It did very well considering we were a snotty-nosed, green-behind-the-ears little ensemble. We garnered a host of four-star reviews, including one from The Scotsman that came complete with a large photo and daily critics' pick. We were tickled pink and sold out the next few shows.
While convincing my friend Ravi Jain that we simply had to bring our co-production, Spent, to Edinburgh this year, I started to remember other stories from my time at the festival.
I remembered our pre-festival "tour" to the Outer Hebrides, staying at a cottage on the isle of Scalpay where, curiously, everyone was named Donald. I remembered my embarrassment at discovering what Europeans call a "Canadian tuxedo" (jean jacket worn with jeans). I was embarrassed because I was wearing one at the time.
But my favourite festival memory includes a special bloody twist of fate. When we arrived in Edinburgh we bought a blood sausage, at the insistence of our British tour manager Bertie, with the intention of eating it for brunch. We did cook up two slices but for the rest of the run our sausage was left hanging from a nail by the window.
However, on our very last day in Scotland, as we were leaving the flat, the blood sausage slipped out of its skin and fell. It had taken exactly the entire length of the festival to shrivel up. We took the fall of the blood sausage as a sign from God that our work was done. So, our first stop when we got to Edinburgh this year: the butcher's shop: "Your finest blood sausage, please and thank you."
• Spent is at the Pleasance Dome until 29 August. Today 2:55pm.