If necessity is the mother of invention then, by Jiminy, I am about to have the mother of all ideas really, really soon. Out of my way, Tommy Edison:  suck my lightbulb, if you will. I need a really good idea. I think I’m about to do the Edinburgh Fringe again.

I haven’t done it since 2007 (when about 3 people saw my little show) and although it will most likely break both my spirit and the bank, it is time. Not only is it time to get a full hour’s show out of myself and beg people to come to it, it’s time to get down. Hell, yeah. Nearly 15 years since I last did musical comedy, I am picking up my guitar. I’m then putting it back down again, having realised I can’t play at all well enough for what I want to sing. So, nearly 15 years since I last did musical comedy, I’m picking up the phone instead and calling people who might be able to accompany me, or shove me off up north on the train with a backing track in my hot little hand.

My first ever trip to the Edinburgh Fringe was in 1995 with musical comedy trioThe Nualas. Myself, Sue Collins and Anne Gildea went up to let people know that we wrote funny songs and sang them as well. We slept on someone’s floor and begged people for gigs. I’ve blogged about it before, so I won’t go on about it here, but I do miss the musical aspect of what we used to do. I did 2 shows last year called Songs – because that’s what they were: the brilliant Damian Coldwell and Charlie Round Turner very kindly accompanied me while I sang stuff I liked (cheesing the uncheesy and de-cheesing the cheesed). It got the pilot-light kick-started, I guess (I’m without hot water today? I guarantee no further boiler-based imagery). Somewhere, deep down, beneath the Christmas decorations and vinyl LPs and betamax movies of my soul, I’ve got the music in me.

Doing the Improv with musical contributions from Kirsty Newton (she of Siskin fame – they’re wonderful, check them out NOW) has only made me hungrier and curioser. In all the years since I left The Nualas, lines and half ideas for songs have kept coming to me. I was too busy to do anything with them. Also, too absolutely terrifed. So, this week, I’ve been researching venues, finding accomodation (I can’t do floors anymore. What a sell-out) and writing songs. Some of those ideas are now three-quarters of ideas, and some of those random lines have companions. I believe it is what they call a start.

The next step will be to take the guitar and keyboards out of their dusty hiding places and bash something together to take to a real musician and get this shit owned (I believe that’s how musicians parlay with each other). But that’s for…not yet. My playing is an insult to music and demeans us both. Bash? Yes. Play? No. No matter how hard I practise. I used to get my knuckles rapped regularly at Sr. Rose’s piano class and we had no telly: all I did after school was noodle about on the piano. I never got better. It’s a cruel world.

So, if you know anyone who likes funny songs, I’ll have some soon. You should come and hear them. They may even have someone playing them by then. And I will have very, very raw knuckles.

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