Retired? Enjoy life. (While you can....)

THAT WAS THE WEEK THAT WAS

I once again live in the city which hosts the largest annual arts festival in the world, so August is a crazy month for culture consumers.  Whatever you might want you'll find it here.  (And I will get around to looking back at my personal highlights of the 2014 Fringe in a post coming soon.)  But it's not like there's a lack of things to do during the rest of the year.  And last week provided us with one of the most culturally varied seven days imaginable.

On Monday we went to see Tony Benn : Will and Testament, as mentioned on this blog a few days ago.

Tuesday evening saw us return to the Leith Folk Club, our first visit since January, to see the young band Dallahan.  They were our favourite musical discovery of this year's Fringe, an eclectic mix of Scots, Irish, Americana and Hungarian influences.  The singer, Jack Badcock, has a surprising voice, more crooner than folkie at first acquaintance, with an incredible range.  Their arrangements are constantly surprising, with that Balkan influence creeping in regularly.  A varied set covered traditional ballads, gypsy jazz, celtic dance, bluegrass and culminated with a comedy calypso piece (originally made famous by Lance Percival in the sixties!).  They have also realised there's a lot more to being a live band than simply playing and their gabbing between numbers was both informative and funny.  Their CD has since been getting a lot of plays chez Crawford.  Oh, and they have one of the coolest bass players you will ever see.

If it's Wednesday it must be musical day.  And so it was off to the Playhouse for my second musical of the year.  Which is about two more than I'd normally see.  My standard view of the genre is "get on with the plot oh there isn't one", a view confirmed on the other occasion I ventured to the same venue and saw We Will Rock You.  They didn't.  We Will Bore You.  How did Ben Elton ever sink so low?

So I ventured to see Jersey Boys with a mix of trepidation and open mindedness.  Amazingly the latter won out.  It might not be something I'd rush to see again, but I did genuinely enjoy myself.  There is an actual plot, the story of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, and it whizzes from scene to scene at Linford Christie pace.  I'd heard of them, vaguely recalled about three of the songs from the sixties and seventies, but most were new to me.  There's some good pop tunes in that there catalogue, and all the main singers had excellent voices, especially the guy playing Mr Valli.  Where musicals usually come unstuck is in recruiting the cast it's singing and dancing abilities that are prioritised, leaving acting chops a poor third.  But this lot, by and large, made the grade.  All four leads took it in turn to act as narrator, a device that worked well in holding the time and scene shifts together, and a real test of stage presence and audience management.  And, with the exception of a cedar-like series of monologues from the Bob Gaudio character, all of them handled it well and brought genuine emotion to the part when required.  I might not go quite as over the top as this review from the local rag, but I did have fun.

Away from the live entertainment we had a couple of art exhibitions we wanted to see on Thursday.  At the City Gallery the theme was Common Wealth, both in it's more widely known sense of a group of post-imperial nations, and the more important meaning that the wealth of a country is there to be shared amongst all it's citizens.  Other than a fabulous video history of land ownership in Scotland, viewed in some kind of giant patchwork Wendy House, there was little I found memorable.  An additional exhibition on the top floor did have some wonderful pop art style pictures and a great cat sculpture, but overall the visit was a bit of a let down.  Some days you just aren't in the right frame of mind.

But we crossed the road to the Fruitmarket Gallery and found the Jim Lambie retrospective.  No, I've never heard of him, but I've learned that one of the great features of exhibitions here is the video room upstairs where there's a film interview with the artist in which he explains the works on display and his motivations in creating them.  Thus armed the actual viewing makes a lot more sense and becomes simpler to enjoy.

Vibrant colour highlighted the unusual juxtapositioning and transformations of familiar objects.  Objects of intrigue and beauty.  My favourite was the room filled with floor to ceiling ladders, some with mirrors, some without.  You never knew if you were going to look through into another scene or see your own setting reflected back at you.  A real life set from Oz.

So that's a film, a folk gig, a musical and some visual art.  It must be time for some proper theatre.  One of the best things Glasgow has exported to the capital in the east is regular seasons of A Play, a Pie and a Pint.  Which pretty much describes the experience.  For a measly twelve quid you get your choice of pies (worth getting there a bit early to avoid being stuck with the stodge encased in stodge option that is the macaroni cheese pie....), the choice of a pint, glass of wine or soft drink (whatever that is - I went with the excellent local brew, Stewarts Traverse Ale), and then down into the bowels of the building for a one act play.  Value, eh?

Last week the play was Mrs Barbour's Daughters, a modern look back at one of the most important women in Scottish history, yet one I'd never even heard of before.  She achieved fame in the First World War as an agitator for social justice and an opponent of the rampant profiteering of landlords.  Which sounds familiar....  We could do with more like her today to help counteract the dire consequences of unfettered neoliberalism on most of the population.  There are plans to erect a statue to her memory in her native city and maybe that will help to encourge wider knowledge of her objectives and achievements.  An evening of entertainment and education.  And pies.

