Where to sleep and how to live?

Well, the Fringe is here again: that special time of year where my smug face litters Edinburgh's walls and streets like the herpes of the festival. It’s awesome.

This year I’m lucky enough to be staying in Edinburgh, allowing me to experience the Fringe to the fullest as I spend most early mornings crying on a treadmill trying to get the gin out of my body so I can go an entertain the lovely people who come to see me perform.

Before the festival began my girlfriend and I broke up, which meant I was left without accommodation for August, because apparently it would be weird if we still shared a bed. (Women, eh?) But thankfully, my best friend's girlfriend and her other female flatmate have let me stay for the month of August with them. On their living room floor. On an inflatable bed which, optimistically, can sleep two people. I am such a rockstar.

For the rest of the year I live at home with my parents, so the start to this month has been a nice change, with many discoveries about what life is like without my mum around. For example: did you know that fridges don’t magically restock themselves? What the hell is that about? Also, if you leave clothes and wet towels on the floor… they just stay there.

Seriously, I’ve had a towel at the foot of my bed for a week now and nobody has bothered to pick it up or wash it. Some people are so lazy.

I’ve always loved this festival. I’ve been coming here since I was 8 years old - every year, without fail - so to be part of it is amazing. When I was 12 my dad bought me tickets to one of my first live comedy shows. I remember being so excited in the queue, but when we got their the doorman stopped us and said, “We can’t let him in. He’s too young.”

And my dad replied, “For what?”

“Well, sir, there’s going to be a lot of swearing and rude topics.”

My dad looked at the man, paused, looked down at me and said: “Fuck, shit, bugger, wank, twat, anal, bastard, blowjob, cock… He knows them all now, can we come in?”

What a hero.