Is Scout Durwood Edinburgh's funniest lesbian? - Part 2

Scout Durwood at the Edinburgh Festival

Alisande Orme’s Diary

Monday 9^th August

Ugh. Monday. It seems that whatever you do, wherever it is in the world, there’s no way to escape the start of week downturn. Monday night’s crowd-- undoubtedly influenced by the two for one ticket offers that were available to many shows—did not turn up in Café Renroc. Scout played to an audience of three, a fact that left her more than a little bit blue, something we addressed by getting very, very drunk.

Blue Monday was then compounded when we “realised” that Scout’s bike seat—just the seat, not the rest of it, mind—had been stolen. I say realised because when we got back to the venue on Tuesday it turned up in her dressing room… Thanks for all that free beer Mr. Bartender (whose name we’ve blacked out in order to stop ourselves from involuntarily cringing every time it’s mentioned for the next 100 years), thanks a lot.

Tuesday 10^th August

At 10 o’clock on Tuesday morning we’re still thanking the bartender for all that beer, mostly because Visa Girl and Scout’s other housemate woke us up at that ungodly hour so we could chant in gratitude for all our blessings. Despite our initial cynicism (and hangovers that could hold back the tides) there may well be something in it: Scout played to a full house that included two reviewers, one of whom definitely liked the show!

What strikes me most as a non-performer is the sheer hustle that goes into appearing at the Edinburgh Fringe, particularly if you want to be succesful. Self-promotion, good online and print reviews and audience word of mouth are essential to gaining crowds, and so it is a case of non-stop talking to people in the street during the day, doling out flyers, and emailing potential reviewers in the name of marketing.

Initially, organising a venue and funding seemed as if it might be the most challenging part of Scout’s (ahem) journey. Once she got to Edinburgh there were more fiddly problems to sort out, such as adapting Hi, How Can I Help You? to suit a predominantly British audience and Café Renroc’s itsy-bitsiness. But before Scout performs she (along with Lucile and I) have to get audiences in to Renroc. To do that we have to hit the city’s streets where we then spend the day competing for the attention of passerby against a frightening number of all-singing all-dancing sixth form drama clubs who—ah, the energy of youth-- are forever clogging up the place with their renderings of Rent and Sweeney Todd.

Seriously, if teenagers approached you so aggressively in any other part of the world, you’d seriously consider changing your route home. Instead, we’ve begun adapting some of the musical numbers from Scout’s show so they’re more, um, appropriate for life before the watershed, while also adapting our wardrobes so we can go out dressed appropriately to promote a show that’s about sex workers.