It’s a week into the Fringe and I’m still standing. Although I can’t say the same for some others, and I think you probably know who you are.
This time of year all normal lifestyle patterns go out of the window, as my husband will heartily testify. There are too many shows to see to bother with the ironing or putting on the washing machine, and too many bars open late to get around to going home and cooking supper. Even the dogs are giving me the evil eye as they haven’t had a proper walk for about ten days.
However, the great thing about the Fringe is that no matter how badly behaved one is, you can bet your bottom dollar that there is someone around whose conduct is even worse.
One night, about midnight, I had just been to see a one-woman play called Hooked, starring Nicky Guadagni (which does look like a line up of Scrabble letters). It was the actress’s birthday so after the show four of us sat on a park bench in the Grassmarket to have a little nip of Glenmorangie to toast this occasion before going our separate ways home.
When I stood up, thinking that this was all rather surreal – for goodness’ sake, I don’t particularly like whisky – I noticed that the entire bench beside us had been taken by a youngish chap who was lying totally unconscious. Suddenly I felt rather respectable.
Another evening I was out late at silly o’clock with a friend who I shall call Sally, because that is her name. Up from the wilds of Warwickshire, she does tend to get a tad excited when in town for the Fringe. Just as we were about to leave the Abattoir bar at the Underbelly, she spotted a fountain in the middle of the room.
“Hold on,” she said, “I’m going to have a Dolce Vita moment.”
And with that she jumped, still wearing her dress (although that had been doubtful for a few moments) into the aforementioned fountain. At least that’s one outfit she won’t have to worry about cleaning this week.