Thursday 17th of August, 2000
It was a quite magical moment for me, anyway.
A Four Out Of Ten day becoming an Eight Out Of Ten day. Quite remarkable.
So, just as I thought I'd drop the text into the Animorphs cover and send it off to Scholastic (you haven't missed anything, I just haven't mentioned it), I discover that I can't find it anywhere - terrible fright, it's due on Monday. Call Scholastic - the person in charge is on holiday this week, ask if someone can send me the bits I'll need to recreate it, special D.
To calm myself, I decide to go to the gym, and then get a call from Rob-At-The-Festival-Revue - can I do a fill in spot at 4:00?
Gosh, I can.
Prepare myself (well, take the guitar out of its case and play a bit to make sure I still can). Set off to the Ross Bandstand. As soon as I leave the building it starts to pelt down with rain. But I have learned my Fringe Sunday lesson, and have brought an umbrella. By the time I get to the bandstand, the rain has stopped. I manage to cut in the back way, my route unimpeded by Offialdom.
They are expecting me (this is a good sign - I won't have to blag my way in), and I am prepared for take-off - signing releases, stating my Equipment Needs (Microphone and Stand: One; D.I. for guitar: One; Chair: One). I am asked that, since two acts have dropped out, could I do half an hour, rather than a quarter of an hour. Say no problem.
I am provided with a bottle of Evian and led out onto the stage, where I prepare myself for five minutes, looking unto the audience, who inturn look unto me. Then the Presenters appear behind me with their clipboards and introduce me to the audience.
And I begin (Secret Agent's Dream). It goes quite well, I think, getting better as I go on - I follow Secret Agent with Where Did It All Go Right?, after which a voice in the crowd starts up shouting something. I ascertain that this is "Faster, Faster" - Old Man In White Cap With Can Of Tennants wants faster. Do Little Games with some haste. Of course I can't just do fast material - when the music isn't snappy enough for his tastes, OMIWCWCOT starts clapping at the tempo he wants. To be honest, I think he'd only be happy with Sandy Brechin on a jolly evening. Or possibly the Ramones.
The rain appears - almost everybody hides under the coverings at the side of the stage, but a few hardy souls do stick the song out (can't remember which one it was). Thank them for it. The sun comes out again.
I get to the end of my half an hour with Comforting Lie as usual, and look around me. One of the stage managers makes "Keep Going" gestures and holds up a finger, then four fingers. I say "You want another song? ... A One Minute Song?" Then OMIWCWCOT pipes up "Four Minute Song!" (Although it may have been "Faster!" again). My fingers tell me to play Twilight which I haven't played for years. It was a quite magical moment for me, anyway.
I leave the stage, ascertain that I did the right thing by playing on (I did), am given a videotape of my performance (I may actually watch this year's - I did a couple of songs last year and have not quite summoned up the courage to watch it), and toddle off back up the hill to the High Street and home in a warm glow of ego-stoked anonymity.
Gym, good exercise, followed by the discovery that the steam room is working - marvellous.
Gig is sparse - twelve people in, but they insist on sitting as far from each other as they can, so the applause sounds ragged and underwhelming. Part of the Applause Experience is the melding of the sounds of clapping into a single sound. It's one of the signs I use to separate the notion of An Audience from A Bunch Of People Sitting In A Room Staring At The Same Thing.
Home, bed - must get up at 8:00 to make sure that I get the post.