A Royal Mill...

If there's one thing I'm pretty good at, it's milling around. Today, my first day of just over a week of Fringe on my lonesome, was spent first by legging it from Haymarket to the Pleasance Courtyard in time for a bacon roll (surprisingly good and not too dear for the Fringe at £1.80 really) and then mooching.

The first mooch was at the Courtyard. This lasted about 1 and a half to 2 hours or so. Me sitting at a bench trying to work out what was happening in Beyond (rehearsals, it turned out) and spotting the Penny Dreadfuls wandering around and entering and exiting the building several times. Then Jo Caulfield turned up and sat on the same bench as me, facing another bench and not me though. After draining my Coke and thinking, 'those comedians over there probably need these benches for their Tesco-based impromptu picnic', I upped sticks... to the Pleasance Dome where I got an espresso and a cookie. Espresso is not the ideal milling around drink, but it does make me feel like a giant (or Greg Davies).

When milling around you do get targeted by flyerers... a lot. One handed me a flyer for the excellent Nat Luurtsema (who I've already seen) which I took (even though I've already seen it - for a memento, you see) and then explained that I'd already seen it to the flyerer. There commenced a nice chat and we wished each other well and went our separate ways. Well, he walked off, I very much remained at the table. It's kind of separate, certainly not opposite ways. You'd probably need some manner of velocity graph to imply direction and explain it... anyway, he went off and I remained at the crumb-covered (ruddy cookie) table with my espresso, of which the remnants were now starting to congeal and solidify. Surely this would give away the fact that I'd been sat here for hours... But no! Several Glaswegians asked to join me and the table and we all had a good chinwag, not one of them noticing that I'd been here long enough for the bit at the bottom of my espresso that was once definitely liquid had turned into that nightmarish, grisly stain that coffee goes... you know the ones... like when you go to a Costa or Starbucks and you get that bit at the bottom that you don't really want to drink because it's kind of solid residue and... ahem... Basically, they didn't notice and we had a nice conversation. They were off to see Emma Thompson in about 30 minutes (I didn't let on that I'd already been there for about 2 hours) and eventually headed off to queue.

At this point I thought 'well, I've proved my point, I've been good enough not just to let strangers onto the table I was hogging with the remnants of my sort of lunch, I suppose, but to engage in a lively conversation with them' and got up to go to the bar, when who should I see at a table in there but Nat Luurtsema herself, writing in a notebook with about 20 minutes to go before her show. I went to the bar and got a lime and soda to counteract the morning/afternoon's caffeine (Yeah, I know I'm lame, I've learnt to live with it, why can't you...?) and took a table. I swallowed a few gulps of fruit enhanced fizzy water (bargain though, it's a wonder anyone drinks anything else... 40p!). If the last few days had taught me anything it was that generally comedians are lovely people and are usually appreciative when you go to bother them, yet it was close to her show and she was busy writing notes. I plucked up to courage to walk over and tell her that I'd seen the show a few days ago and really enjoyed it. She was no exception to the comedian rule and was appreciative despite my timing. We had a quick chat and I went back to the table and was quickly surrounded by the queue for the Footlights.

It's odd, but there's a strange feeling you get talking to your favourite comedians. The ones that I've had the experience of bothering in their day to day lives (again, sorry, if any of you are reading this... not sure why you would really, but hey) have been genuinely pleased to meet their fans and as well as getting a feeling of childish, giddy excitement at meeting them you also come away with a sense that your view does matter to them, that it's nice to hear how much you've enjoyed their work, a sort of warmth at making them feel better about themselves too. I think that's why comedian bothering is becoming so worryingly addictive to me.

It's been a good day for positive outlook and here's a thought: next time you see someone you admire (doesn't have to be a comedian) tell them that you do. Let's all just be encouraging and get along with each other, eh?