People say I must be mad. I’ve only taken up comedy since retiring from advertising a few years ago. Most of my experience has been doing five-minute spots at open-mic venues and now I’m betting the farm on a one-hour solo show at the Edinburgh Fringe. They’re probably right. It’s crazy. I risk falling flat on my face, but in a way that’s exactly the point. If I were 21 the risk would be huge. But I’m 81 so what have I got to lose? The answer to that question is money. Even if I play to packed houses every night it will still be like tearing up fifty pound notes. I hear a lot of performers are staying away from Edinburgh this year because they just can’t make it pay. But for me it’s not about making a profit. It’s about being part of that magical event, the Edinburgh Festival. It’s something I’ve always dreamed of doing. If not now then when? My venue only seats 29 so at least I’m not over-reaching. Or am I? Suppose nobody comes. I’ve heard of that happening. Or suppose only one person comes. That’s even worse because if nobody comes at least you don’t have to do the show.
The city and the festival have been a big part of my life since I was a child. I come from Stirling, about 30 miles away, and as a boy in the 1950’s my mother used to take me to the Military Tattoo. It was the first city I ever knew and what a city. With a giant cliff in the middle, a castle on top and a mountain within the city limits. As a ten-year-old it wowed me and it’s been wowing me ever since. It’s where I did my courting, lost my virginity, met my wife, drank my first pint and learned to be a beatnik. (That didn’t last long.) In 1965 I saw Marlene Dietrich perform there. At the end of her show she said she’d like to introduce us to her musical director. “You won’t have heard of him, but trust me you soon will” she said. She was right. It was Burt Bacharach. I saw David Baddiel making his tentative debut in a Cambridge Footlights review – a two-minute stand-up spot in an otherwise unremarkable sketch show. Mark Watson, Rhod Gilbert, Alfie Brown – Edinburgh is where I’ve seen them all. These days I live in London but I probably enjoy more theatre, go to more concerts and see more art in two weeks in Edinburgh than I see in London for the rest of the year. Usually my trip there is not so much a holiday as a pilgrimage. This year it will be more like a trip into the lion’s den.
At least I have a USP though. I’m old, old, old. I don’t know of any other working comedian as old as me. Fortunately old age is a rich comic seam to mine. You’ve got increased flatulence (my show is called Old Fart Gassing), prostate problems, incontinence, deafness, poor sight, care homes, staying woke, funerals and invisibility to pick to pieces. Invisibility? Yup, a lot of old people complain that they are ignored, unnoticed, unseen. I don’t see it as a problem. More of a superpower. It would make shoplifting a doddle if only I weren’t so steeped in the notion of heaven and hell that I could never do it. I’m an atheist but a churchy upbringing means you can never shake it off. As far as I know, no other comedians are talking about this stuff.
What pushed me over the edge into having a go was my experience in The Cavendish Arms, Stockwell. It’s one of London’s top open-mic venues. Three nights a week about ten would-be comedians appear and at the end of the show there’s a clap-off to find the funniest. Well I kept winning. In fact most of the times I’ve appeared I’ve won. My downstairs loo is my trophy room. I’ve got some awards for my advertising work, including the ITV award for best TV commercial of the year, but my proudest ones are those pathetic little plastic cups they give to winners at the Cav. Then last year the MC there, a Barbadian comedian called Sikisa, did a gig at Edinburgh and did well. I thought if she can do it so can I. She’s on again this year, by the way, at the Monkey Barrel. Go and see her. She’s effervescent.
Of course there are hundreds of comedians in Edinburgh in August and they’re all talking about the hot topics. All except for one hot topic: the big gender issue – no comedian will go near it in case they get cancelled. Me? I’m 81. If I got cancelled I probably wouldn’t even notice. So be warned, I’m just going to wade right in. Come and watch a bloodbath.
Jeff Stark, Old Fart, Gassing, 20.55, Greenside@George Street until August 24
