It was always going to be tough for Monday’s gig to follow Sunday’s, but it was inevitable that it would happen due to the way that days of the week are organised.
Yet it somehow turned out to be an even better gig, at least mathematically. I had fewer people in, with about 30, but I broke my bucket record from the previous day with a colossal haul of £83.
The audience weren’t as lively as the previous night and the laughs couldn’t compare at least in terms of decibels, but they were receptive nonetheless. They became more vocal as the show progressed and said some very nice things afterwards.
In other news, my throat infection has blossomed into a cold and my voice is sounding distinctly deeper. I have a day off today and have cancelled the other gig I was booked for as I think it would be best to rest my voice and get an early-ish night.
This Fringe has gone ridiculously quickly and I have four shows left. It is normally by this point that I am giving it one last push through the final few gigs, looking forward to a rest when it’s all done. But this year, I actually don’t want it to end. My throat and energy levels may disagree, but I would love to be up here to perform for at least another week or so. Still, there is always a chance that my remaining gigs go so badly that I’ll be glad to get on the train; although I have a feeling that this won’t be the case.