I’m doing two weekends at the Edinburgh Fringe this year. The first is actually the second; that’s the one when I’m seeing all the shows I wanted to see. The second weekend is actually the first; it’s the overflow for all the other shows I wanted to see. Yes, it’s ridiculous to have the overflow before the real thing but that’s how the dates work out and fate has well and truly punished me for it.
This post is about the overflow weekend.
I flew from Southampton, changing at Manchester. Arrived at Southampton at 5am only to find my Manchester flight is delayed which is going to make me miss my Edinburgh flight. There’s no one to help at that time in the morning and when someone did turn up, the advice is to fly to Manchester and get booked onto the next Edinburgh flight from there. The next flight is via the Isle of Man and London. The flight after that is via Belfast. It’s 5am. The earliest I can possibly hope to get to Edinburgh is about 4pm, more likely 7.30. No, they can’t move me to the direct Edinburgh flight. The Glasgow one? Wait half an hour and see if the weather at Manchester improves. And then suddenly my Manchester flight was boarding and took off well within the boundaries of its scheduled slot. I made the connection no problem after all that. Thanks for the hour of unnecessary stress, Flybe.
So it didn’t begin well.
Didn’t end well either. Exactly the same problem in reverse, except no deus ex machina suddenly popping up to fix it all. I finished up on a direct flight at 2.30pm on Monday instead of 6.40pm via Manchester on Sunday. The airline, thoroughly discredited in my eyes by now, put me in a Premier Inn on an industrial estate with a meal voucher, breakfast included, taxis both way and a really comfy bed and bath. I missed a day at work and nearly missed a logistically difficult evening of Shakespeare and took five years off my life in stress.
And Edinburgh itself?
I saw twelve shows in three days. One grim play about Isis brides, two works of musical genius, four good comedians, a piece of Shakespearean chaos, two unclassifiable pieces of performance, a thing of too much audience involvement and a late-night live music quiz. I recommend the four comedians (Sarah Keyworth, Will Duggan, Nick Doody and Briony Redman) and the two works of musical genius (Flanders & Swann and Frisky & Mannish). I’ve always wanted to see This Is Your Trial but it turns out that if you haul audience members out of the audience and put them on trial, their girlfriends and mates are just going to shriek in unbridled hilarity throughout while the defendant sits there making moronic comments and reveling in ten minutes in the spotlight, none of which is very funny for the rest of the audience.
I killed my feet in glittery blue Conversalikes – they’re pretty, they’re festivally and they don’t rub but they’re also very thin and I’m sure I have Edinburgh’s streets permanently moulded onto the soles of my feet. Gel insoles helped a lot, as did a prepaid bus card and a determination not to walk any further than absolutely necessary.
I talked to two comedians, one of whom took a photo of me in my sequinned jacket, which is all it takes to make me go and see his show. I was flirted with by a visiting American who was very vague about what sort of conferences he’d come to Newcastle for and had headed home via a few days in Edinburgh because it was cheaper and he didn’t even know the festivals were on. And then I pointed out that the castle sat on a piece of old volcano and that Arthur’s Seat was another and the city was inside the remains of an ancient caldera and he said “What’s the word for when you’re aroused by someone really smart?” and I knew the answer and said it and also protested that he’d stumbled on one of my pet subjects and to try me on one of my many large blind spots. He’d also talked about his wife & kids. And this took place in a graveyard. If I say it was Greyfriars kirkyard maybe that sounds less plain weird? I went home at 1am the first night, having been up since 3.30 the night before. I went in a supermarket and bought real food, which is something many comedians haven’t figured out yet, if Fern Brady’s Twitter is anything to go by – well, they’re specifically looking for fruit & vegetables but clearly that means they haven’t found supermarkets yet.
What else? Oh, my room. It was a student room, just outside the centre. An annoying distance, actually, especially given the pain in my feet. On my real weekend, I’m in the thick of it on Cowgate but not on the overflow weekend. It was quieter than Cowgate and the room was nicer and the bed bigger and it had a little ensuite bathroom. As student accommodation, it’s more than 20% more expensive than the place I normally stay. But as a summer hostel, it doesn’t provide either soap or towels. You can request soap and you can hire towels but out of principle, I’m not paying that. I’ll go without a shower for three days, thank you. See why I was so appreciative of a bath and huge towels at the Premier Inn?
So that was my first weekend in Edinburgh this summer. It felt kind of stressful, partly because Flybe is such an unreliable airline, partly because I couldn’t go back to my room for half an hour between shows and partly because I kept cramming shows in back-to-back. And also partly because it was really hot. One of the comedians I talked to was already despondent over the likelihood of audiences being too hot and sleepy to laugh properly for the entire Fringe.
On the real weekend I’m taking a travel towel and comfy shoes and my filthy but comfy hiking trousers. The sequinned jacket is still coming. I’ll be central, I’ll go home for naps between shows. I’ll take photos! I’ll appreciate the Fringe as more than mere hell for feet. And if anything happens to my flights again, sound and fury shall be rained down on all.
(Spoiler: yeah, they messed up my return flight the second weekend as well – not just delayed this time, they cancelled the Southampton flight.)