Vladimir McTavish arrived on stage eventually to the strains of the proclaimers, with an expectant air from the audience. It seems he has been mucked around a little - we all thought he was starting at 8:30, but some of the festival publicity stated 9, and one girl even saw it advertised as 7:30! Still, that's nothing compared to the soccer themed night the day before. In the centre of Newcastle, on the same night as a Newcastle United european game, which was at home, and on the telly. Such are the vagiaries of promotion.
Despite the truncated start to the evening, Vlad took us on a tour of Scotland, from ancient times to present day political scandals, and stopping in to Newcastle for a pint. If it wasn't for the thick coating of gags, you could almost call it educational! The insights of a Scotsman, enjoying the absurdities of his own culture, and taking us on a tour while he does it. This was his sold out Edinburgh show from 2005, and it won plenty of critical acclaim.
It most likely he won't get much aclaim this time, but that is nothing to do with the performance. There was a reviewer in, and he was a complete tool. Scrounging cigarettes from the Students, and oozing twat, he didn't really endear himself to anyone. He left after Vladimir McTavish, maybe he knew what was coming next...
Bob Doolaly, unimpressed by having to miss the football the night before, came back onto stage to have another chat. Sinking vodka as if it was water, and carving the long departed reviewer to pieces with his very Scots brand of wit (he was a c**t!), I feel warm inside that he considers me a close personal friend of his. Some great tales of his friends in and out of football were dished out with inebriated vigour. It is an act, but it takes the smallest jump of faith to imagine him in the dugout. An old fashioned drunk idiot. The crowd adored him.
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