Matt Watson, comedian, in his home, Burly.
Simple. Wandering. Simple yet complex. Searching. Hungry. My mom instilled such a crazy work ethic in me. If she dies, I’ve made this joke before, you’ll have to throw an anvil on top of her grave to keep her down. It’s so odd, I never liked working much, I was always trying to dodge having to do any work. But when I found this thing that I love so much, I just feel her in me, and the work ethic just pumping through my veins. I’m very lucky. I may not be the funniest guy out there, but I’ve gotta be one of the hardest working. Every comedy scene that I’ve been in has said that about me, so that’s something. That’s how I’m confident that my pickaxe will eventually strike diamonds. Happy. Living the dream, as some would say.
Infinite mobility. I could hop a plane tomorrow and not worry about paying rent for 6 months if I wanted to go wherever. Anywhere. Anywhere. I could spin the globe and go anywhere tomorrow, and just leave, and there’d be no consequence whatsoever. And that is freedom.
"Probably 80% of my clothes," freshly washed, at the laundromat.
People… myself included, have a list of things that they want to do. They’ll be like: someday… I’m gonna go skydiving. Someday… I’ll learn how to surf, which I still will. Just someday. I feel like these things get pushed further and further down the path that we’re on. What’s great about this van is that someday becomes today. It allows me the freedom. It doesn’t even move, but it still allows me the freedom to do whatever I want today. One of the people that watch my vlog sent me a message saying that you don’t live in a van; you live out of a van. It’s not necessarily about what’s on the inside, mine in particular, but what you can do out of it. It gives you the freedom to be whatever you want to be. That’s why I love the van.
Matt in his van on a late evening, working on his comedy and speaking to a comedian friend.
I came to the UK for comedy. Edinburgh chose me when the van broke down here. I kept coming back to it before the van broke down, just because I met a girl during the Fringe right away, who lived where the van is now parked. I kept coming back for her, and then, eventually, the van just stopped working here, so I just set up shop. So, [Edinburgh] chose me, and I’m happy it did. The van only worked for 6 months. It broke down last February [2018]. Well, the van only DROVE for 6 months, but technically, the van worked for the entire time. She’s my home. It’s a place to sleep. My only place that I can go to have my own space and be alone in this foreign city. A place where I’m completely comfortable. It’s my home. If she was in an all-female prison, she’s be at the top of the order. People would look to Burly to take out other women who were giving them trouble. She’s a strong person to side with. That’s Burly. I see her as a butch lesbian, and I love her for it.
What do I miss? Being able to cook a meal. But it’s not like I won’t get to do this ever again. I just will appreciate it a lot more when it happens. What do I wish I had? It’s nice to have a toilet in your house, I guess. It’s nice to be able to use the bathroom without putting on clothes. A record player. I was looking at vinyl a year or two ago in Canada. I was like, it’d be cool to have this, but I don’t have a place to put a record player. I like the minimalist lifestyle. I’ve said no to quite a few things. I have quite a big collection of Sonic paraphernalia that will one day be on display somewhere. I like things. I like simple. I’m not against things. There’s a time to have things, mine just isn’t right now.
Since I have the job at the hotel, I always have water. I don’t cook for myself all that often anymore, because I get 2 meals at the hotel. This little frying pan was fun when I was driving around. I would go to LIDL or Aldi and just cook a burger. But I haven’t used that in quite a while.
At the hotel there is a shower. I’m there for 8 hours, they’re feeding me, I have a gym there, I can charge things. It was a little bit more hectic when I didn’t have the job. So, I was a little more crazy about charging things. It’s a little bit of planning ahead.
Matt crossing a fence as a shortcut from the parking lot where his van is.
[About his shortcut fence, or, the perfect metaphor for living alternatively]
It’s just time efficiency. It probably saves me at least 3 minutes, 2 and a half minutes. If I do that 4 times a day, it’s 10 minutes. 7 days a week it’s an hour and 10 minutes. 52 hours, whatever an hour and10 minutes times 52 is. The way the concrete aligns. This is almost built to walk over, I mean, it’s not, but it’s just the gradual increase, and these round spheres for you to put your hand on. It’s so easy, you’re literally walking up 2 steps, going over this tiny gate. It’s almost like it was made to walk over. Fences are made to keep people out but for some reason this is… it’s the worst fence I’ve ever seen in my life.
