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**DISCLAIMER** I was at the Thursday show.

From the very moment we got into the theatre I was suspicious of the level of professionalism I was about to have to sit through. The stage set-up looked really crappy, the lighting looked like it hadn’t been positioned with the greatest of care, and from my seat in the middle of the room I could quite clearly see a horde of stage hands wandering about back stage with gay abandon. Nothing about the place looked even in the same league as the past couple of BJC shows.

And unfortunately that was a comparison that persisted throughout the entirity of the show.

I don’t know who the compere was; I don’t think he was introduced. But frankly the only reason I’d ever want to know would be so that I could research how best to avoid ever encountering him again in the future. He was utterly appalling, without even a basic understanding of his role or any ability to adapt to his audience. I’d encountered the phonomenon of ‘German humour’ a couple of times already during the week but I was still absolutely astounded by this man’s inability to entertain me.

To be fair, I can understand how someone may have seen his act and thought ‘A hand-shadow puppeteer guy. What an unusual and easily translatable medium through which to compere an international show such as our own.’ But really, no. Not when your hand-shadow puppeteer guy is so reliant on his characters speaking that he completely negates the premise of being transferable between different cultures and languages, nor when the language he chooses to speak in is not the most obviously accessible language for the majority of his audience, and nor when-being a stubborn goat of a man-he fails to recognise his audience’s objections to this and carries on regardless.

But even forgetting the whole language barrier thing I really don’t think I was missing much. I think I must have outgrown hand shadows several years ago because the stuff he came up with (a flapping bird, a rabbit, a camel) were poor, unimpressive, school-yard attempts. Even his highpoint of the night; the montage of dogs (if that’s what they were) was…not great. Certainly not after having had to put up with him for over an hour to get to that point. And this is, of course, to say nothing of the grossly unnecessary ten minutes of Punch and Judy style hand puppetry involving bawdy, yet ultimately humourless, Carry-On style romping, undressing, and the simulation of sex. If there was any connection at all between this and the rest of this guy’s schtick it completely passed me by.

Possibly the compere’s worst crime of the night was his uncanny ability to suck all the excitement and energy out of the room. You could hear the room deflate after each act and looking round (mainly to avoid having to concentrate on the stage) I spotted a good handful of people sat with their head in their hands. By the second half even the hecklers had given it up as a bad job. That’s not the sign of a good compere, I think it’s safe to say. So disgusted with this guy’s efforts was I, in fact, that I can’t bring myself to deduct points for him. Let’s just start out with a nice round (-10). He really deserved nothing less.

Mercifully, Carlos and Toto started the real show off with a passing routine (+1)that, once they’d finally stopped pissing about and variously posing, dancing, and messing about with music changes(-1), proper rawked. I was astounded by their timing and synchronisity. It was all good, practiced fun. (+1)

Pavel Ruzsilo is talented. And moved wonderfully. (+1) But it was at this point that my suspicions regarding the lights were confirmed. Having a row of lights pointing straight into the audience isn’t the best move. I missed quite a lot of Pavel’s insane skillz n’that because of the glare off the lights. Really had me struggling, they did. I was quite disappointed. (-1)

Next we got to sit through an indescribable cock up with stage management involving a pianist without a piano. The whole thing was gobsmackingly unprofessional and longwinded. (-1) But then Tr’espace came on and the level of ponce in the room simply skyrocketed. (-1) But they were actually really good and flowy and nice and everything. And did spinny passing stuff rather spectacularly. (+1) And I can catagorically state that I have never seen anyone do diablo on a piano before, so they get a point for originality. (+1) I don’t know about anyone else though, but it was bloody depressing stuff. Would it really have hurt them to be a bit upbeat? (-1)

And that was kinda the big problem with the whole first half of the show. Even though the acts were pretty awesome, the whole thing was slow and dark and dreary, basically because the people who organised the running order didn’t have a clue. Nata Galkini was a fair example of this with her very quiet, unassuming way of making her stupendously, hideously, unbearably awesome foot juggling look nonchalent and everyday. She shat all over Peter Irish, it has to be said. Not least because she actually had nice legs. (+1) But, of course, hers was the shortest act by far.

Wes Peden was on next and did…Wes Peden stuff. It was all good stuff but nothing unusual, nothing surprising. Just Wes Peden. Again. And unfortunately, running manically back and forth across the stage does not, of itself, make a routine lively. (-1) Or certainly not lively enough to pick the first half up out of the dank pit of despair it had dug for itself.

