It’s fairly busy in the back of a bar in Edinburgh at 5.30 on a Monday afternoon. The sofas are taken, most of the stools already have bums on them and the only seats left are to the side of the stage on the far side of the room. An older lady shuffles her way across. She’s probably mine and your mum’s age, with a Fringe festival programme in her hand. She sits down, turns to a young couple (with equally as bad a view adjacent to the speaker) and says, ‘If it’s crap, I won’t be able to leave early.’
But it’s really not crap.
Gecko’s show has the loosest of themes and is more of a gig than a show (which is fine by me – there’s enough rubbish stand-ups and drama school improv up here at this time of year). His songs and spoken word pieces are always clever, sometimes thought-provoking and often served with a large dollop of humour. We hear songs about iPhones, immigrants (“I’m a Grant” – you know, Grant Mitchell from Eastenders) and the Mona Lisa. We clap at the end of each song and one young lady even claps out of time during one song (which is very off-putting) because she seemingly can’t control her hands. She is politely, but rightly, stopped in her tracks.
Oh, and the old lady never left.