My voice was screwed.

The combination of a low-level Fringe cold and shouting on stage most days had taken its toll and I was starting to lose the ability to speak. It’s an ability I took thoughtlessly for granted. Turns out it’s a pretty key skill when it comes to doing stand-up in Edinburgh.

Although I was croaky, the show went well and I was able to catch up with a number of friends from the audience over a pint afterwards. In an attempt to add tuberculosis to my vocal problems, I then headed down to the dankness of the Caves to see Danny Pensive. Not that I’d have got tuberculosis as I demonstrated immunity when tested at school. Take that, BCG losers.

I had three reasons for seeing Danny Pensive’s Map of Britain: he was a scream at Comedy Countdown; a friend recommended his show; and he’s a Doctor Who fan.

There are quite a few fanboys (it’s a non-gender-specific term) performing in Edinburgh. I’ve been trying to make a list – obviously, because that’s what fanboys do. And here I don’t mean people who like Doctor Who a bit; I mean people who like Doctor Who a lot. People who have the DVDs and actually watch the DVD extras. People who subscribe to Doctor Who Magazine. People who know their Sagacity from their City of Death.

So far I’ve got me and Dan from Three Man Roast (of course); John Cooper (aka Danny Pensive); Michael Legge; Tom Neenan from off of the Gentleman of Leisure (the old GOL); Andrew O’Neill; John Henry Falle from the Beta Males; Marc Burrows (from The 90s in Half an Hour); and Mitch Benn. Stuart Goldsmith and John-Luke Roberts from The Behemoth have question marks next to their names. Do grab them in the street and check. (Update: Luke Roberts – I don’t know why I doubted it. But I foolishly overlooked Colin Hoult and Tom Bell.)

Any more for any more? That list is, surprise surprise, uniformly male so far.

I’m not going to round these people up or anything. Although the Nazis probably said that too to begin with.

The evening’s entertainment was the middle show in the three-day run of the glorious Karaoke Circus. Nathan the Trombonist let me put my name down for all of the songs, as is my foolish way. It was particularly foolish on this occasion with my fading voice managing a workable singing range of around half an octave. I knocked back some Covonia and hoped for the best.

It was another marvellous night. Highlights included Robin Ince’s Two Little Boys (not a euphemism); Tim Vine’s disturbing one-piece PVC jumpsuit as Plastic Elvis; and Nadia Kamil and Joe Lycett performing Cee Lo Green’s uncensored big hit that may not be named (this is a family blog, we don’t say “fuck” here). I landed the last audience open spot.

Some of the songs would have been OK. Some of the songs didn’t have two many notes. Unfortunately, I was summoned to sing Come on Eileen. This, it turns out, has all of the notes and if your voice is a bit weak, it has the potential to sound the laryngal death knell.

I fear Eileen will have been less spurred on and more scared off.

Still, I got to show off my new Karaoke Circus t-shirt, as snapped by Isabelle:

What I learnt today: When you have a weak voice, rest it, you idiot.

Recommended show: Danny Pensive’s Map of Britain

Obligatory plug: I’m in Three Man Roast (★★★★ – whatsonstage.com), 2.35pm weekdays at Finnegan’s Wake on Victoria Street – free entry.

My left side still hurts.

In his Walter Raleigh show on Wednesday night, Michael Legge talked about everyone having a “Fringe moment”, the defining incident of their three weeks up here. I might have had mine last night. But more on that story later.

Three Man Roast was a joy from start to finish. We could tell when the lovely audience laughed almost before Alex had opened his mouth (and not at his face) that it was going to be a good one. They were completely on our wavelength to the point that one man shouted out a grammar correction (brilliant) and if I’d genuinely been setting up a Pedants’ Revolt, he’d have put his name down there and then.

Our first review has given us three stars, so we are officially “good”. Good.

In the evening, I made a return to Tricity Vogue’s Ukulele Cabaret and fumbled my way through a couple of songs. Despite losing points from one judge in the Uke of Edinburgh Awards for my lack of technical prowess (expecting someone at a ukulele night to be able to play the ukulele well is surely harsh), I was very pleased how the songs went down, and especially how many people bought into the dolphins song. Delightful musical comedy geek Helen Arney was the deserving winner, albeit cheating by using “skill” and “talent”.

But day 9 was a day of highs and lows. Unfortunately this was in a literal sense, with a physical low coming all too quickly after a physical high.

I fell over.

I fall over every now and again. I’m uncoordinated (see “Ukulele (playing)”). As a result, I notice when it happens – the basic symptoms are loss of balance and the ground rushing towards me – and I instinctively react to protect my precious, precious brain.

Which is a good thing because this was quite a fall. It wasn’t a trip, although that’s how it started. There were large steps, some almost flying, a knocked over table and eight or nine feet difference in altitude between where I began and the floor where I ended up.

My main concern was to hope that no-one had noticed but this was in the busy Pleasance Dome and it turns out that when you fly past people on an uncomfortable downward trajectory, even the most nonchalant of evening drinkers will take an interest.

Performers who looked half my age kindly crowded round to check I was OK. I pulled myself to my feet as one of them sensibly encouraged me to stay on the ground for a bit. Another man picked up my glasses and returned them to me; I hadn’t even noticed they’d fallen off.

I brushed myself down, looked at the concerned faces all around me and said: “Well, this is the biggest audience I’ve played to so far.”

Always on. Always on.

