Edinburgh Fringe 2014

"Look, Paul - this is great, but this isn't for me," said a man called Ian, putting his hand up politely and standing. As he left he gave me a tenner and wished me all the best. Twenty minutes before that, I'd met Ian outside the small venue. I was flyering for a show that nobody seemed to know about; it was my third production of the same run and the one that was perhaps a show too far. Ian said he'd watch it, but it clearly wasn't his thing. It was just awkward. But he was a nice chap; I appreciate him giving it a chance.

That wasn't typical of this run though. No, far from it, this was a good run. My best Edinburgh Fringe ever? Yep, without question. Not without it's problems, but plenty to cheer about. So, I had three shows up there - Getting Lost In My Hometown (which I'm really proud of, it's turned from being an awkward lounge show to a confident, shouty piece of near-stand-up comedy), The Paul Richards Disasters (the one which has three plays in an hour and was very much me going back to my comfort zone, but really worked because of it) and The Moments Of Madness That Make Us (the risk, the third production, the one that didn't really click). Leaving at 5am, we had checked into our digs by 3pm and Getting Lost...opened at 4.15pm that day. Cutting it fine, sure, but that's the magic of it all. 7.45pm that day, The Paul Richards Disasters opened to a full room, which was confusing but exciting all the same. That kind of summed up week 1 actually, Kim worked really hard with the Disasters show and we had generally great turnouts (apart from the day when it was just one person, a friendly Australian called Brian - he bought my book afterwards, what a legend), I had my own personal rule of 'must flyer for 4 hours a day' for Getting Lost which resulted in sometimes really big audiences, other times less so, but it still happened - every day, the show happened. Getting Lost ran for 21 shows in a row, it's quite tricky maintaining the enthusiasm for those words but you just do, when you see the audience, the adrenaline kicks in. Moments of Madness, which ran for week 3 only, was always a tricky one; technology failed me every now and then, as did the lack of time to promote it. One day I had a cracking audience in, but that was a rarity, most days I was just grateful it was happening at all. Next year...just two shows at the fringe, that's enough.

I've experienced it all during this run, all with a difficult sub-plot to my own life. Whilst things professionally seem to be moving in the right direction, my father's health back home (which is, sadly, causing enormous concern) reminded me of my priorities. Indeed it was often distressing...with my daily phone call home to check up on things being at 3.30pm, and my first show of the day just after 4pm, there were more than a couple of occasions where I went on stage with tears in my eyes, only to see an audience expecting to laugh, expecting me to make them laugh. And that's where you go into the zone, where you're off on a flight of rambling storytelling fantasy, it's actually quite therapeutic. I tried to come home, by the way, several times, during the run, but the family wouldn't let me; there's nothing I can do, I may as well continue to live my dreams up in the most inspiring creative outlet on the planet.

I had some really great audiences up there; people laughing, hanging onto the words, applauding me like I really am somebody. I had some odd ones too, of course. There was one time where my audience was entirely German and they couldn't really understand what I was saying but enjoyed watching me physically as they enjoyed the (unintentional) slapstick nature of it all, there was one day when my audience were just a French couple who didn't understand a word of it but sat smiling throughout and we exchanged gifts afterwards (I gave them a book, they gave me money...but this wasn't them buying it, this was an exchange between people who somehow found a connection despite a language barrier).

There was only one day where it didn't work at all; I had 5 in the room (which can usually work) but they weren't enjoying it, neither was I. Halfway through the show I stopped the music and asked if they wanted to leave, but they didn't even respond to that, so I turned it back on and told them that we would "carry on till the bitter end". The next day, exactly the same quality of performance, 31 of them in the room all crying with laughter, the best it's ever been. So unpredictable, which is why I enjoy it, because I'm sick and tired and agitated of anything that resembles a routine. The fringe messes with your senses, it's basically a legal high.

During the run I was compared to Miranda Hart, Steve Coogan and Peter Crouch; I accidently said the words "rape and paedophilia" on BBC Scotland (in the context of: "my show is a gentle show. Why is it gentle? Because a lot of shows try to shock you...it's all rape and peadophillia...my show doesn't have any of that." I could just see the producer sweating). We all watched lots of amazing shows (my particular favourites in no particular order: David Trent, Tom Price, Horne Section, PBH, Comedywealth Games, Pippa Evans, Stuart Goldsmith, Comedians Comedian Live, Alex Horne solo, Dan Clark, Bottleneck, Nick Helm, John Otway, Tim Vine, Tim Key...the list just goes on and on), we all watched our friends and venue mates do wonderful shows, there was camaraderie with fellow performers on the Royal Mile, even during the (many, very) rainy days. We drank too much in Canon's Gait till the early hours and compared notes about shows we've performed and seen, I've eaten more pizza than is acceptable, I climbed Arthur's Seat at four in the morning with a beautiful young lady just so we could see sunrise.

I performed 33 shows in 21 days in 3 different venues to a combined audience of 414 people. That final stat might not sound much, but compared to last year...well, things are happening. I have a following, it's not big...I reckon, if you discount the many friends I'm lucky to have, I probably have about 11 actual genuine fans, who look out for my shows, who approach me in the street and tell me they enjoyed the show last year and can't wait to see this year's offering. I've built on my following this year, mostly because in 'Getting Lost...' I finally have a show I can be proud of. I was sat watching another show and the girl next to me was reading my book...I didn't know where to look, this situation is alien to me. And I'm pretty sure it doesn't happen anywhere apart from the Edinburgh Fringe; it's an explosion of joy, beauty and good nature which makes the rest of the year incredibly boring. And next year, I'll be back, with an even better show, and I'll keep on building a name for myself. Not that it's all about that anyway, it's about being inspired, and alive. I feel more inspired than ever, I just need to spend some valuable time with my father and also move house this week, but I'm writing new material - I left Edinburgh with four shows so clear in my head they'll be out there as work in progress pieces before year is out.

Like last year, my venue this year for 'Getting Lost...' was huge; 100 capacity. A friend of mine asked why I returned to the same space when, being just one guy, flyering for himself, who hasn't been on the telly or anything that pulls in audiences, it would be more suitable to go for a smaller space. She then hugged me and said "actually, I think you enjoy the struggle." I felt slightly patronised at first, before agreeing.