I'm here in Edinburgh again for the annual festival and as ever it's a marathon, so this time I'm heeding the words a fellow comedian gave me just last week: drink less, sleep more. The fact that I spotted that fellow comedian falling out of a pub yesterday just after midnight - completely arseholed of course - is neither here nor there.
I asked the organisers if they knew anything about the history of the place and it would appear that a local woman called Susan had simply decided one day that the derelict barn would make for an excellent arts space and had proceeded to bully the local community and council until her idea became a reality.
I really miss having no choice. There's a real frisson to those moments when you lose the remote control under the sofa, or the wi-fi network packs up. You might have to watch something you don't like, or even something that you have no opinion about yet. Losing the remote is a scary rollercoaster of possibilities.
I gave it some thought for a week, reading up on the anti-depressants that the doctor suggested and finally made the decision to give them a go. And I'm glad I did. It's probably the best decision I've made in years. Within a few weeks I was feeling much much better. Again it's hard to explain but that feeling of anxiousness has eased significantly.
Doing comedy IS very cool, it IS so much fun and it is FULL of pretentious, I didn't get enough attention growing up so I'll cut everyone else down, competitive, non-entertainers. Please tell me what other job is the following ever somehow acceptable: "I'm getting paid anyway so who cares". This is just as bad as the audience who have paid and don't care.
Something is not quite right in the comedy clubs of the UK - increasingly I've had punters, who wanted to hear what I had to say, apologise to me on behalf of their fellow audience members because a stag do didn't know when to shut up or a drunk woman in the front row thought it was her place to insert herself into everything I was saying...
did a gig recently where a female audience member was really looking forward to hearing my work as I was the only female stand up there. Once I got on stage, I told a new story about about being from the same town as serial killer Fred West, and another where I urinated in the street wearing nothing but a Spiderman mask on.
The day had arrived, months of planning had come down to this. My favourite part of the planning process had been what I called 'operation scent thrower,' in which I, your heroic protagonist Alexander Smith, would spend time attempting to make my beloved feel that I would seemingly never want to fully commit myself to her.
There has for some years now been a great deal of interest in Sweden here in the UK. I think this stems largely from the fact that Swedes seem like a happier, more successful version of us... What is their secret? It could be summed up in one word: 'lagom'. Lagom is a uniquely Swedish word with no direct translation into English. It means 'not too much, not to little'.
I implore to you all: Harry Styles must be stopped. There is some hypnotic gaze that the hairstyled individual holds over young girls in order to do his bidding. This month, I will be taking the show to London and Edinburgh. Please grab your bottle of Frizz-Ease and lucky dead cat and come join me in finding out how to stop all things One Direction based.