One guy asked if I’d be handing flyers out. In retrospect, I should’ve done, and then entered myself for the Malcolm Hardee Cunning Stunt Award for best Edinburgh Fringe publicity stunt. I’d probably have needed a few broken bones to win though.

I thanked the gentle younglings for their help, went round checking that I didn’t need to replace anyone’s drink (no drinks knocked over – 10 points to me) and then sheepishly ran away to Brooke’s Bar to hide my shame, to rest my painful left side, and, obviously, to tell everyone who’d listen about my awesome clumsiness.

Oh, and to win a game of pool, which, yes, has to be my defining Fringe moment.

What I learnt today: The best slapstick comedy hurts.

Recommended shows: The Blue Lady Sings Back

Obligatory plug: I’m in Three Man Roast, 2.35pm weekdays and Saturday 20th at Finnegan’s Wake on Victoria Street – free entry. Also at the Amused Moose Comedy Awards Showcase at the Pleasance Dome, 4pm on August 17th (book online).

We had a lovely crowd at Tuesday’s gig, although the five people who arrived after my set missed the defining part of the show, which will now be known as “The One Where Will Broke the Microphone”.

I got a bit too into my big finale and apparently bashed the microphone on my knee. Fortunately, we had a spare so I pottered around on stage, showing the audience the secret magic behind the scenes of live comedy. (I switched the other microphone on and adjusted the volume.)

Still, having wrecked the mic I was most definitely ready to rumble. So I went and had a nice sit down and a cup of coffee with Alex of Three Man Roast fame and Paul from off of Nonsense Duet.

In the evening, I did a bit of writing and then had one of those naps that goes on just a bit too long. I woke up very disoriented, wondering where I was, who I was and whether I’d missed my own show.*

Popped over to the Guilded Balloon, which always reminds me of The Prisoner for some reason, to see another Comedy Countdown, where Michael J Dolan faced up to Stuart Goldsmith. It was another fun show and this time I got both answers (both, damn your eyes) to the conundrum. And yes, that is what counts as satisfying in my life. I’ve decided Comedy Countdown is to words and numbers what Karaoke Circus is to karaoke and circuses.

Ended up in Brooke’s again where I met more lovely fringefolk and bumped into one of the producers of Radio 4 Extra’s Newsjack, which is back for a fifth series soon. It’s an open submission topic comedy show: if you’ve ever fancied writing sketches for radio, it’s an excellent way to get started (follow NewsjackBBC on twitter for news and info).

And then, for the second night in a row, I found myself in a takeaway at 4am, for which Carol Vorderman is entirely to blame.

*”In my room”, “Will Howells” and “No” were the answers, for anyone playing at home.

What I learnt today: Kate Copstick is actually lovely.

Recommended shows: Comedy Countdown (again).

Obligatory plug: I’m in Three Man Roast, 2.35pm weekdays and Saturday 20th at Finnegan’s Wake on Victoria Street – free entry. Also at the Amused Moose Comedy Awards Showcase at the Pleasance Dome, 4pm on August 17th (book online).

I trudged through the pretty incessant rain yesterday to register for the gym but their computer was down so I went away again and had a nap.

But then I went back later and registered. Take that, expectations.

The Pleasance gym is, it turns out, pretty nice. On the youthspeak spectrum that runs from “gay” to “sick”, it is definitely sick. Which means good. While gay, entirely erroneously and with more than a whiff of homophobia, means bad. I don’t make the rulez.

A gym man took me on a tour. He showed to the CV area (where I would late resume my exercise – geddit?) and then led me to a room full of giant barbells and giant men.

“I don’t know if you’re interested in these sorts of weights…?”

“Yeah, well, er, y’know… No, no. Just the little ones.”

I did 3.5 miles on the treadmill, accompanied by one of the special running playlists I’ve set up on my iPod. Nerdcore hip hop for the win.

Dashed off to see a show, had a big dinner (the gym had left me on negative calories for the day – I’m counting) and then came back to my room to do some writing.

I’d been pondering a stand-up idea that, if I could pull it off, would be the most awesome piece of stand-up comedy ever written. I may be underselling it. I imagined it would take at least the rest of my time up here, absorb my every waking thought and slowly drive me insane. I pictured Mozart at the end of Amadeus, frantically scribbling to complete my magnum opus, Salieri looking on jealously, wishing he was as funny, but he isn’t because he’s a composer so he should stick to what he knows and butt out.

Finished the first draft in a couple of hours. I should’ve been pleased but I was slightly disappointed. It was too easy to be awesome. It wasn’t even that funny, although that can be an overrated way of measuring comedy. It was just some words, albeit in a spreadsheet. You know you’ve written a complicated script when you had to do it in Excel.

Still, it did mean that I’d got that displacement activity out of the way (hello, blog) and I could get back to the writing I’m supposed to be doing up here.

So I popped out for a drink at midnight and got to bed at 4. Welcome to Edinburgh.

What I learnt today: The most important item I packed was my umbrella. Ella. Ella. Eh. Eh. Eh.

Recommended show: Dan Antopolski, Tom Craine & Nat Luurtsema: Jigsaw

Obligatory plug: I’m in Three Man Roast, 2.35pm weekdays and Saturday 20th at Finnegan’s Wake on Victoria Street – free entry. Also at the Amused Moose Comedy Awards Showcase at the Pleasance Dome, 4pm on August 17th (book online).