Reviewing reviewing

Reflections on a week of Camden Fringe.

It's fringe month! The world amass in one place: the media flock, industry collides with culture, the whole city is a stage. Well, yeah that's Edinburgh Fringe. How about Camden?

A couple of weeks ago I managed to steal the opportunity to review the Camden fringe. Four shows a week, or thereabouts, all free. Offbeat theatre, tiny stages in pub backrooms, curious comedy, one man shows, and my routine of arbitrarily selected performances to get myself to and comment upon. And no payment, such is the climate.

Bring it on, I thought. The summer is a hole in existence. Everyone has their head in books, or staring at walls making logical constructs, or working (some people do that too). I am condemned to a cruel freedom. Cafe-hopping, reading philosophy with no academic purpose, like in the olden days. And not even a rejection for the jobs I suck-up to. No mail for you today sir, says the postman as I peer into my mailbox.

So to be at Camden by Six p.m. on the Monday, I could just walk from home, which is down Brockley way. Make a day of it. But do you remember the weather that day? Monday to Wednesday: heatwave. So I went to Charing Cross, walked from there. Still a hefty, heated walk.

First show, stand-up comedy. Now I haven't been to much stand-up, especially of the club/pub variety. Ricky Gervais in a massive theatre, it's another world. Even so, somewhere in the depths of my being is a sense of humour, deep deep down. It was James W. Smith, exploring the comic potential of language. Review here.

I sat there alone, amongst giggling groups with pints of beer. Going to a comedy show alone has a certain feel to it. I felt thoroughly professional. Afterwards I got another drink and made some notes on a bench outside. 'Twas a pleasant eve, weather-wise, and Camden was a-buzzin'. And this is where it differs from Edinburgh: the small smattering of people who had been in the audience were gone, somewhere else; I sat on the bench as was joined by a builder, from North somewhere, here on building business, a traveller by heart, tried marriage - can't do it. Camden, full of life, but same as usual - this is not "Fringe Town". The Camden Fringe is a subtler affair, almost subcultural.

The next day I was free, apart from a Nyx meeting. Nyx 6, the Monster edition is coming along nicely, keep your eyes peeled. And this may just rear it's monstrous head.

Wednesday, back to Camden. Another long walk, another theatre above a pub. Ah, but a delightful show - The Shoemaker's Wonderful Wife, highlight of my fringe thus far. Review here. I happily descended the stairs afterwards, following, not stalking, a girl who was also alone. Was she a reviewer like me?

"What did you think?" I asked when we got to the bar.

"Oh, no thanks, I'm fine," she replied.

"Uh, no I mean, er, what did you think . . . of the show?"

"Oh yeah, really good. I know someone in it."

I case you hadn't guessed, she must have thought I'd said "Do you want a drink?" Great, rejected when I wasn't even trying.

We chatted a bit and I missioned on, that reviews not gonna right itself.

Then no plays till Saturday, I relaxed. My dad visited. Cue Chinese restaurant, Holiday Inn, quite bad breakfast and free Independent newspaper, another meal out, and I'm back in Camden for Saturday's shows. Two this time.

At Mornington Crescent I waited for Chris, "Be there in 5," says the message. What am I to make of this? 20 Minutes till the show starts, five minutes to get there, and Chris' notorious punctuality. I waited 15 minutes, sent directions on a text, and bounded round to the Sheephaven Bay, just in time to grab a beer.

All these shows start a bit late, so Chris squeezed in having only missed a couple of minutes. It was poetry. And it was OK. Review here.

Not a long show, but maybe that's OK. We went out and got a beer. Chris and his Wind-up pal Billy moved on and I went and got some chicken wings. It rained. There was a rainbow. Came back and got a whiskey for the next show. This theatre is literally a conservatory. And not exactly soundproof either. So, under difficult circumstances we had a pretty mediocre show. Review here.

Afterwards I chatted for a couple of hours to a girl from Singapore, student of York Uni and periodical Londoner, and had more whiskeys. With the chairs on the tables throughout the pub, like some barren forest, we were finally chucked out. So it wasn't the best night, performance-wise, but was saved by the good company.

Another week on the fringe awaits. With London's suburbs erupting, this could get messy.