Tim Key, a comedian and performance poet from Cambridgeshire, has achieved a string of feats: an Edinburgh Comedy Award in 2009, a Bafta nomination for Best Short Film and a turn in the Cambridge Footlights — despite not attending the university. Key, 38, who is in Edinburgh with Work-in-Slutgress, has just released a collection of poetry, The Incomplete Tim Key, and is appearing in the comedy panel show, Taskmaster, on Dave. 9.45pm, Pleasance Courtyard (0131 556 6550), until Aug 31. 9:15pm, The Invisible Dot (London), 14-17 September.
Pitch your show in 140 characters
A poetry recital. A washing line stretched above me. Poems dangling off it. Me plucking them down, reading them out, swigging Grolsch.
What will people learn from it?
I don’t think people should expect to learn anything from my show. If anything, people leave feeling like they’ve had a bit of wisdom hammered out of them.
How many Edinburghs is this for you?
I think I’ve done 15. Some of them I’ve worked hard and done lots of shows — other years, less so. In 2002 I went up and did one stand-up show: just one night of hell. It was a semi-final of a competition and I crashed out. It was miserable. Edinburgh works best when you do more than that. My favourite was in 2009 — a play in the afternoon, then a grubby recital at night. It’s difficult to stay away.
Your show is called Work-in-Slutgress, a successor to Masterslut and Single White Slut. Why all the sluts?
I did my first poetry show in 2007. It was in a venue called The Hut and there was a playlet in it involving a poor man who lived in a hovel. I called the playlet The Slut in the Hut. Then I toyed with the idea of calling the whole show The Slut in the Hut. Then that actually happened. Then I regretted it. Then I embraced it. Then I called the next show The Slutcracker and after that it was pretty much open season. I had painted myself into a branding corner, which I will ultimately climb out of.
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You won the Edinburgh Comedy Award in 2009. Has it been difficult to live up to that acclaim?
No, I think I was fairly realistic about what happened that year. I got that prize because that one show was pretty good. I was very proud of it, but it was just a prize for that show. You always know you’re only as good as your next project, so you just try your best to make something else which you’re proud of. Awards don’t really change that. If I make something I like as much as I liked that show, I’m happy. If I make something less good, I’m pretty down on myself. It’s a reason to work hard.
Strangest Edinburgh experience
Me and Mark Watson got stuck on a cliff. I think we went up Arthur’s Seat the wrong way. Rookie error. Two young comedians dangling off a mountain, asking each other to save each other. We were up there for an eternity.
What will you be seeing this year?
I’m looking forward to seeing Bryony Kimmings’s show. I saw her show three years ago and loved it. And I saw her audience leaving her show in Latitude this year and they were all in floods. I’m interested to see what Bryony had done to them.
What was the first poem you ever wrote?
It was about a pair of me climbing a hill separately, then meeting at the top, then curtseying to each other. It was fairly slight — this description of it is about three times longer than the poem itself. My style has developed since then, and now my poems are less innocent and probably worse.
You did a degree in Russian. Would you ever consider taking your show over there?
My Russian has gone now. I still have some little tiny fragments floating about in my brain — just enough to be evidence that there was once some Russian in there. But not really enough for a sentence. I wouldn’t mind performing there though. I notice Dylan Moran keeps doing it. I look at that with a little bit of envy, as I do with a lot of Dylan’s stuff.
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If you could challenge anyone (living or dead) to a poetry slam, who would it be?
I’d like to slam against someone called Daniil Kharms. He’s a Russian chap from the 1930s. His stuff is very peculiar. It would be quite a lo-fi poetry slam, I imagine.
The moment you almost gave up
The last big wobble came in 2010. Four huge, ugly, painful deaths in a row. I was punch-drunk and waddling to a gig in Camden. I imagined I was a death away from a law conversion course. I didn’t die though. I didn’t storm it, don’t get me wrong, but I did enough to be able to breathe again, and stay in it by the skin of my teeth.
Edinburgh in three words
Community, creating, pies.
Who is the greatest Scot?
Kenny Dalglish.
Circus is a big theme at this year’s festival. If you ran away to the circus, what would you be?
I wrote to the circus in 2000. It was a Russian circus and I think I was angling to be a clown. But my heart wasn’t quite in it. I never sent the letter. I think a life as a Russian clown would have been exhilarating and extraordinary but would have confused my parents too much.