Edinburgh Festival: Diary

EVERY YEAR, I say: "Miss Edinburgh, I'll stay out all night drinking and whoring." And every year I spend more early nights in bed with a good book.

Still, I am slowly moving toward the epicentre of the whole experience. A few years ago I was a so-called journalist, with a press pass courtesy of BC GLR, which cut no ice with all but the least successful shows. This year, I have my own show, and although I would be pathetically grateful if anyone came to review it, I still feel it is a step in the right direction. At least now I am a small cog in the great mechanism, not just a loose bit rattling around.

Edinburgh is a great learning opportunity - without the distractions of gigging in different venues, you just have the show.

At first, doing a full hour was like moving from a bedsit into a house - from one well-furnished and decorated room, I had a number of rooms that just had some flat-packed furniture in the corner, and I'd be saying to audiences/ guests "this is going to be the nursery..." and so on. Now it's filling out nicely, and I am showing people around this metaphorical home in the same literal house night after night.

The rest of the year comics are little more than reps, tootling up and down the motorway with a batch of 20-minute sets in the boot. Edinburgh may be no better than a trade fair, but at least you can get pissed on your own stand.

The Soup Dragon, Westport, off Grassmarket, 10.15pm to 30 Aug