It's that time of year again ... nerves, cheat sheets and general panic. Photograph: Rui Vieira/PA
Tonight is my first Edinburgh preview. I am doing a one-hour, one-man show at the Edinburgh Fringe this August, and this is the first run-through.
This year my subject is "2007". So, it's a combination of jokes about the news and stories from my personal life. Or stories that I'm pretending are from my personal life. I will also have to make up several news stories, because the September-December period of the year inconveniently hasn't happened yet.
Choosing four months of world events is the part of the show I haven't written yet - I seem to keep putting it off. I wrote some material about the Cutty Sark burning down - and then it did, which was annoying.
Not really. As you can see, I've started writing jokes about writing the show, rather than writing jokes for the show. It's like drawing up a revision timetable instead of revising.
I look back to last year's show as a perfect product which came at the end of a smooth effortless process. I realise that my memory has edited out the worries and doubt that accompanied the creating of last year's show. Because it ended well it's easy to think that a good conclusion was always inevitable.
But, actually, last year I was much better prepared, much earlier. Last year I previewed every week from February to July, and in July I did several per week. In February I had a performable show, however different the final product ultimately was.
This year, I'm behind. Well behind last year, certainly. It's inevitable, I suppose, given that the events of this year are my topic. Had I written an hour's material in February, 90% of it would be in the bin by now.
So for this first run-through, I am fairly anxious. I don't watch the first half of the evening - made up of several comedians doing shortish sets. I go downstairs to the main bar to look through my material. I look back through my notebook, trying to find jokes I have written on any subject, and see if I can crowbar them in some way or another.
The first half ends, and I go upstairs to plug in my piano, and construct my set. "Set" is probably an over-statement. I have the piano on one side, a table on the other (my "newsdesk") and some space in the middle to stand up and do stand-up. These three stations are how I divide up my cheat sheets: some on the floor at the front; some on the newsdesk; and some on the piano. It feels a little like constructing a treasure hunt, leaving clues dotted around the place, each directing you towards the next.
The performance is exactly what I need. When doing previews, you need some shows that go well, and some which go badly. Sometimes you need the encouragement, sometimes you need the painful awareness of your weak spots. But, for a first run-through, you need the audience to slap you on the back.
I remove some of the pleasure from the experience by gathering some audience members after and asking what they thought. By self-selection they will be positive - no one who hated me would volunteer to spend any longer in my company. To my very specific questions about possible alterations, they tend to answer, "I quite liked it as it was." Ungraciously, I resent their inability to imagine something different and better. The compliment registers in the end.
I am left with the feeling that, yes, I have a show. Last year I had that feeling five months earlier. But at least finally it's here.