And then, bizarrely, Tre’space were back on. With the piano again. You know that point I gave them earlier for originality? I’m taking it back. (-1) Seeing the same thing in two different shows I could just about stomach. Within 45 minutes of each other is taking the piss slightly. And by this point I really didn’t have any time for such longwinded flouncing around. The gyroscope thing was clever, but my god! Just stick it into the first routine as a quirky little thing to lighten the mood and have done. Please. Again though, the thought process behind this running order simply baffles me, just for the basic mechanics of having to heft a bloody great grand piano on and off the stage twice in one half. You’d think someone, at some point, would have at least muttered something about it not being the cleverest idea. (-1)

And going from strength to strength, the last act of the first half were Starbugs. Three Swiss physical comics. Hmmm. Ok, I liked the 30 seconds of slapstick they did. That was funny and well played. (+1)The rest of it just passed me by. Was it meant to be funny? I had no idea what was going on and I only felt worse when (what I assume was) the German contingent of the audience began to burst into fits of laughter and applause. I probably could have coped had it not been for the sudden inappropriate sex reference (-1), or the man who was one step away from blacking-up (-1). Not. In any way. Impressed.

The second half didn’t so much start as emerge from the interval and whilst the stragglers were still wandering in and finding their seats, and almost everyone else was still happily chattering away, three men (Le Bo Trio) came on stage and proceeded to change into their costumes behind a big trampoline. Not the most riveting of displays. (-1) I wasn’t sure at this point whether I was watching some new breed of interval-entertainment or whether they had a proper act. It took them forever to actually get going but eventually they pulled their fingers out and came up with a fantastic juggling/tumbling/passing/acro/clowing thing that put the widest grin on my face. (+1) My only problem with it was that they kept stopping and starting. (-1) Just when they were getting interesting and the audience started cheering they’d grind to a half and start pissing about stomping around and touching each other again. And then suddenly, when it looked like they weren’t going to do any more good stuff, off they’d go again. It was terribly frustraing. If they could have cut the act in half and chucked all the time wasting I would have been so much more impressed. An extra point for the face-first two man dive onto the trampoline back to standing on shoulders acro skillz. (+1)

Thomas Dietz…fap fap fap, fap fap, fap fap fap fap fap fap, fap fap fap, fap fap fap fap…fap fap, fap fap fap fap fap fap fap…fap fap fap, fap fap fap fap, fap fap, fap. (+4)

I was in two minds whether to leave after Dietz, but I decided to stick to it and go the whole course with a stiff upper lip. I’m so disappointed I didn’t.

Pascal came on and did his hip-hop hat routine. Again. (-1) I think this it the third time I’ve seen this routine. It’s still crap. I hated pretty much every second of it. Yet again. (-1)

Symbiose did an alright acro act with a couple of stupidly hard and very impressive moves (+1) but I couldn’t disengage from the fact that what I was actually watching was based on the premise of unwanted physical contact and glamourised sexual assault. Possibly not the best choice of theme. (-1)

Get The Shoe were brilltastic and unspeakably polished, as ever. But again, I think this was the third time I’d seen the act. Don’t get me wrong, it’s always worth a watch and I continue to be amazed by it, but surely it’s not beyond an EJC show to have the wherewithall to come up with something new. (-1) Extra point for Jochen’s amazing drop-pick up-stay in time with the soundtrack skillz. (+1)

And just when I thought I couldn’t get more disappointed, yet another performer I’d seen before doing, pretty much, the same act. (-1) William Ling was cool, yeah, but it was all just so two years ago. I couldn’t hack it. My only real consolation was that he didn’t bother with his glow diablo bit again (+1). I’m not sure whether I could have sat through it all.

I left feeling disappointed, angry, and hard done by. All in equal measure. Should have left after The Dietz.

The EJC Gala Show scores: -9

My early night was in vain, however, as my good night’s sleep was plagued, firstly by the exodus of people from the swimming pool, then by some twat with a tambourine, and lastly by the American man next door snoring endlessly right by my head. I was so tempted to go and stamp on his tent. I finally got back to sleep just in time to be woken up by the insane heat. Again. Gah!

I wandered into the gym and sat in a grump for a bit. Alby was already there doing the same. Pee turned up a bit later brandishing buter brezel and cola and cheered me up no end. It’s what I keep him around for. But it wasn’t turning out to be the best of days. We tried passing and were riotously shit. My toe was seeping mankiness through its bandage. The only thing I could possibly do was lounge about the place for a bit.

I eventually worked up the energy to juggle on my own for a while and messed around with 4 clubs until I got to the point where I was dripping sweat onto the floor every time I bent down. I managed once again to time my shower perfectly so that I was on my own and stood under cold water for quite a while before it was time to head off into Karlsruhe for our special, pre-arranged German meal.

