Camden Fringe: Day Four - ‘Mad Bastards’
Our rest day was moderate to exceptionally poor. I don’t want to talk about it.
Disappointed face.
However, it was showtime again and we kicked off with more setbacks for our mentat Ryan to solve in his indomitable manner. Someone had taken all of the posters down from their perches in the park - posters that our friends the very friendly Friends of St Martin’s Garden (friends of ours) had laboured to put up in order to help publicise the show for us; we were told we were never going to receive the setpieces that had failed to reach us the first night; there was no-one about in the park to flyer; and our moon-on-a-stick had loosened her bonds in the night for reasons she simply wouldn’t disclose.
So everything was rocketing along nicely, really. We entertained and offered catharsis to around forty people that evening, including a lady who practised a terrifying-sounding Chinese art of martiality which involved double-ended dragon spears.
Despite the crowd and the warrior woman we still had a few problems with other people being reet inconsiderate and even disruptive. Naja, the show went on and after the dragon spear lady had dispatched several streetdrinkers, two chavs, and a fat noisy dog everyone still enjoyed themselves. Possibly even more so thanks to the sudden increase in middle-classness that pervaded the park.
After the show a man accosted us in the street, labelling us ‘mad bastards’. It turned out the chap was speaking in jestful admiration but I saw Ryan’s hand fly to his holstered Glock and had to give a nod to stay his wrath. The gentleman went on to describe how much he’d enjoyed the show but that an outdoor venue in Camden had been perhaps an overbrave idea. Again, I came between the man and Ryan’s upward-arcing scimitar. We thanked him for his feedback and went on home, abandoning Ryan’s plan to leave a proximity mine on his doorstep, and talked the new version of the script over instead.
Oh and old friends were there - many thanks to Ryan’s funky family, Michelene’s hip friends, my chum Andy, and that squirrel that Ed met.
That was Friday. On Saturday many more old friends of ours had threatened to attend.
