'Exhausting and exhilarating' - Scotsman critic Ashley Davies on being an Edinburgh Comedy Awards judge

I also adore comedy that’s daft and playful; the way it can take you entirely away from yourself for an hour is more effective for me than meditation. When done right, it’s a beautiful, out-of-body experience.

Over the past few weeks I’ve been immersed in comedy of all forms – during my second stint as a judge for the Edinburgh Comedy Awards. I’ve watched almost a hundred hours of stand-up, clown, sketch, high-concept, character work, musical comedy and more as part of the team dedicated to finding this year’s champions.

Steve Coogan, Rose Matafeo, The League of Gentlemen, Jenny Eclair, Tim Key, Bridget Christie and Sam Campbell are among those who have built their careers on winning this important accolade, and, while some of us would sometimes prefer that artists weren’t pitted against each other, a huge prize such as this certainly helps identify and support some of the most promising practitioners.

So how does the process work? How on earth do you judge something as subjective as comedy?

A few months before the Edinburgh Festival Fringe begins, the awards’ producer Emma Brunjes, on behalf of and with approval from the director, Nica Burns, begins to assemble the judging team. The main panel comprises ten comedy experts – a blend of broadcasters (producers and comedy commissioners), journalists and three public panellists.

The perspective of the public panellists is crucial because they’re the ones who regularly pay to see all kinds of comedy and often have an encyclopaedic knowledge of it. Competition for these positions is fierce.

There’s also a team of scouts – between 14 and 20 usually – composed of more comedy fans, all of whom have been on the panel in the past. Between all of us, we all see every single show that’s eligible for the prize (broadly, the top line is that acts can’t be considered if they’re a “star”, regularly sell out venues of more than 500 seats, or have their own TV show, but if you want to see more detailed eligibility rules they’re at comedyawards.co.uk/eligibility-rules).

This year more than 500 shows were eligible, and, as always, every single one gets seen – some as many as 30 times, at a guess, as we get towards the final (but more of that later). Acts don’t have to apply for these awards, and they don’t need to have any form of management or PR: as long as they’re registered with the Fringe and meet the eligibility criteria they will all be seen.

Brunjes and her team control a database that manages everyone’s viewing schedules (a logistical process that would make my simple brain bleed were I in charge of it), booking us all into the shows.

Every day we submit our reviews on the awards database, with a mark out of ten, and a note of whether or not we think someone else should watch what we just saw. The latter is particularly useful when you don’t especially love a show but recognise that this might be a matter of personal taste and know it deserves a second, third or even tenth pair of eyes.

Sometimes a scout will have felt a show doesn’t warrant a further viewing, but we on the panel can ask for someone else to see it, and we all get the opportunity to encourage other judges to see shows we love, even if its original score from someone else was low. As the days progress, our schedules change according to which shows are being marked higher and lower.

By our first of three panel meetings, we have a rough idea of our own favourites, and get a chance to champion them in person. The conversations that take place in that room are confidential, but what I can say is that, as the competition intensifies, emotions do run high.

A couple of times I’ve used loo breaks as an opportunity to fan my face and swallow tears when a show I care deeply about doesn’t have enough support to go further. The world would be dull and crap if we all had the same taste, but sometimes your heart breaks when something you love is cut. And there are times when those advocating for shows will feel so passionately about them that you can’t fail to be moved.

The toughest day is the final Wednesday of the Fringe, when we decide on the shortlists for the main award (the Taffner Family Best Comedy Show) and the DLT Entertainment Best Newcomer Prize.

The Edinburgh Comedy Awards uses a forensic voting system developed in the mid-1990s with help from the Electoral Reform Society. A lawyer is present for all the panel meetings to ensure all rules are adhered to, and there are votes and revotes and recounts to ensure everything is conducted scrupulously.

Between that Wednesday and the end of Friday, we then go to rewatch as many of the shortlisted shows as we can, in order to refresh our memories and challenge our own opinions (many of us will have reviewed eight shows a day throughout the Fringe, some even more, and we’re knackered, so it’s important for clarity).

On the final Saturday we meet at 8am and for our final vote, and decide on the panel prize, eligibility for which is more fluid. Broadly, it rewards a person or group who has made some sort of outstanding contribution to that year’s Fringe comedy, and past winners have included Fringe of Colour, Best in Class and the Home Safe collective, which helped fund taxis for vulnerable or marginalised or vulnerable groups.

None of the panellists know who the main or newcomer prize winners are until they’re announced on stage around midday, so it’s as thrilling for us to hear the results as it is for everyone else in the room. The whole thing is exhausting and exhilarating, and it’s such a privilege to be part of. And now, it's time to sleep for four days.

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