Duende

My Dear Fellow,

It is that time of year again and while getting the Fringe programme is exciting, it's also a lot like homework. There's just so much of it. And the titles do not help. Someone is always feeling something. "Jim Comedian is Feeling Frisky!" for example. Meanwhile the comediennes always have a fanny reference because that's a bit naughty. "Jilly Smith's Time of the Month Show" or something like that. And Nicholas Parsons is ALWAYS here. Somewhere.

This year nearly every show has "Trump" in the title. But I'm drawing a line through all those. I've had a trumpful of Honey-Boo-Boo already and quite frankly, he's ridiculous enough without satire.

Of course we've seen some absolutely terrific stuff in previous years. We've seen Mika and Rich Hall several times, and loads of great music and plays. I think my favourite was Rhys Darby though.

But then there's the times we've been burned. I now know to avoid anything with an overly silly name. This was after Lisa bought tickets to "Casual Violence: The Great Fire of Nostril" based on good reviews. All it took was two minutes and I knew I'd made a terrible mistake. But we were PINNED in place by the audience. There was no escape.

On the plus side, it did seem to make my life seem longer by about 10 years.

Shows where you can't escape are the worst. Er Indoors was trapped, albeit in a different way - by a show a mate was appearing in.

The Show Your Mate Is Appearing In is a deathtrap this time of year. Er Indoors showed up for this play in a venue on Thistle Street. She said the crowd got silent, the lights went down and the makeshift curtains parted to reveal a row of people barefoot in black leotards.

"Oh god," she muttered. "Black leotards are always a bad sign."

Apparently it was a show about Salvador Dali and the spirit of inspiration. How was this conveyed, I asked Er Indoors. She sighed.

"There was a lot capering involved," she said. Cast members frolicked around each other whispering, shrieking and laughing hysterically. Then they would dance into the audience and WHISPER -

"Duende!"

Then caper back to the stage, only for another cast member to suddenly appear behind Er Indoors and HISSSSS -

"Du-ende!!"

"They were no respectors of personal space," said Er Indoors. "And one of them had bad breath."

But the worst part was to come. This was after the show when Er Indoors had to have her "Darling! You've done it again!" moment with her friend.

"How was it?" said the excited and flushed friend.
"You were GREAT," said Er Indoors. Of course she was mentally asterisking it, "*Relative to the rest of the show which was sh1thouse."

She had another horrific experience at another show, though of a different sort. This is when we went to see Sean Cullen who improvises songs about members of the audience. He heard Er Indoors's accent and spent the entire rest of the evening making up songs about Kiwis, rugby and sheep.

In his defence, I thought it was HYSTERICAL. I'm a supportive husband like that. And I edged slightly away from Er Indoors of course. No-one likes being the centre of attention.

So the Fringe is fraught with peril. But here's the programme and I'm not working this August. I have to make the most of it, right? Let us hope the Spirit of Inspiration will strike me.

Duende!!

Parsones