On the run from Andi Peters following a misunderstanding about cruises, Melissa begrudgingly agrees to follow her friend Joanne (and Joanne’s 17th century throwback ‘life partner’ Fax) to the Edinburgh Fringe. While leafleting for Fax’s dreadful stand up show about faith healing and vegans, Melissa endures the highs and lows of pretentious student plays, ‘street typing’, and the knowledge that her shop has been left in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand tills…

Crap Comedy is the follow up to the 2018 novel Crap Holiday. Read it here.

7: Hygge

All the used knickers have been picked up off the floor, so I celebrate with another glass of wine. Next item on my list – put them in the washing machine.

The washing machine contains the clothes I forgot to dry last week. Shitting fucking hell, why does nothing ever go right for me? I’m so tempted to just give up and eat Hula Hoops all day. This is Joanne’s fault, with her stupid Edinburgh bollocks and then going missing but not really.

The clothes smell like my swimming bag used to smell on a Wednesday, if I wasn’t able to convince the teachers I was on my period, because I was 6. Oh well. Extra bit of washing, it’s fine.

What next? Hoovering. I can do that. I check the stain but it’s just gone a bit pink. I should pour some more wine on it.

OK, what’s next after hoovering? Clean surfaces. That’s a piece of piss. I’m always wiping shit off things with my sleeve anyway.

Oh fucking hell the stain’s still pink, and now it’s fizzing, and I think it’s a bit more pink than it was before. Let’s Google how to get rid of red wine stains. All the results are links to the Vanish website, which suggests I might have done something wrong. I swear white wine gets rid of red wine? Someone told me it once.

I get a link which looks like it’s not sponsored by Vanish, but then it says this:

Follow these steps:

· Blot, don’t rub.
· Dab at the red wine stain with a damp, white cotton cloth to absorb any excess wine.
· Pull the fabric taut.
· Slide a bowl under the fabric, centring the stain over the bowl.
· Sprinkle salt.
· Add boiling water.
· Machine-wash.

How am I supposed to do that with a carpet? Right that’s it I’m writing to Vanish to tell them off.

Deep breaths. It’s not Vanish’s fault. It’s probably shit wine. I’ll go to the man to complain about the wine, and also to buy some Vanish. I am going to absolutely clean my flat today.

8: Sunday

Help, I think I might be dead.

9: Sunday Part 2

I’m not having a good time. I really, really need a glass of water, but the water’s all the way over there in the kitchen. That’s too far to go.

Right, if I’m being perfectly honest with myself, I didn’t get as far with the cleaning as I’d hoped. The shop didn’t have any Vanish, but they had loads of wine, so I got two more bottles for a tenner. Things start to get a bit hazy after that. I may have spent half an hour yelling at the stain on the carpet.

The TV’s on, which is a good sign. It means I probably didn’t go out and try to pick up strange men. Probably all I did was watch TV.
Brilliant idea – let’s crawl to the kitchen.

I have to crawl past the TV to get to the kitchen. The TV won’t stop talking:

‘…a ship in a class of its own. She was designed on a smaller scale to the rest of Celebrity fleet, in order to navigate through the Galápagos Islands, without compromising on the Celebrity standards.’


The TV won’t shut up, so I bravely ignore it and carry on crawling until I reach the kitchen.

Next problem: how do I reach the tap? Also, I forgot to turn the bastard washing machine on again. Today isn’t going very well.

A few hours later, I’m much better equipped to face the day. A quick jab at the remote tells me that it’s Sunday afternoon, so at least I’m not supposed to be at work. If God really wanted to punish me, he’d have made it Monday, so I’d have to deal with Saif on top of everything else. And he’d make me have sex with Saif, while Saif told me all about forex. I’m glad that’s not happening.
I’ve got a couple of texts from Kay:

‘This lad you’ve hired is a bloody idiot. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with him. He keeps talking to me about foreign money or something.’

‘Seriously Mel, he’s just claimed frozen peas aren’t real, WTF.’

This makes me laugh for quite a long time. I feel better afterwards, so I decide to try standing up. Nope. Baby steps. I’ll try again in a bit.

This is not how I’d expected my weekend to pan out. Why can I never just do normal shit? All I wanted to do was clean my flat and then do Hygge on it, and then today I was going to go roller skating. That’s all gone to bollocks. Right, screw it, I’m gonna go back to sleep just to spite myself. Miss the rest of the weekend, see if I care.

When I wake up again it’s teatime, and I really need to start thinking about getting up off the living room floor. The stain is still there. For want of anything better to do, I yell at the stain again.

Right, tea.

While I’m waiting for the kettle to boil, I attempt to text Kay back.

‘He’s fine, just don’t let him near the peas.’

After I send that I realise it makes no fucking sense. Before I can panic too much, Kay rings me.


‘I’m in the break room to get away from that fucking moron. How the hell have you hired him?’

I take a breath and swallow my sick. ‘Oh he’s just new. Remember when we started? We didn’t know stuff either…’

‘Melissa, he’s just claimed we don’t sell beer when a woman brought a 4 pack of beer to the counter!’

‘Oh fucking hell. Look, I’m really sorry Kay.’

She sighs. ‘It’s not my fault if I murder him, right?’

‘Right. Agreed.’

She hangs up. I really am going to have to get a man in if I’m going to go to Edinburgh. Which I’m not.


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