July is a strange time to be an Imp. We wrap up our Oxford shows in June and have a month to go before we begin the Edinburgh run. Some of us stay in the ford and do any extracurricular gigging that arises (our pianist Tom has just put up photos of the latest festival on Google plus. Please explain, what is the point of Google plus? Anyway the photos were ace), while others scatter around the globe to see family/ cram all the things that should be done over August into July. I mean it about the globe thing. I spoke to Texan imp Erin last night – apparently its ‘hot and dusty’ there. I am in a London suburb. It’s raining.

Turns out cramming all your Serious and Sensible life into one month and all your comedy into another is not a healthy way of doing things. I have developed a deep deep hatred of my laptop. No doubt by the end of Edinburgh, which right now is a shining beacon of future joy, I will have a deep deep hatred of flyers and pizza boxes. Maybe.

Part of the Serious and Sensible bit has been Edinburgh related. Our eternally excellent producer Urska has been doing anthropological research in India these last few weeks, so as Edinburgh-assistant-producer (gosh) I actually had to do something other than display enthusiasm at meetings (which we have over amazing porridge at Patisserie Valeries, on the High Street – seriously, try it if you’re ever in Oxford). So I got to find out what producing an Edinburgh show entails. Turns out: a lot. I always thought being an Imp was a stress free way to perform because we just go and have fun, no scripts, no costumes, no props, no hassle. Now I realise being an Imp is stress free because Urska does everything. Tax forms? Posters? Flyers? Performance tops? Press-bothering? Deadlines and contact addresses and to do lists... The hidden Imps world. I have been initiated and there’s no going back.

Urska’s plane landed last weekend and I triumphantly pasted the results of my month’s work into a pointless word document, emailed it to her and handed the Baton of Responsibility back. She stopped over at mine after her flight, before she left for an early visit to Scotland. I whipped out the Yorkshire Gold tea bags (U, your masala tea days are over) and when the comforting brew was in our hands, asked the dreaded question:

“Is there anything else?”

“No,” sayeth she, “We’re ready.” BOOM.

So now - we wait. And in the mean time, check back in here for tales of Imps preparing elsewhere...

Love and overexcitement

Sylvia x (the tall girl)