I’d been with Lisa earlier on in the week when she’d hunted out various local German types and questioned them about good restaurants. I’d heard her being told where to go. I’d watched her go to the Info Point and get told where the restaurant was and how to get there. I’d seen the street map they’d given her with the handy markers of where the site was, where the restaurant was, where the Gala Show was, and the route connecting the three. Yet somehow, amidst all this information, our attempts to get into town on the tram were pathetic. Utterly so. Even the Germans were stumped when it came to buying tickets from the machine, and then we had to wait around forever for the bloody tram to turn up. Then it was another endless trudge from the tram stop to the restaurant. But we got there eventually. And it was stupendously cheap. I ordered my first cola-bier and although I couldn’t say I liked it, I didn’t hate it. We ordered loads of proper German stylee food including schnitzel, spetzler, ham salad (or somesuch) and fish fingers. Nyomety, it was.

We got completely lost afterwards trying to find the show venue. Pete argues that it was the map that was wrong and not his interpretation of it. It took Lisa and Mini asking countless randoms in the street (“Entschuldegung!”) to finally get us vaguelly close to the place and then just by chance we happened to spot a gang of juggly-types milling about. But saying that we got there bang on when the front doors opened so we only had to spend a mere 15 minutes or so ‘queueing’ before the final, inevitable, sweaty push and shove to get in. The night went downhill from there really.

Once again I woke up sweaty and irritated after putting up with the American neighbours talking to each other for about an hour without managing to actually say anything. And once again it was far too hot for any meaningful activity on site. So Alby and I went to Hiedelberg. On a day trip. On the train. It was rather exciting. I’d never been on a German train before. We sat in the station and saw a couple of nuns whilst I ate some buter brezel. The train was on time, naturally, but wasn’t quite so air conditioned as we’d hoped.

Heidelberg was incredibly pretty and stereotypically German. We walked through the back streets to get to the main touristy bit with the bridge and the castle, n’that and saw a multitude of weird looking locals, both with and without pet rabbits and limbs. After a bit of a sit down (and an oggle at a bizarre Japanese female Michael Jackson impersonator) Alby dragged me off up to the castle, and yes, it was very quaint and old and everthing but really! Why must these things always be stuck at the top of big stonking great hills? We trudged forever until we reached a ticket booth wanting 3 of our hard earned Euros. Pfft. We trudged all the way back down, and then all the way back along the touristy bit, and then all the way back through town to the station. By this point Alby was struggling with chafing and I was both grumpy and hideously blistered.

Our trip back would have been uneventful but for a rather confusing semi-argument with a German woman on the train whom Alby may inadvertantly have kicked/punched/spat at/otherwise offended in some manner. She could just have been a stroppy cow though.

The chafing and blistering continued unabated for the rest of the day. Alby and I hobbled and limped around site together looking pathetic and careworn. “We’re in a country full of cripples and we’re walking around like a pair!” was Alby’s epic, drunken, rather loud line later on in the evening.

I happily chose not to go to the free late-night swimming session, despite the nagging thought that I may have been missing half-naked letching possibilities. (I was, as it happens, but made up for it later in the week). Instead I spent the evening watching Alby get pissed and talk drivvle at Kate and Graham and opted for an early night once it became obvious that my passing partner was no longer capable.

I woke up hot, sweaty and irritated. The American family next door were deeply engaged in an adventure concerning forks and cereal. It really was terribly exciting. I went for a brief wander around site to see what was going on. Nothing. Everyone was either in the hall or still in bed or sprawled unconscious on the ground wherever there were bits of shade. Lucky things. Met up with Alby and Pee in the gym and somehow managed to organise a walk into Karlsruhe on the basis that it was far too hot to juggle. We found ourselves at the ZKM which looked new and interesting and vibrant and like nothing you’d ever find in a small industrial city in the UK. And – after a little more investigation – shut. So we carried on further into the centre. There was a fabulously big fluffy dog playing in a fountain with some children, oh, and about a million fountains. Everywhere. It was really nice. The Schloss however was rather disappointing, being as it is just a big building with a bit of grass around it. We eventually meandered our way back to the station where we got bratwurst. We ate it outside and I got bullied by a wasp which landed on my lip and made me scream like a girl, in the process dropping the last of my bratwurst on the floor and running out into the middle of the tram lines like a spack whilst the Germans stared on witheringly. Pee treated me to an icecream to make up for it. Out and about I spotted ein Mann in Frauen Klydungen und eine sehr Deutsch alte Frau mit ein Dackel.

We didn’t bother with the show that night, opting instead for various other, less stressful activities. Alan went off to meet some CouchSurfers and Lisa and I hung around the Beard stall for a while and bought them food. I unintentionally, yet not regretfully, ate Greg’s falafel. We joined up with a bigger group of people after trading finished and drunk beer in the nice weather. Miark finally showed up and sat questioning Lisa for a while on the intricacies of the German language in a manner suggesting that she didn’t know what she was talking about. Eventually, reports worked their way back to us that the Latino Show was dire, which cheered me up no end.

We ended the day practicing tomahawks to scissor catches. Ow. I had a bizarrely girly chat with Lisa about boys n’that, and got a fair bit more letching done. And then to bed.