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The View from Glasgow

Editorial Staff

Anticipation, like love or hunger, has a curious effect on the stomach. Love ties it in knots, and hunger shakes it, anticipation tickles it with a feather duster. As an improviser returning to Edinburgh, there is so much to look forward to that the tickling stops being cute and funny, and starts being annoying.
That there are shows to do would go without saying if I hadn’t mentioned it. The Imps perform every week during Oxford term times, but Edinburgh provides a subtly different challenge. We do shows every day. And the audiences are different; fewer students and more of everyone else. An Edinburgh audience has chosen a show over hundreds of others. They are knowledgeable and expectant. The buzz of making them laugh is lovely. Doing it every day is tremendous. My tummy is tingling at the thought.

Then there are shows to go and see. There are also shows to find, and they are more fun. Over the month, a flat full of Imps following reviews, recommendations and their own noses will find otherwise hidden shows that delight them. Two years ago, the Imps went to see Frisky and Mannish in the previews, just before they raked in a pile of five star reviews. Seeing stand-up comedy in the backs of pubs is notoriously hit-or-miss, but the hits (like Joe Lycett last year) more than make up for the misses (like a sweary Scandinavian last year), and it’s a cheap game to play.

I am also excited for living in the Imps’ flat again. I reckon that it is meant to sleep about half as many people as sleep in it. The ‘Party Room’ upstairs sleeps six at least. Sometimes beds are shared. It is only natural to have feelings of anticipation as to whom one might be sleeping with. Completely platonically, of course.

I’m excited for the Edinburgh vibe. I’m excited for the bustling bars, the crowded venues, the queues to get the best seats in the big ticket shows. For the burger van outside the Gilded Balloon, for the Black Medicine coffee after the shows, for the parties and clubs, for the new Imps’ folklore to be created, for the inevitable romances in the flat – the infamous ‘Impcest’.

I’m in Glasgow, only a short train ride away. But I can’t wait. Stop tickling me, Auntie Cipation, I want to start.

Jamie

(the skinny Scottish one)