Saturday didn't quite work out as planned, thanks to our continued search for a new home and an estate agent with little sense of geography or planning.  We saw three flats, but as this involved criss crossing the city each time a lot of the day passed on buses.  So the planned visit to see a free comedy music gig resulted in us seeing only the last ten minutes of The Priscillas, a sort of electro-pop version of The Nualas (Who they?  All will be revealed in a future post....).  The venue was the best secondhand book and music shop in all Edinburgh, the brilliantly named Elvis Shakespeare.  If you come to the city you should visit it.  Yes, you should, just go there.  And buy stuff.  This man deserves your support.

Sunday.  Day of rest?  Sod that.  My perfect winter Sunday.  Stick something in the oven and head up to The Stand comedy club for the free lunchtime show.  That's free as in no charge, at all.  Yes, free.  Should be rubbish then?  But people, like us, come back time and again.  Stu and Garry's Improv Show, aka Whose Lunch Is It Anyway?, is a consistent chest hurter.  I've seen many 'big name' comedians and I don't think there's one who's made me laugh more than these guys.  They have been doing improvised comedy together for something like fifteen years and provide the nearest thing you'll see to telepathy.  Somehow I ended up on stage manipulating parts of Garry's body, but Ill leave that to the more warped and diseased corners of whatever passes for your mind.

The route home took in another flat (I think this is what's called multitasking), the oven produced the goods, and then we were off to our final cultural event of the week.

I lie.

But it was definitely live and definitely entertainment.

To The Fridge of Dreams, aka Murrayfield Ice Rink, to see the Edinburgh Capitals SNL team take on Moray Typhoons.  If you aren't keeping up let me tell you this is the fastest moving team sport around, ice hockey.  There were goals, fights, and we posed for a photo with the man or woman in the smiley lion outfit.  Plus a win for our guys.

And all in the most beautiful city on the planet.  I may just be winning at life.

Greed overrides people every time?

CARING CAPITALISM

Unless you live in Edinburgh you probably won't have heard about this example of the joy that unfettered capitalism can bring into our drab little lives.

Childish?  Bitter?  Pathetic?  All of these things and more.  The symbolism is perfect, targeting the relatives and friends of people in hospital as revenge for failing to retain a council contract.

And there still people out there who can't understand why big business is not fit to run public services? Who do not comprehend the essential importance of a public service ethos?  As if the Passport Office weren't warning enough....

Mr Benn - Yes or No?

THE WRONG TONY

A couple of days ago we went to see Tony Benn : Will and Testament at the Cameo cinema.  Long awaited (we first saw an excerpt from it over two years ago) it lived up to my expectations.  Often, sad, even moving me to tears at times, it was, largely, inspiring.  A man who stuck with his convictions, unless evidence were presented to the contrary.  A man who went up against the system no matter how much The Establishment vilified him for it.  Their efforts to marginalise him stand as the very testament to how much he hit raw nerves and came close to cracking the united facade that the rich and powerful put up to deceive the majority of us.

Benn wasn't always right - he freely admitted as much himself - but he was always honest (much to his cost when he was a minister) and spoke his mind according to his own beliefs.  Even his opponents admired (and feared) him for that reason.  That and his sharp intellect and analytical mind.  One of the few leading politicians who genuinely applied themselves to the betterment of their constituents and the wider society they served.

One the closing statements of the film struck a strong chord with me, one that has an additional resonance in the light of recent events.  "The battle is between Socialism and Barbarism.  And I know which side I'm on."  And in the decades since the Thatcher governments began to reverse all the progress which had been made by Attlee's administration, and kicked off the social decline which continues to see inequality in the UK grow and grow, the barbaric nature of capitalism becomes ever clearer.  The idea of "Capitalism with a human face" becomes ever more risible and evidence accumulates of the duplicity that those in power will resort to.  After the Tory domination of the eighties and early nineties the election of a Labour government felt like a chance for the slate to be wiped clean, for a new social direction.  But, despite some advances such as the Minimum Wage, in most respects the Labour of Blair proved to be no more capable of the kind of change needed than it's predecessors.  What we got was Tory-lite, a Thatcherite party in all but name.  And the death of any real pluralism of choice.

Is it any wonder that voters have become increasingly disenchanted with the political mainstream when all three of the old traditional parties look ever more and more the same?  The loss of Clause Four, and a commitment to state ownership, destroyed the socialist Labour movement that Benn had pinned his flag to.  Although he remained a Labour man to the end it was obvious he did so with only a few vestiges of hope remaining.  The Labour party of the Twenty First century has little in common with his honest values and commitment to a fairer society.  We did indeed end up with the wrong Tony B leading our state. Just look at Mandleson....

