I am dancing atop Arthur’s Seat in a kimono when suddenly it occurs to me that I came to Edinburgh to do a show and I’ve been so busy taking advantage of the local sights (not to mention the night-life – weeeyyyy, lads lads lads, what goes on tour stays on tour) that I have yet to even think about the show in any way.

Cursing the folly of my ways, I hurriedly don my red morphsuit and rush into town to throw bits of paper at surly locals who tend to immediately pick them up and shove them down my throat as revenge for the overbearing enthusiasm and joie-de-vivre I splurge all over their faces.

While taking a break from flyering, my flyers tucked into the waistband of my thong like a cowboy’s gun, I run into the windswept Richard Todd, who is horrified to see that my face has been transformed into a garish fixed rictus. I am deeply dismayed by this discovery, and rush off to work out what’s wrong with me, but not before having my picture taken with Richard, who really has better places to be.

Richard Todd and Joz in his Sunday best

It turns out, according to the cheapest doctor I could find, that a bee-sting I sustained on my temple a few days before has gone straight to my brain and rendered my face paralysed and chalky white. I have no choice but to do the show in my current state, my face immobile and cartoon-like. The show goes better than ever before, and I regret ever having relied on facial mobility for the sake of humour.

Joz Norris Has Gone Missing
Aug 1 – 25, 2.45pm
Blind Poet
FREE