It's almost the end of this year's Edinburgh Festival now and I haven't been up there as I've been too busy logging and transcribing for 200 hours and putting on 10kg, but anyway, a fair few people who I know in the comedy world are up there and have been messaging me asking when can we meet for coffee (does it have to be coffee?), shall they put my name on this and that guest list, rare rare rare....But the purpose of this post isn't to pretend I'm well popular OR into Afro-Caribbean vernacular, it's because I've found someone who I think must have used a photo of me and Photoshopped it into their show poster because they are here on illegal pretences and need to adopt a British Citizen's identity. I still keep having to look at it, the picture.
The show is called Mother F (Gilded Balloon, 14:45, Billiard Room) ; a production performed by Susan Swanton and Isabel Ford where a mother dies and two sisters rummage through her attic. This takes me back to my first week at art school...
There were five of us in the house and Reece and Andy had found a sack of typically Asian women's clothing in the cellar.
We were away from home for the first time.
It was exciting.
An Oasis CD was on.
I was doing some film project which involved me filming OBVIOUSLY different people crossing the road, using passing cars as swipes. Andy had agreed to be one of these obviously different people and was dressing up in a sari when our landlord, Mr Mustaqim, walked in. I mean, it was a perfectly innocent mistake to make, but I can understand that it was quite distressing for our landlord to see one of his new tenants (£32 a week. £32 A WEEK!!!) in his recently dead wife's clothes.
Anyway, back to the lookylikey thing...my friend, A.C. Reeve, sent me a picture this afternoon. He had had a qualifying conversation with someone which led him to believe that it wasn't me doing a show up there, but the photographic evidence needed to be confirmed, clearly.
If you have never seen me, then this won't mean much, but....HELLO.....FRIENDS??? (and friends, if you have a picture which is practically an exact replication of this, please let me know).
I then thought of the message that Sonia sent me last week from Edinburgh, asking if I was in Edinburgh in a way that made me question whether I actually was in Scotland as I sat there in North London. She'd contacted me at the start of the run, very kindly offering me tickets to some excellent show, which I had politely declined due to not going this year, and she was now asking if I'd just walked past her in the street. I felt like a liar and started to think "If I'm up in Edinburgh, why on earth did I turn down those tickets?"...
As I'm just about to write a script concerning mistaken identity, this comes at a timely time. I think I would like to meet Isabel one day. Isabel?