A f***ing legend

Driving through Edinburgh’s Grassmarket is not the best place to be at quarter to six on a Friday evening. The roads through the maze that is the Scottish capital are busy at the best of times but rushing through the milling crowds, finishing work, heading home or retreating to the nearest bars and pubs for an after work drink is no mean feat.
The sun was once more shining down upon Scotland on Friday as Ka and myself arrived in Edinburgh, heading through the roads towards the University sector and Nicholson Street where a particularly busy Friday night at the Festival theatre lay.
Before Ka and myself eventually got parked in a cobbled back alley somewhere we found ourselves travelling too far up by the Theatre and on to Pleasance we had had to politely grab a innocent passer by for directions which is probably just as well as we were heading directly for the heart of Holyrood Forest, where we would have probably got stuck, lost and then perhaps shot by a Royal party the next morning enjoying a pre Wedding hunt.
We arrived at the Festival theatre slightly stressed and vaguely dishevelled especially after I’d just changed my shirt, bearing my naked upper half to a couple of laughing women who just happened to be passing in the back alley we’d just parked in. Ka and myself had travelled straight from work so the journey had been ever so slightly rushed.
Crowds and queues circled the entrance to the theatre as we entered the large glass doors, scanning the crowds mingling around the first, ground floor bar, for Colin, Jillian and her sister Claire, the two girls being the main organisers of the night’s event.
Reginald D. Hunter, the brilliantly dry and drawling ‘Have I Got news For You’, ‘8 out of 10 Cats’ and other such panel shows, regular was performing live on stage with guests comedians for the Dave comedy channel. Claire, Jillian’s sister and who is lucky enough to work for the Beeb, managed to get us all tickets including guest passes for the free bar. Yes, you read right. Free bar. Fantastic. If only I hadn’t been driving.
Everyone knows you can’t possibly drink and drive.
Steve Hughes, the Australian comedian who preceded Hunter on stage, talked of billboard signs back in Oz that held the simple warning statement of ‘If you drink and drive, you’re a bloody idiot’.
Hughes replied to these saying, ‘but if you manage to get home, you’re a f***ing legend’.
Considering we were in Edinburgh though, I doubted I would even attempt the title of ‘legend’.
As the show was being filmed for television, Claire had to leave us beforehand to dive back stage and view from the editor’s box, while Ka, Colin, Jillian, Vicki, a mate of Jillian’s, and myself took our seats complete with pints of beer, pints of wine and a coke.
As we talked, filling the waiting time, the older woman sitting at my side, quietly read her book, engrossed. Unfortunately she did not take too kindly to being interupted though as she tutted and growled whenever Colin and the girls had to move past to make a trip to the toilet and then growling again whenever they appeared back to move back down into their seats.
A Newcastle comedian, whose name escapes me, acted as the host and warm up act, quickly identifying the annoying hecklers in the crowd, and introduced the man himself, Reginald D. Hunter, who, after a brief intro, welcomed the first comedian on stage, a German fellow named Henning When. Unfortunately this guy pretty much put us all to sleep, the majority of his act centred on the slightly mistaken idea that us Brits all love After Eights (Who knows, what he was on about, Allo Allo is much funnier).
Next up was the man from Oz, Steve Hughes, a tall, rake like, figure with lots of hair a large moustache, under an elegant roman nose, with a liking for heavy metal and beer. Thankfully Hughes was much funnier and woke the audience up again before another of Reg’s mates from London came on stage. Again I can’t remember that particular comedian’s name either, but at least I can safely say it wasn’t the drink to blame. Reg eventually sauntered out on to the stage for his forty minute stint keeping the audience mostly entertained with the exception of a few misfires, including asking for a vote from the Scottish crowd and then an audience member to explain why they vote conservative. As we were in Edinburgh there was at least five people in the crowd, who, unsurprisingly only half volunteered their hand to the air and avoided Reg’s gaze.
Afterwards, as the theatre audience headed out towards the large front glass doors, we headed up to the VIP bar to meet Claire and enjoy a couple of drinks following the show.
Claire had watched some of the camera’s viewpoints being filmed and confirmed that we were in more than a few close up shots of the theatre audience, clapping, laughing and generally looking entertained. Which makes me slightly nervous as I wasn’t wholly entertained to a visible extent all the way through the show. In fact, I’m sure Colin had his head in his hands and Ka was actually dozing at one point during Henning’s stand up about After Eights.
The older woman with the book, who had been sitting beside me throughout the show, actually turned up in the small crowd with the VIP bands and spoke with Henning, obviously a fan of his work, enough of a fan to be dragged her away from her mystery thriller anyway.
After around half an hour in the bar, the comedians started venturing in to join the twenty or so, strong crowd taking advantage of Beeb money booze (and coke). The girls almost immediately circled Steve Hughes, who chatted back whilst Colin and myself watched suspiciously from the side. At one point I interupted a conversation the big Aussie was having with Ka to inform him that ‘he had way too much hair to be talking with my wife’. Hughes laughed, patted me on the arm and continued his conversation with Ka, who was, apparently, to be the new singer in his band.
Reginald D hunter then appeared mingling with the small crowd, relaxed and comfortable after his, well, relaxed and comfortable performance on stage. Our little team eventually encircled the main himself getting some photos and sharing some crazy chatter.
Vicki asked Reg what he preferred to be called, whether it be Reg, Regi, Reginald? Hunter shrugged and smiled back.
“Whatever, man. Call me whatever”.
To which Colin piped in “Baby cakes?”
Reg looked round at Colin with a slight frown as if considering his next answer, or giving the Scottish translator in his brain time to kick in, and then laughed with a shrug.
After seeming comfortable and relaxed in the bar for the past hour or so, after being surrounded by us, must have now been felling to need to escape from our hyper conversation and left to ‘talk with his peeps’ disappearing through a door at the side of the bar, not before telling my wife how ‘elegant’ she looked, leaving us to more of the delicious free wine, vodkas, magners… and coke.
As I drove everyone home, up the pitch black M8, at 2 in the morning, I admitted to myself that you certainly don’t need drink to have a good time, even if there is a free bar... I’ll try to leave the car at home next time though.