Two years ago, Daniel Kitson, master storyteller and stand-up comedian, elegised the C-90 compilation tape at Edinburgh before taking his show around the world. This year, in 66a Church Road – A Lament, Made of Memories And Kept In Suitcases, he turns to the break-up of his longest relationship – with much-loved lodgings at that address.
The flat occupied prime position in his affections, outstaying girlfriends and surviving the frustration of an evasive landlord as well as shortcomings in its situation on a busy road and its use as a public convenience for those caught short between dodgy takeaways and nearby pubs. "Mate, you're pissing on my house. Don't piss on my house, mate."
Eventually forced to leave, despite many futile attempts to buy the only property in which he can imagine ever being happy, Kitson – the affair now ended – sits surrounded by baggage, both mental and actual. Projections bounce off battered suitcases, some of which contain doll's house-size models or one of his beloved sash windows.
Kitson's fantastically ordered material, delivered with the rambling air of a slightly distracted but favourite uncle, is punctuated by pre-recorded voice-overs that fill out the life that went on both in the flat and in his head. As paeans to homes go, this is one of the most poignant and poetic.
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