The end of last week was rather busy so it’s taken me until now to write about Thursday. Oops.

After the horror of yesterday’s croaky show, I determined to do everything I could to make my voice function. I spent much of the morning gargling salt water, which certainly helped, but the best solution, it turned out, was tea.

I had soup for lunch and when I told the man in the sandwich shop that it was for my voice, he suggested lemon and ginger tea. I fell immediately for his cunning point of sale marketing and went away with two cups of liquid.

The tea worked a charm and my voice, while still a bit croaky, became much more serviceable. The pub we were performing in served hot drinks too so just before the show I got them to make me a pot of tea with a slice of lemon. Milk is not good for the vocal chords so, for the first time in my life, I drank it without. I even took the cup on stage with me, leaving the audience in no doubt that I was the spiritual successor to Bill Hicks.

It was a brilliant show. We were full to capacity and the audience went with every single joke from all three of us. It wasn’t just a relief after yesterday; it was the best gig of the run.

I celebrated with a trip to see Holly Walsh’s The Hollycopter. I’d been meaning to go for weeks and with her nomination for best newcomer in the Edinburgh Comedy Awards, I made sure I snapped up a ticket before they sold out. A very enjoyable show, it was also the second I saw that week to feature Guildford. True fact.

Social butterfly that I am, I happened upon the So You Think You’re Funny party in the evening. It was full of bright young things and initially full of free booze. Not so much by the time I left for the last Comedy Countdown of the Fringe.

With Danny Pensive back in dictionary corner, the theme tune used for the clock and Blink‘s Ray Peacock playing the game, the show was full of Doctor Who references – which is just how I like it (and, indeed, anything). I am not a natural heckler and rarely shout out anything, let alone “Sontarans”, but time makes fools of all of us.

I’m told that after I worked out the last numbers game, my bouncing in my chair could be felt at least two seats along. The combination of a TV quiz, a letters game answer of KALEDS and a few free Mojitos had perhaps left me a little over-excited. I ended up shouting the solution across the room so croakily that the brilliant host Dan Atkinson promised me free Strepsils for life as a prize.

I made it to four Comedy Countdowns in the end and they were definitely one of the highlights of the Fringe.

After that, I retired to Brooke’s and ended up talking about cult TV until the early hours. Tom Neenan from the old GOL sidled sheepishly across the room and with mock obsequiousness asked me to sign his copy of the new Doctor Who Magazine. I borrowed it and had a quick flick through, as my copy was awaiting me in London, but when I returned it the poor man insisted he was serious, having “always wanted to get someone’s autograph in Brooke’s”. He slinked away the proud owner of the only autograph I have ever given, my name scrawled across a photograph of me with Haemovore hands.

The Edinburgh Fringe is a strange place.

What I learnt today: Tea is a panacea.