• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 09
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Performers, Edinburgh, undated

One for the press – yes, in the “green room”, waiting
On the beginners’ call, our true selves breaking
Through poses, costumes, props and make-up,
Doomed as we were to ten more days *sans* break, up
At the Dead Duck, just past the Lame Warrior.
“Catch us if you can!” (Be bothered.) Drama,

Such as it is, abhors monotony.
“Unless monotony itself can be –”
Dramatic? Aye, aye: there’s the rub. We’d made it
So far, on our plucky shoestring budget –
Despite the friends and family, promised profit,
Who’d smelt a rat and so thought better of it –

As, at least to us, our odd-couple act
Had seemed fresh. To us, at least. In packed
Previews, tailor-made, you preened. It suited
You so well: your well-made pose. The truth did
Not exactly measure up, alas,
When viewed The Scotsman’s way. For some crass

Reason, their hack found nothing to amuse
Him in an hour of classic chalk-v-cheese
Improvisation – funny that. Our Fringe
Fever faded soon enough: a pinch
Of failure slowed the heart. How strange to feel
It mattered once. As photographs reveal.