My Dad is Superman

Warming Up

8644/21563

My dad, Thomas Keith Herring (who for some insane reason decided to go by Keith) is 90 years old today. He’s an incredible man and an impossible role model to live up to (and I have very much failed to do so) and I don’t think he reads this blog so I can say that I love him (something I will never say in real life because I want to be able to write a song about it like my heroes Mike and the Mechanics).

And look at this photo from about 1975. He’s strong and handsome and looks like Clark Kent (though I don’t really remember him ever not wearing glasses, so actually he’s more like Superman in this pic). Again the sporty and handsome and tallness genes didn’t get passed down to me. Maybe he’s not my real dad. That’s easier to contemplate than the fact that I might be to blame. Though why would mum cheat on this hunk? She wouldn’t and didn’t, which is why they have been together since Valentine’s Day 1950 (or thereabouts).

The family shared some pics of him (and us) on Messenger. I remember doing these timed shots on his camera in the days when doing selfies took some work. I wonder what distracted my sister and me. And again, my mum and dad look like parents from central casting. How did they stay so glamorous whilst looking after three kids? I haven’t even brushed my hair for the last eleven years.

They also included some photos from nearly 90 years ago - did they have cameras then? So strange to see him as a baby. I wonder what became of that teddy bear (could it be the same threadbare one that I remember from my childhood? - surely not).

After a tricky year for him and us, I am delighted that he was at home to celebrate this, but sorry that we couldn’t be there (though we extended his birthday and partied with him a couple of weeks ago).

Happy Birthday TK.

Meanwhile I did my first RHLSTP of this run, with the fantastic and funny MP turned stand up Mhairi Black. We sold 85 tickets which is well up on last year’s first day, so hopefully this will be a successful jaunt.

So far I am enjoying this Fringe more than almost any other (though it couldn’t be earlier days). As much as I am going to miss the family, so far it’s a lovely little holiday from having to get up at 6.30am. Last year it was stressful and hard work having to juggle our shows and childcare and I basically had to stay in every night. And so many years at the Fringe I was hobbled by my social anxiety and terror of loneliness and insecurity, but now I am extremely happy to be in my own company. Not drinking also helps.

I even started the day with 20 press ups, a one minute plank and a 20 minute run - will I do this every day? Maybe. The mornings are mine and all I have to do is prep for the show and get some lunch. It’s great that there’s a Fringe going on around me, but I am here to do a job, (hopefully) get paid and then head home to spend the rest of the month having fun with the family.

I chilled out in my room post show and then wandered up to the Old Town to get some food and see what was going on. I didn’t have a plan until 9pm when I was going to see tomorrow’s guest Paddy Young’s stand up show. I ambled around through the crowds, wearing my face mask, thinking that might provide me with some anonymity, but quite a few people recognised me anyway. What is it about this long-haired, short, chubby old man that people don’t need to see my face to know who I am?

I passed the old joke shop that in 1987 we bought loads of childish props at, like fake bears and plastic clubs. I was sad to see that it is now a Tweed and Cashmere shop. What happened to the joke shop owner? Why isn’t he still running the place after 39 years? What could possibly have happened?

I was cheered to see though that the new owners of the shop have chosen to keep the big Groucho Marks mask over the doorway. Even though they are now selling tweed. Maybe it was screwed in so tight that they couldn’t get it down (that would be a good joke), or maybe they wanted to keep the spirit of the place, but lovely to have that vestigial nose and glasses still in place.

I popped into the Underbelly where I did a lot of my shows in the Noughties. It’s had a revamp since then and has bars at the entrance and seems less damp and dark than I remember. I had decided just to find a show that was about to start and watch that and Paul Foot started at 7.20pm and I haven’t seen his shows for a while, so that was perfect.

Loads of funny stuff, not all of it super surreal (though still retaining the Paul Foot that I remember and love) and a surprisingly poignant story running through the nonsense/acute observations. He is someone who makes everything funny. Even the pauses as he works out what he’s doing next - this was a preview and he was still working in some new bits. Well worth seeing if you’re up here.

Then on to a heaving Monkey Barrel One to see Paddy. After the success of SNL UK he is a hot ticket and so he should be. It was a very enjoyable show, pushing the boundaries of taste from the very beginning, but charmingly, showing that comedy so often depends on the way something is said. In a world of stuff being taken out of context or being shorn of any subtlety (or non-subtlety) by being reported on social media or mainstream media, it was great to see an audacious first joke. And the laughs kept coming.

I had a good laugh and then felt no sadness in heading straight back to my hotel. I will make time to see some friends and definitely see more shows and see if I can work back up to a 5km run up and down Edinburgh’s hills by Sunday week.

If you’re reading this on the 6th and are in town, why not come and see me chatting with Paddy at 2pm. It’s going to be a good one. Or book ahead for one or more of the others!