Benn was opposed to EU membership, throughout his life.  In this I think he was wrong, although I sympathise with the anti-capitalist thinking that guided this view, for the biggest failing of the EU, and the ECHR, is the commitment to the sanctity of property.  It remains a charter for the rich.  Equally he expressed his opposition to Scottish independence and might have even spoken on behalf of the No movement had been around to do so.  Or would he?

There are many reasons to be sad at Benn's demise, but from a personal view I'd have loved to know what he'd have made of the Yes campaign in the final weeks leading up to the Referendum.  Whilst many of the public faces remained the expected politicians - Salmond, Sturgeon, Harvie, Sheridan et al - the Yes movement had taken on a life of its own, above and beyond political parties.  It had become a genuine people’s movement, operating outwith the boundaries of party loyalties.  It had become exactly the kind of movement that Benn had inspired, and been inspired by in the past.  It had also, in the closing weeks, become a target for everything that The British Establishment could throw at it.

Benn was once described by a national newspaper as "The most dangerous man in Britian".  If only.  He received much worse than that, and only once they considered him relatively harmless was he accorded National Treasure status.  Most papers hated him.  The TV stations found him hard to handle, easier if ignored.  And he had opponents in both his own and opposing parties lining up to declare him borderline insane.

Tony might have recognised all this in those final days leading up to 18 September.  We'll never know what he might have made of it.  And I recognise my own confirmation bias, and wishful thinking, in imagining that he would have come over to our side.  Perhaps recognising the Yes movement for what it was - the biggest democratic attack on the UK's rich and powerful since the days of the Attlee government.  I wonder....?

The votes are in, the results to come

NOW WE SIT AND WAIT

As I sit to write this it's three minutes past eleven on the evening of the eighteenth of September, two thousand and fourteen.  Of course I could have written that sentence with far fewer keystrokes, but the pseudo formality feels right for the occasion.  Because today history has been made.  And in a few hours from now I'll find out if I'm one of those who made the change, or was a bit player as a nation actually turns down the offer of independence - the latter an unprecedented event as far as my knowledge goes.

The polls have closed, the rhetoric and shouting and half truths and downright lies are at rest, and all we can do now is watch and wait. The only big decisions left are whether to watch BBC or STV, and if I should pull an allnighter or try for a nap and an early rise?  

If you've read this blog before, or follow me on Twitter or Facebook, then you'll know exactly how I voted and which result I'm hoping for, so I'm going to skip that issue and look at how it's felt to be a part of such an epochal event.

We went out to vote late in the morning, by which time the flow in and out of our polling station wasmodest and there was no queue to join.  Outside the Yes and No campaign representatives stood chatting away to each other like old pals (perhaps they were).  There was no sense of great drama,not a hint of intimidation, none of the elements beloved of the sensationalist end of the media.  The only drama was in my my own heart and head when I paused before marking my cross in the box.  This really did feel so very different from any vote I've ever cast before.

Our afternoon took in a (Yes leaning) comedy play about the referendum, a bit of coffee and cake, and then a Danish thriller at the cinema.  So I haven't spent a lot of time walking the streets and my sense of the occasion is largely based on time spent on buses, and in the cafe and the theatre bar.  The skies over Edinburgh have been grey and gloomy all day and the public mood may have been influenced by the weather.  There seemed little excitement, no hint of panic.  But there was a definite tension in the air, not of the crackling electric variety, but an expectant calm that knows there will be a lot of disappointed people in the morning.  Very few Yes or No badges were in evidence on the street, although journalists were evident everywhere.

But the evidence from the ballot boxes belies this to an extent.  Following on from the record breaking 97% registration figure, there looks to have been a voter turnout unheard of in this country.  I've seen a story from one of the more rural stations, of all registered voters having recorded their votes by nine thirty this morning.  Many stations had queues awaiting their opening at seven am.  Are we going to hit 90% turnout?  As an exercise in democracy, whatever the outcome, this has been a remarkable occasion.  And, despite the efforts of the tabloids, largely devoid of nastiness (any large scale campaign that raises such passions is bound to bring out a few extremists on either side).  Citizens have been engaged, excited, ready to debate the issues and on both sides this has become as much a movement of the people as of politicians.  Scotland can be proud of being such a civilised country.

Whatever tomorrow brings the world will be different.  For all sorts of reasons.  For me the greatest of these is that the Yes movement has taken on the combined power and money of the UK government, what is generally referred to as "The Establishment", and 95% of the mass media (the Sunday Herald was the only national publication to come out for Yes, and there were justifiable doubts about the even-handedness of the BBC) and still managed to convince around half the electorate to join their cause.  That is a remarkable achievement, win or lose.

