Since we couldn’t be in Edinburgh this year, comedian and saucy songstress Jessica Delfino has sent dispatches through both the literal Scottish fog and the Festival Fringe alcoholic one.

Being a New Yorker in Scotland offers its own interesting set of issues. The very words New York City put glimmers in people’s eyes. They think the streets of NYC are paved with gold and that everyone there is obviously a movie star. Audience members who follow me outside after the show, hoping to catch a glimpse of me slipping into a stretch white limo and slinking off, are surely more than a little disappointed to instead see me get onto a rickety mountain bike and pedal away carrying my guitar and purse, like a pack mule. I feel as a New Yorker it’s my duty to live up to the polish and shimmer that I’m supposed to have, so I do dress up for shows, I do apply a shade of showbiz red lipstick every evening before my show, I do sign autographs after shows, and I do sip red wine all sophisticated like, while the brutish Scots glug down pint after pint and exclaim, “Oy!” and “Arr!,” both in awe—and in ugghhh—of my New York pizzazz.

Lots of my American friends are here: Kurt Branohler and Kristen Schaal, Ben Lerman, Jamie Kilstein, Mike Amato, Carolyn Castiglia, David Calvitto, Marshall Cordell. The list goes on and on.

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This final post is a bit late. Because I had to sleep for 15 straight hours first. But what a ride it was—and some of the best stuff I saw, I saw last. Of the five hours that rounded out my last night in castle town, here are the standouts.

I laughed more during Will and Greg’s sketch show than I did at several other shows combined. While the audience was seated, the two men, Andrews and McHugh respectively, were cycling hard on stationary bikes. Then, the lights went down, the bikes were moved to the back of the stage, and the first sketch was about to begin. After breathing heavily for a few beats, Andrews asks the crowd, sweat dripping from his brow, "Can I have a minute?"

That’s the last break in the action, and only the tip of the absurdity iceberg. The duo, which also produces comedy for BBC Channel 4, packed more than 20 sketches into 60 minutes. Spanish men are mysterious about what’s in their mugs, girlfriends are worn on hands, walks are stolen, and actors depend on eyeglasses. These guys understand that simplicity is king in sketch comedy—few props and no costumes are used, and premises are blissfully uncomplicated. Stay tuned for a New York visit.

Irish stand-up Jason Byrne is quickly becoming a superstar. His dynamic and very charming hour was combined of equal parts: routines mined from his life (convincing his son there’s a tooth fairy, taking a trip to a country home, stealing groceries from a DIY checkout line) and improvisations (he wrenched five minutes of brilliant material from a spilled glass of wine). It’s a rare comic who can rely on crowd work as much as scripted material, but if audience reaction is any indication (and obviously it is), Byrne is an exceptional breed of stand-up indeed. I scanned the crowd at one point toward the end of his set, and people were convulsing in their seats, slapping all manner of body parts and swinging back and forth. His hour wasn’t all gold—there were even a couple of clunkers—but it’s been a long time since this crusty, desensitized critic has had to gasp for air.

The best two from last night.

Mark Watson, who’s a stand-up superstar here, opened last night’s sold-out show from the crowd, setting the tone for what would be a very accessible and friendly night. "I talk really fast," he said when he took the stage. "It’s a good value for you." He was right on both counts. The comic launched into a manic, rambling series of jokes on topics such as hotels and his parents. He also delivered a very high, as they say here, gag rate. Watson is a classic observational humorist and he’s very good at it. He wonders how the Gillette Stealth razor can be named as such when there’s nothing stealthy about it: "It’s your face, your mirror, your bathroom." He’s also a master of the misdirect. At the end of his argument that foul language is nothing to get upset over, that cunt is just a word, a collection of letters like any other and is therefore no different than the word Frisbee, he added, "Of course the context makes the difference. I had a misunderstanding in a park once."

There’s been a lot of buzz surrounding sketch-show performance-art hybrid the Meeting (from three very young rising stars Joe Thomas, Jonny Sweet and Simon Bird). After lining up, a small audience is led out of the venue, down the street, into an office building and up the stairs to a boardroom for a weekly conference with the boss. All the standard minutiae applies: Memos are circulated, announcements are made, codes of conduct are enforced. The experience was disarming; the audience was timid with its laughter. But by the end—when the show’s nonsensical bend explores the nether regions of absurdism—all of the coworkers were on board with the agenda.

Yesterday was gorgeous—finally. And I spent the entire afternoon inside watching comedy. Which was just fine with me. Here are the two best shows I saw.

Welsh comic Rhod Gilbert may come off as a frustrated grump, but by the end of The Award Winning Mince Pie, he reveals how he finds his Zen—by forcing the world, including an unsuspecting former audience member turned motorist, to accept his surreality. This rejection of the truth is so funny, you’d rather live in his world. A kinetic performance, a compelling point of view and an artfully crafted tale: Here’s betting he’s award-bound. (Also, his prediction was correct: By the end of the piece it did appear as if his left nipple was sweating.)

It would be nearly impossible to sit through a John Bishop show without falling in love with him. The moment he takes the stage, the room gets warmer with his congenial presence. He’s so affable, I suspect even his hecklers want to take him out for beers. He’s also the definition of a natural. It was difficult for this journalist to step outside of Cultural Ambassador, which details his football-obsessed life growing up as a "scouse" in Liverpool, because I was immediately sucked in. The writing and delivery are so seamless he doesn’t even need segues: Each punch line leads into the next bit of the tale. As a teen, Bishop wasn’t good enough to play for Liverpool and neither is one of his sons, but he finds in all of this, of course, peace. You’ll find in it genuine gut laughs, the kind that are earned with a meaningful buildup and sparked by fastidious execution—or maybe he’s just a natural.

Oh dear Lord: Stewart Lee. Slow, sarcastic, dry Stewart Lee.

I’ve seen him previously at both Just for Laughs in Montreal and at the U.S. Comedy Arts Festival in Aspen, Colorado. Both times his was my favorite show. And although I’m only two nights into the Fringe, it’s possible he’ll be my favorite act in Edinburgh as well. (Stewart: Why can I see you only at festivals? No, staging your Jerry Springer opera doesn’t count as coming to New York.)

Last night’s show was about comedic mediocrity—starting with vapid American showcases. Read more »

The weather yesterday was, as they say here, shit. Cold and rainy. Perfect for hiding away in a black-box theater to watch comedy. Honestly, though, the fans would show up regardless of the weather.

Biggest difference between comedy in the States and in the U.K.: They appreciate it a lot more on this side of the pond. There are more than 600 comedy shows happening during the monthlong festival (in addition to theater, music and dance). Scores of them have already sold their complete runs. And several reviews run per day in each of the major local publications (I’d love to have that kind of competition in New York).

Even with all of the buzz, press and ticket sales, dozens and dozens of shows fall through the cracks. In spite of the performers’ aggressive street flyering, they’ll go home disappointed and in debt. Although I’d love to help them out, I’m here to see the best and brightest—and I’ll still be able to catch only a few of them.

Here’s what I saw last night: Read more »