I picked comedy… I wanted to be in a band but I was never great with any instrument. I had a knack for making people laugh, I always liked making people laugh. I think what I liked about it is that it’s a solo mission. It’s all on your shoulders. I can go as hard as I want. If it sucks, it’s on me. There’s no filtering system. I write it, I try it, I reap the benefits or the failure. I love the idea that no one is taking away my show. There’s no boss that looking over, being like, oh we don’t like what you’re doing anymore, we’re gonna cancel you. You can’t cancel me. It’s all things that are just fuelled by how long I wanna keep going. How much do I wanna keep pushing? Just don’t quit. As long as you don’t quit, then you don’t really ever lose. Just keep going.
Matt doing an improv comedy gig at the Monkey Barrel, Edinburgh. He called it "professional banter" after we left.
It seems daunting to people. But once it becomes your normal it makes so much sense. I may not be the funniest comic out there, but I’ve been able to do a lot of things that the funniest ones haven’t been able to do just because of the freedom of that van, to just create the opportunities for myself. The comedy life means that you’re on the move. If you try to do this professionally you cannot stay in the same place, you need to move around. So, you need to pay for transportation anyway, why not just have a place to stay when you get there? It’s the perfect partner for comedy.
Financially speaking, this is a very stingy lifestyle, which plays right into that freedom to go wherever I want. Yes, I do a lot of free shows, but I also get paid for it, and I’ve got a full-time job as well. That job, it’s just minimum wage, but you don’t need that much money when you’re not spending any. My dad’s a financial planner, so this has been dug into my head since I was a kid. I save everything. People who have ‘real’ jobs, I bet I can put away more money than them quicker.
Written by Matt, outside of 52 Canoes, where the comedy open mic he co-organised happens - Mirth Meltdown.
Mirth Meltdown was a little bit out of spite for one of the clubs in town. In Edinburgh there isn’t a place where you can just try things out without worry of what’s the bartender gonna write about me?, will it hurt my progression? Matt [another Matt] and I wanted to make a space for us to try things without being judged, and that’s how we started. We took our combined effort, we had a venue on board, and a little bit of luck and we filled a hole in this Edinburgh comedy scene. It’s created a community that supports each other, which is great. It makes me quite proud actually, that I’ve kind of left that for them. I’m hoping every time I come back it’s still running, because I’m proud of that.
Adience during Matt's comedy set on a Mirth Meltdown night, in the basement of 52 Canoes, Edinburgh.
Angus and I are probably there the most. Angus, I met him within 3 days of being here in Edinburgh. He was at my show at The Stand, he was very social and he was just yapping at me afterwards. He told me to go on his walking tour, and I did. I was at a hostel at the time, trying to find a van. I thought, why not? This is free, let’s go do this. Close to finding a van on my birthday, which was in the next couple of days, I remember sitting in a hostel, not knowing a soul in the city, just thinking to myself I’m turning 30, it’s no big deal, so I’ll just keep working, or whatever. I think I was messaging my brother, setting up the vlog. Later, in the evening, by myself I thought I should do something for when I look back on this 30-year-old birthday. Something... so I messaged Angus. Within 30 minutes we were at the Banshee Labyrinth. He had Adam, and another lady I have not seen in quite a while. They went to the bathroom and got me cheap sex toys as gifts. We got rather drunk, but for people who were just acquaintances at that point, then I quite quickly had friends.
He was always a great friend to me. I like to feel like I was to him as well. He always loved comedy, and hanging out with me gave him the courage to get on stage. I ran a couple different shows and I put him on there too, and last year’s Fringe [2018]. When this room started it was just me and the other Matt. But Angus - just eager, just eager an around. Matt didn’t know Angus that well, I was the glue between them. I remember saying to Matt: hey man, he’s here all the time, let’s just give him a part, let’s make him one of the people that are running this. It’s good, because Matt and I have been at it a while, but he’s the one who’s gonna run everything when I’m gone. There needs to be someone who has the heart for it and wants to do it, which I have no problem being, but I have to put my heart somewhere else, and I’m sure he’ll do a good job running it.
Matt (center) and friend Angus (right) at the back of the 52 Canoes basement during Mirth Meltdown.
When people laugh that means they’re relating to what you’re talking about which is really cool because I’m not from here. It brings us together. It’s not curing cancer, but in that moment… many people escape from their reality and maybe if I’m talking about something that’s sensitive to me, something horrible that’s happened to me, or anything along those lines, people can relate too, it just helps them feel like they’re not alone, and they can laugh about it. Maybe it just helps them heal a little bit. Also, that noise of laughter is just addictive. As much as it’s ‘laughter is the greatest medicine’, it’s for selfish reasons too. I wanna hear that laughter.
