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Words: Dusty   
Friday, 03 August 2007

So, last night I went to The List party at the Spiegelgarden, which again seems to be the social epicentre of the Fringe.  Since I'd promised my friends Empress Stah and Ryan Styles that I'd go to the preview of their show, The Cave of the Golden Calf, I knew I'd only be able to stay at the List bash for an hour or so.  At the time that seemed like a sacrifice.

Seriously, if you're going to throw a party to impress people, try giving away something other than Tennents or pear cider.  It's as if I had a housewarming and offered my guests a glass of pre-mixed Buck's Fizz on arrival...  I chatted to various PR folk about their "wonderful" clients, drank my 'complimentary' cider (never was the word 'complimentary' so inappropriate.  I did not feel complimented...) and then fled in a taxi to the Mysterious Theatre.

Which was aptly named, since I couldn't find it.  I finally made it in the door just in time, chiefly because an absurdly handsome young man decided I looked like the type who'd be going to an evening of live art cabaret and ushered me into the right building. So absurdly handsome was he that I would quite happily have let him usher me into a snake pit.  So long as he was coming too.

The show was tremendous despite some technical glitches, and so a celebratory drink was in order.  Just one, mind, as I'm behaving myself this year (as penance for last year's various social and sexual misadventures, almost all of them attributable to booze or various letters of the alphabet).  One drink led to another, as they do, and it seems almost superfluous to say that I found myself at that Edinburgh institution, CC Blooms, at 3am, doing karaoke with the spectacular Suppository Spelling.

And yet today I was sober enough to get stuck into programming my own show, the Vaudeville Cabaret Club at the Bongo.  Confirming Ali McGregor and Andi Neate was enough to get me properly excited...