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I’m feeling recklessly giddy on the train to Waverley: Bussmann’s Holiday / The Worst Date Ever has turned into a book, and despite the fact it’s filled with filthy jokes about war criminals and celebrities, people get the joke. Doing the show again at the Assembly Rooms? What could possibly go wrong?
I arrive in Edinburgh to alarming news. The critics are coming to the first show – no chance to get the feel for an Edinburgh audience instead of soft Southern shite. No chance to nobble the critics, get them drunk, tell them the show is AWESOME. I call a very nice man from Roar With Laughter to panic. He very kindly calls a very nice friend Sajeela Kershi of Spirits of the Fringe: would I like to come down and do a bit of my show at her Counting Rooms prestigious show-sampler evening? Perfect, I blather, brilliant, yes please: that’ll fix critics’ night nerves. Maybe some of them’ll be there. Three things didn’t occur to me. One, Bussmann’s Holiday / The Worst Date Ever is a technical show like Dave Gorman, lots of jokes based around video clips and there’s no time to organise a projector. No problem, I figure; I’ll read a chunk out of the book, the crazy bit everyone likes about the Ugandan policemen. JANE: “Someone’s stolen my computer.” COP: “Where is he? I’ll shoot him in the head!” JANE: “Could I just get a police report?” COP: “Do you have one?” JANE: “I… hoped you might have…” COP: (STERN) “Madam. We’ve only got one police report, and we need it.” The policeman then asked me on a date, giving me his number on the back of an old police questionnaire. A rape questionnaire. The second thing that didn’t occur to me is I don’t have a copy of the book. The third thing is I was on my way to a retro 30th birthday party dressed apparently as Tammy Wynette in cowboy boots and lace frock. I career across Edinburgh in cabs, get the book, run onstage, read it out. The crowd stares: why is this Tammy Wynette drag queen doing a rape-themed Jackanory? They chuckle and tell the drag queen they’ll see his show. But I stumble out traumatized and can’t find a cab. It starts raining. I finally find a taxi rank and ask if anyone wants to share. A nice Scottish lady joins me. “What are you up here for?” she says. I almost climb on her knee for comfort. “I’m doing a show at Assembly,” I whimper, “Oh God, I’ve just done a test, I’ve got critics coming in on Monday and I was so bad I think it’s doomed. Honestly I was awful. I mean awful.” The nice Scottish lady says, “Are you Jane Bussmann?” A pause. “Who are you?” I venture. “I’m a critic for the Scotsman,” she replies. As luck would have it, she was a critic with a sense of humour. Jane Busman performs in Bussman’s Holiday: The Worst Date Ever until 30 August. To book tickets click here. |
