I always need a reason not to do Edinburgh. A reason that can silence the always murmuring voice in my head: "Go on, you'll have a laugh, you can see lots of shows and find new and original ways to get called solid but unspectacular." This year, mixing metal-phors, I have a cast iron, solid gold excuse not to go to Edinburgh. We are spuds deep plotting the return of Russell Howard's Good News, a show I'm one of the writers on. Moving to BBC Three, with the commensurate excitement and terror, though probably not pay rise. It's an Avalon production after all.

I also have a five week old daughter. That this wouldn't have been enough on its own is an indicator of Edinburgh's allure, and simultaneously sure and certain proof that I'm going to be an atrocious parent. We'd convinced ourselves that we could cope with her up in Edinburgh - at five weeks it would just be living with an eating, shitting blob, which would in turn conjure fond memories of sharing Festival flats with Greg Davies. As I sit now surrounded and overwhelmed by the detritus of infancy, it boggles my mind that I ever thought we could ship her up to Scotland. We'd need a separate van just for our sleep deprived tears.

The show I'm doing at the Phoenix Fringe was worked up whilst on the road with Russell Howard, as he built towards his big tour. Low key shows, where the rule was everything was built from scratch - a liberating freedom to fail. The challenge would be to say every single thing I'd written on the piece of paper clutched in my hand. Multiple false positives later something resembling a show began to emerge. Some photographs from my youth have turned into an elaborate set piece which is one of my favourite bits to perform. It also serves a sneaky purpose - as a cheerily ugly balding man with a monotone absence of an accent, pictures of the three year old me can provide the charm I so singularly fail to produce in my every day life. British Comedy Guide were very kind about the last solo show I did, back before Good News sunk its claws into my diary - although the link seems to have docked half a star in the intervening years; naturally I'm furious. It's that easy to slip into Edinburgh lunacy.

It's always a shame to miss the Festival - so many happy memories: Rhod Gilbert's sheer delight at me playing the recorder with my own anus (his review - "surprisingly tuneful"); learning whilst playing Mervyn Stutter's gig that the Pappy's show I'd directed had been nominated; seeing Clement Freud laughing hysterically during a Klang show. It's a sacred gift to take a show to Edinburgh, and always heartbreaking when somebody takes something half-arsed. Of the stuff I've seen previewed for this year, Joseph Morpurgo's show is something to be very excited about indeed, alongside Kraken and Alasdair Tremblay-Birchall.

The Phoenix Fringe does a great job of creating the Edinburgh buzz in London, though without the liver failure and recurring sensation of being utterly alone in the universe. The line-ups read like a perfectly planned festival day, all in one awesome pub, without the sodden schlep through the papier-mâché flyer swamp that the Scottish streets become in August. I'm on a cracking day with Alistair Barrie, Gemma Whelan and Milton Jones doing their shows after me, so I can get pleasantly sozzled and envious watching them. I can't wait.

Steve Hall (WIP) is at the Phoenix Fringe in London on Saturday 9th August 2014. To find out more visit www.phoenixfringe.co.uk