My grandma’s really on the ball even though she’s 80 something. Out of my four grandparents, she’s the one that I’m definitely the closest to, and definitely the one that I spent the most time with. She was just always there. We always agree on everything. I always enjoyed my time with her. She’s quite the minimalist herself. In fact, she’s slept in quite a few vehicles, and I think my lifestyle doesn’t surprise her all that much. The comedy, she questioned for a while. Until, last Christmas, I asked her to write out ‘The Clown’s Prayer’ in her handwriting, so that I could get it tattooed. And then, when she finished writing that, and then reading what the message was, she looked at me and she said that she got it. She understood why I do it. Which was kinda nice. It was a good moment. And I carry that on my ribs, I carry it with me everywhere. Just like Ben and Sonic, just like my family on the other side [speaking of tattoos]. Cause I’m always on the move, and I don’t always have pictures to hang anywhere, so, I just carry them on me.
A fresh tattoo of a verse from "The Clown's Prayer" written in Nana's handwriting. " and in my final moment/ may I hear you whisper/ 'when you made my people smile/ you made me smile.' "
I have a lot of very good connections with quite a few people. And I only realise them more so when I move. I’m sure when I leave here and spend time somewhere else, then I’ll miss the connections that I currently have and realise how important [they are].
"It’s a wall of memories, it’s what it is."
[My crazy wall], I see it less like a wall in a house and more like a high school locker that kind of keeps growing. There’re pictures that are nice, some that were given to me when I was home, some that my mom had put together my first February that I was here. Just around the time my van broke down, she had sent a stack of Valentine’s from all the people in my family to my ex’s address so she ended up giving them to me. It’s nice to look at. I’ve looked at it recently, just scanned through it, to see al the faces of people who care about you. All the good moments in there. There’s a bag of dice that my good friend Ben… when we were travelling Europe, we kept collecting a couple dice when we were walking through a market, so it’s got a variety. And then he split it in half and he gave them to me. I get more mail now than I got with a flat. It’s a wall of memories, it’s what it is.
Matt moved to Australia in January 2020. He is doing comedy there, and has a new van. He had Burly towed in May 2019.
People are afraid of change. I’m no different, but isn’t that also exciting? Visa’s running out. I plan to come back here every year assuming there’s no problem at the border. I look forward to building a ‘real’, no offence Burly… not a real home really. How about - just a more elegant living space for myself. One that people will look at and not…. Maybe not question it as much, and be like oh, I get it! a little bit more. A beautiful space to live in. A space where I’d be comfortable having people over. One person over. At a time. THAT I’m excited about.
Australia. Never been, don’t know what to expect. Am I worried? Yeah, but that’s part of the fun. When you get too comfortable, I think you become a bit stagnant, so I try to avoid that. Keep moving, keep shaking it up. It’s be a lot of beginning from scratch, but that’s ok. I did it once, I’ll do it again. I’ve done it a few times now. Every time I go to a new city it’s a bit daunting. At the end of the day, I think that visa’s only a year. The last two years really flew by, being here. It’s gonna be great.
A Pretty Frugal Lifestyle
a story about comedian and van-dweller, Matt Watson
Matt Watson built his own world, one hidden just under the surface, where fences are stairs and flat concrete is the sound of home. He lives in a van called Burly, in a parking lot in Edinburgh, in a spot chosen by the car when it broke down 14 months ago. He is originally from Canada. He found his love and purpose in comedy, and nothing stopped him from pursuing it: not the borders of his home, not the borders of the ocean and not the borders of expectation.
Matt thrives with the minimum – a mattress, a suitcase, a few survival things, a wall of memories – and the most important thing, laughter. Matt describes himself as one of the most hard-working comics out there, and isn’t that beautiful? To think there’s someone doing his best and working his hardest just to create joy for everyone around him.
Each photograph is accompanied by Matt’s words, transcribed from an interview I did with him in a crowded coffee place. While I was collecting these images and words, Matt realised I was collecting a chapter that was ending. His visa is expiring soon, and he cannot renew it without a difficult process, which means he has to rebuilt life somewhere new, from scratch. The plan is Australia.
[Above: written in May, 2019]
Matt now lives in Australia since January, 2020. He has a new van, and this one drives. He had Burly towed in May 2019, a moment you can see on his Youtube (link below). His channel is a weekly vlog of his adventures as a comedian living in a van, wherever life takes him. Alongside the link to the video, there is a link to the comedy night he co-organised when he lived in Edinburgh, which is still running.
