Fringe. I know it's not going to be fun. I know I'll be counting down the minutes until I can leave.

In honour of August 2012 - the Fringe of Misery, as it shall e'er be known - I've compiled a handy lexicon of Fringewords for performers. To deal with pain and loss, we must first be able to express it. So, you know, this stuff ought to help.