This year, in August, I performed my show 'In Pursuit of Cool' at the Three Sisters Pub as part of the Laughing Horse Free Fringe at the Edinburgh Festival.
When I was there, I met a girl who had just done the 'Tough Mudder' endurance challenge and now, as I sit in my own bedroom looking back over this summer, I feel as though in some ways, I've done a fairly similar thing. But without the running. Or climbing over things.
This was my first Edinburgh, and I went at it with an 'in for a penny' sort of attitude and did a whole hour by myself. That's right, an entire hour of Lucy and a microphone. It was an easy decision for me – I knew what I wanted to do and I had a good idea of how I was going to fill my hour. I did have to endure the sound of air sucking through teeth from a couple of other comedians who felt it was safer to split an hour or 'do spots' for your first time. But I cheerfully ignored all sensible advice and did it anyway.
Am I glad I did? You bet. Now. With the comfort of hindsight.
On 1st August, when I was standing in the drizzle outside the little yurt at The Three Sisters that was to be my show's home for the next 25 days, I was cursing cheerful, confident Lucy from way back in January.
What was I thinking?! Who, in their right mind, wants to listen to me talk about leggings and blacksmiths and paper hats for an hour?
A very good friend came with me on that first day to hold my hand and stop my head from falling off. She helped me flyer – which is an interesting institution – and she bought me a panini in Cafe Nero to stop me being sick.
So there I was. At 1.55pm – just 5 minutes before my show was due to start. I was all ready. But there was just one thing missing.
A bloody audience.
Any colour that was left in my face was draining away. What if this happens every day? What if no one ever comes to see my show?
And then something lovely happened. A couple that had been sat next to us in Cafe Nero twenty minutes earlier walked around the corner. They smiled at me with glorious faith and optimism and trotted into the little Yurt.
"We've come to see you! We had to after we met you in the coffee shop!"
For the rest of my life, I think I will remember that couple and be grateful to them. Because after they sat down, another couple of people followed them. And then a few more. So that when I pulled the mic off the stand at the beginning of the first show, there was a healthy little audience of about 14 sitting watching me with loud smiles.
And it went well. There were good laughs and no one left. I forgot one bit of the set but I just went back and did it a bit later and no one noticed. At least no one would have noticed if I hadn't pointed it out.
And then I was off!
Second show? Bit ropey, the third show was better and my fourth show better still. At some point, I couldn't tell you when, I stopped feeling vomitously anxious before the show and just started doing the damn thing. I started to play with it. I stopped feeling as though I was falling down a steep hill for an hour and started feeling as though I was skipping down it, pausing for each gag, punch line and laugh.
In short, I started to really enjoy myself. I dealt with heckles, I dealt with rude people, I dealt with people falling asleep in the stifling heat of a Yurt in mid summer. I learned how to do the job that I want to do for the rest of my life.
And if the festival had been merely a case of doing my show every day, then I would finish this piece there. Declaring myself a roaring success. (Four stars thanks very much. Whatever, I don't even care, don't even need to mention it. WHATEVS).
But it isn't. As I learned, the festival is about so much more than that.
One of my reasons for wanting to go the the Fringe this year was that I didn't really know many comedians. The fact that I do comedy in the evening while holding down a day job means that I tend to turn up to gigs, smile, do my spot and then get off home. It may shock a lot of people to hear that, at heart, I'm actually a bit shy. So I didn't fit into any of the cliques or crowds and for the first couple of days I twiddled my thumbs a bit, chatting politely to a couple of comics that were performing at my venue or that I had met on the London circuit.
And then I bumped into Naomi. I had met Naomi Hefter a couple of times in London, so I knew her to say hello to. She was performing her own first hour long show at The Three Sisters called 'Chaos and Order' so we got chatting and I happened to mention that I didn't really know anyone. Immediately she insisted that I join her and a couple her friends that evening for a drink.
I got home at 5.30am.
And so began the drinkathon. I met fabulous people that I fell in love with – not in a sex way, in a loved up, caught in the wave of the moment kind of way – a bit like a holiday romance, but with a whole city and lots of people. There was always an exciting 'thing' going on. Always, of course, a show to see.
I danced like a diva at The Hot Dub Time Machine with the glorious Cerys Nelmes and inimitable Suzy Bennett – both Funny Women alumni. I learned about a man called Nedjelko ÄŒabrinović from the wonderful Mike Shephard and his very funny show 'Everything That Happened In The 20th Century Seen Through The Eyes Of A Liar'. I met my comedy idol and was so socially awkward that my hand formed a kind of anxiety claw through out the whole conversation.
I hung out with a lovely young man by the name of Kevin Dewsbury. Kevin and I knew each other at the age of 17 when we went to the Fringe in a play called 'Kissing Angels' with the National Youth Theatre. He is a brilliant comic and one of my inspirations for getting into comedy in the first place and doing the festival. One of my favourite moments of the whole month was when he came to see my show and I could see him enjoying it. Which makes me seem like a bit of stalker. I'm not. Not really. His show 'Out Now' was also an absolute triumph.
I had a long conversation with a very well known comedy reviewer. When I told him how my only frustration was that I had been told 'I clearly just wanted to be Miranda Hart', he laughed and told me not to worry about it, "When Miranda was up here" he said, "she was always being told she 'clearly just wanted to be Penelope Keith".
I cried when someone lied to me because I expect too much from people. I laughed at everything and nothing because I am a bit over the top. I felt so tired that I started to hear voices. I walked up a million hills and I got a chest infection and came home with out my voice.
BRILLIANT.
My enormous thanks to Clare for putting me up and putting up with me, Alex Petty at Laughing Horse for letting me do the show in the first place, Mike Belgrave for sage comedy advice, Lisa for holding my hand, Bobbie for making the trip, Peter for being my pretend Dad and benefactor, Vincent for being Vincent, all the friends who made the effort to come and see 'In Pursuit of Cool' and Karen, Lynne, Issy, Courtney and all at Funny Women for letting me host the chat show and eat cake. And for letting me write this slightly self indulgent but very cathartic article!
So, like the 'Tough Mudder', the Edinburgh Fringe endurance test leaves me a broken woman with unexplained bruises and an enormous sense of achievement. I've learned a lot about myself as a performer and as a person.
But the thing I learned in the most part is – and this is my small nugget of wisdom to anyone still reading this – There is so much talent out there that if you want to be among the best, you need to be the best version of yourself that you can be. Better, stronger, fitter, funnier. Next year will come around quickly and I need to be ready.
And my God, I can't bloody wait!
Lucy Frederick – Follow Lucy's pursuit of cool on Twitter (everybody's doing it) @LucyFrederick
Pictured: Lucy Frederick performing at Edinburgh
