Sore legs and Sore Boobs

These cobble stones in Edinburgh are killers, I think the people who lived here in ancient times did not die of any plague but of SORE CALVES…mine ache beyond belief. The flat we have is just off the Royal Mile, it is in a really old building and the views are amazing, the only problem being down on the Royal Mile is that you cannot walk out of the flat to get a newspaper or regular stuff BUT if I wanted a tartan Dolly, Tartan rock, Tartan Shawl, Tartan kilt or a wee Nessie doll, a big Sword (why?) or any other piece of Scottish tat then I am surrounded by Tartan shops that will provide such shite if I need it.

I know that it’s there for the tourist but the pavements are so narrow that you can hardly walk through the street without being mobbed by Japanese, Chinese or American tourists gawking and stopping dead in the street to stare at Tartan tat…it drives me nuts!
I am a grumpy old cow.

I had in four reviewers last night (Saturday) and I am so glad the show went well, it is always a worry that the minute the reviewers come you fall flat, but I did a good show and the crowd (all payers!) cheered and I sold books afterwards!

My boob is sore and tonight I go home as tomorrow I go to the docs for the latest in my rounds of ‘Lump hunting’ therapy.
I will go for my biopsy during the Fringe and WILL perform that night as I am a trouper! Well that’s what I plan to do anyway.
The press so far have been interested in me.

I do a show about abuse/murder/pain/domestic abuse etc…they always ask me how I can make such subjects funny, and I love that question because I really don’t know the answer, I just know that I do and I enjoy doing something different from other comics. It really is storytelling as I call it and because I have had an ‘interesting life’ it makes the show meatier.

My daughter is working hard and I am very proud of her as always.
More whinges though….
I have to say that I HATE seagulls, I lie in that bed in the flat and the noise of those big fat white bastards really irritates me, how can they be that loud? If my microphone breaks at the gig, I am going to do my show through the arse of a gull as that would be heard for miles!
I think they have amplifiers in their evil throats, why cant they all fuck off to a beach?

There is nine dead pigeons outside our flat and that worries me, who is killing them? The Gull Mafia? Maybe this is the latest in the Gull War? I actually watched a gull peck and eat at a dead pigeon…YUKK!
I am off to try to fight with my mental curly hair that is defying gravity and all manner of expensive hair products, it resembles a huge angry bush, I think I may have a dead pigeon in it.