It began like any other Edinburgh gig. A cellar bar at midnight. An Australian compère warming up the crowd. ‘Anybody here from overseas?’ A voice shouted ‘I’m from Amsterdam!’ in a gnarled Glaswegian accent. It was supposed to be funny but no one laughed. The compère, sensing a challenge in the man’s voice, delivered an instant put-down. ‘So you’re homeless. And you’re a drug addict. Keep your troubles to yourself, mate.’ This got a big laugh, though on the page it doesn’t even look like a joke. Translation: Amsterdam equals drug addict. Glasgow equals homeless. The combination equals big fat loser. With the room jeering at him, the Glaswegian fell silent.
The compère introduced the first act, a Greek comic named Yanni. ‘Anyone been to Greece?’ began Yanni.
‘I’m from Amsterdam.’ The rough slurring heckle came again but the challenge failed, lost because Yanni was struggling with a misfiring microphone cable.
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