Sunday 27th of August, 2000
Management Have No Soul
Get up and go to the Gym (quite possibly for the last time, this year at this gym, anyway) and spend a nice couple of hours lifting moderately heavy objects, and sitting in the steam room (I do like the steam room - if only there were more non-euphemistic saunas and steam baths in the world).
On the way back I manage to track down a copy of issue three of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, the new Alan Moore comic book.
Return to the flat in time to leave for the Nicholas Parsons Thing. It is in the same room as the Mervyn Stutter Thing. Despite the fact that the crew are the same, the soundcheck seems ... different, somehow. Phil is right at the front of the stage, and Dave and I are right at the back, behind the curtain. We soundcheck Terry's Dog. There is an incipient threat to do Deathbed. Soundcheck done, we return home and wait until we have to go to do the real thing.
When we get there, Parsons is in full flow, and the room is packed, despite the fact that all they are getting is an interview with Norman Lovett (no disrepect to Mr Lovett intended), one song from (as Phil himself admits) someone they've never heard of and an appearance from The Alternative Miss Edinburgh (a gay chap dressed up in a dinner frock and a female friend in a suit, somehow and unconvincingly claiming to be Barbie and Ken - not exactly the height of glamour and sophistication. I'd hate to see the runners up). And an awful lot of Nicholas Parsons, which is, perhaps, what they wanted, anyway.
We do Terry's Dog and go home. Simple as that (well, Pete stays behind to flier the audience as they come out). The audience seem to enjoy it, but I can't imagine that it will effect ticket sales for tonight, our last night, in any way. But the guy who does sound at the venue wanted bought a CD from Phil (having seen us do five songs in total over three appearances). Which is a very good sign, if you think about it.
Have a bit of a sleep, a bit of a noodle on my guitar and then off to the Cafe Royal for our last performance of the festival. Our last hide in the toilets. I do the gig without any music, and make no more mistakes than I normally would, so that's a lesson for me. The place is far from packed (about twenty, maybe) but not on a high like some of the nights we've been having recently. The whole Monique crew come in to see us. Phil does all the thank-yous at the end and gives Pep (the miraculous sound-man) a present. Then a final round of bows and back in the toilet.
After packing up, I slip off immediately to the Tron to catch the last Edinburgh Songwriters' Showcase. It gives me a chance to say au revoir to Pete Rowan, Ollie on the door and Ruaridh on the desk, and give Ruaridh his copies of Plucked and Secret Agent. The management call a halt to the proceedings before Peter gets a chance to play (which is a dreadful shame and just goes to prove that Management Have No Soul).
I return home, a little emotionally overcome for having two runs end on one night.