Laura Lexx will make it to Edinburgh
If the shows goes ahead it will be a tour de force… it is my best work yet; uplifting, inspiring, optimistic and achingly funny. It is a homely rollercoaster of “real comedic steel” (Guardian) that combines the enveloping charm of an episode of Bewitched with the strength and poignance of a decent stick.
If the show goes ahead.
The show almost certainly will go ahead just so long as I get past the one obstacle between me and Edinburgh 2015.
I am currently locked in a basement at an undisclosed location having been kidnapped by evil henchmen.
I can only assume one of my rivals for any one of the notoriously sought after Delicious Drink Comedy Awards has seen me as too much competition and had me taken out early on in the game. Kudos to you, whoever you are. I wish you dodgy air conditioning and a time that clashes with Seann Walsh.
Thankfully, when I was kidnapped I had with me the notes for the upcoming show, and the recording of my last preview. So, whilst I’m surviving physically on dry oats and lukewarm water that my captor pushes through a slot in the door; I am intellectually feasting on some of the finest jokes ever written.
I perform my show aloud several times a day to the bare floor, my dirty sleeping cot and the one eyed teddy bear that sits in the corner, whom I have named Serge. He looks like a Serge. Yesterday… was it yesterday? The days blur so… but I think it was yesterday, when I got to my pivotal piece in the show about a very valid current piece of political contentiousness dealt with deftly, showcasing my finesse as both a performer and a writer, I could have sworn I saw Serge smile.
Obviously he weeps at the end every time. He may only be made of fluff and dreams but he knows damn fine pathos when he hears it.
I am cursing my own inability to see the future and prepare for this eventuality. Unfortunately for me, despite my pre-Award-winning show being mostly about documentaries, I have very little experience of learning survival or escapology that could be useful in this nightmare.
I have a very particular set of skills, but unfortunately telling the henchman stationed at my door that “I remember my first pint too” and asking “Do we have any hen parties in?” is having very little effect on getting me out.
It was after a particularly sublime preview that I was kidnapped and brought to my cell. I was being carried out of Madison Square Gardens on the hands of several thousand adoring fans who had never heard of me before but were now ready to crown me as their non-gender specified royalty leader. Just as I passed a particularly impressed looking Amy Poehler, who was mouthing to me that she liked my 10 minutes on the difficulties of understanding how feminism mixes with domestic bliss in the modern household, I noticed four large men in black armoured gear coming towards me. I tried to dodge down into the crowd but they held me aloft and a slack jawed Chris Pratt was baying my name to the heavens and beating his breast.
There was nowhere to hide.
They cornered me in the car park after the crowds had dispersed and I was heading towards my surprisingly economic and environmentally friendly car. I would have fought back but my wrist ached from the thousands of autographs I had scrawled onto every available surface… Laura Lexx… Laura Lexx… Laura Lexx… Why, oh why, did I not pick a shorter name? Had I picked Bo Fi or L. Le or some kind of sexy squiggle like Prince the guy with the squiggle for a name then I might have been able to fight off the four burly men that approached.
But alas, I was drugged and brought to my secret location. I only wish they’d had the budget to use a drug stronger than ibuprofen. It was a long and boring journey.
My body yearns for the freedom of the Fringe… for the cobbled Mile, the never-ending bar hours, and the adoring faces of those lucky few who have stumbled across my opus and are experiencing me for the first time.
If I do not make it there, heaven forbid, know that my show “Lovely” that would have been taking place at 4:05pm every day (except for the 18th) at The Clover Room in the Underbelly’s Med Quad, was going to be the Bohemian Rhapsody of comedy shows. It was to be the Kanye, the Middleton, the Miley Cyrus and also some genuinely popular people too. It was to be the Attenborough (both David and Dickie) of comedy shows. It would have gotten at least 3 stars.
If I do make it there, by the will of Kitson, the least you can do is come and see it.