Now let's wait and see.

Oh, England, just give us a bit of space now, eh?  It isn't always about you....

The resuscitation of Gordon Brown

WHY GORDON?

Back in the dim and distant past, when this whole referendum thing first got into gear, the Scottish Government proposed there should be three choices on the voting paper.  For full independence, to retain the status quo, or for an increase of the powers devolved to the Holyrood parliament.  The latter quickly acquiring the daft name of 'Devo Max'.  The Cameron government thought otherwise and next Thursday's simple binary choice was the result.  Devo Max was an option Downing Street thought unnecessary.

Polling at the time suggested that that missing option was the one most likely to have attracted majority support from Scotland's voters, had it been offered.  But Westminster felt confident that if it came to the choice of staying within the UK, or going it alone, the unionists would win comfortably.
And all the evidence at the time suggested they were right.

Fast forward to Spring 2014 when it already it feels like the campaigning has been going on forever.  Yet now starting to ramp up in intensity.  Devo Max has largely been left to rot in the gutter, but the occasional unionist politician has mentioned that when a No vote goes through Westminster may give some consideration to passing on some additional powers.  Crumbs from the table.

How times change.  As the polls have closed up and the underdog Yes campaign has gained momentum, as the day of polling gets ever closer, as arguments and 'experts' get thrown at the electorate from every angle, the polarity of the debating has increased and passions have been raised.  This was going to be closer than almost anyone had imagined.

And then there was one, just one, poll that showed Yes ahead.  By only two points, and other polls still gave No a lead, but it seems to have sent a shudder through the whole Better Together movement, and the leaders of the three main UK parties in particular.  Just days later, backed by Cameron, Clegg and Milliband, an announcement was made proposing that a No vote would result in significantly greater powers being devolved to Edinburgh.  There wasn't a lot of detail, but it did seem reminiscent of something from the past.  It seems Devo Max has been picked up, given a bit of a dust, and presented to us as a fresh new set of ideas.  And it only took one poll....

If you know me in real life you might not be surprised at a teensy-weensy note of cynicism creeping in here.  Poor old Devo.  Cast aside unwanted, she's now back on the scene, slightly faded, slightly jaded, and not quite sure what she's doing any more. But someone seems to need her, urgently.  Good luck old girl.

But it's not the return of Ms Max that concerns me here.  Desperate times bring out desperate measures. And Better Together have been sounding very desperate recently.  No, what intrigues me more is the presentation of this brave new world.  And, more specifically, the choice of presenter.

Gordon Brown emerged as the spokesman for this one, the front man, apparently, for the Westminster establishment.  At first glance he seems a sensible enough choice.  A weel kent face.  Former leader and statesman.  And still retaining some degree of credibility, even affection, in Scotland (despite being a laughing stock to many in England).  A sensible choice.

Really?  If I was a government trying to convince an electorate of the sincerity of my very-late-to-the-party proposals would I really choose Gordon?  A backbench MP, perhaps with some influence, but with no power and no prospect of being in power.  A voice from the past, irrelevant to the future of all three parties.  A voice it might be very easy to disown if the future dictated such a course of action....

If these proposals (and note that's all they are - nothing is, or can be, guaranteed) are being brought forward with genuine sincerity shouldn't they be presented by someone who has real power to take them forward?  Someone, perhaps, from the current government?  A Scot of course, so that rules out the Conservatives (I've met hamsters with more charisma than Scotland's sole Tory MP).  So a credible LibDem then (that's Danny Alexander out of the reckoning).  And who do we have in the post of Scottish Secretary of State?   None other than Alistair Carmichael, one of the few senior unionists to maintain an air of moderation in his pronouncements and with the decency (or career awareness!) to announce that if there's a YES result he'd be available to be a member of the Scotland negotiating team.  That rare beast, a coalition minister it's possible to have some respect for.

And, if you really wanted to give the impression that the three parties were unified behind these proposals why not throw in Margaret Curran, Alistair's shadow?  Wouldn't that demonstrate some commitment to implement the new legislation required (let's for a moment that this will have to be done by a UK parliament that hasn't actually been elected yet)?  Wouldn't it?

But no.  We got Gordon.  Yesterday's man.  Anyone convinced?  Draw your own conclusions.


PS If any No voters read this, or perhaps a committed unionist in England, I'd love to hear from you and tell me where, if, my analysis is flawed.  Please do.

Sixty goes by and it's time for normal life

HITTING THE BIG SIX OH

No, not me.  That's still some time off, albeit now more easily reckoned in months than years.

Yesterday, on the last night of the 2014 Edinburgh Festival Fringe, we ended up at a couple more shows to bring our total of events for the period to sixty.  In twenty three days.  Slightly knackered, but elated with seeing so much great entertainment.  This is not the post to go into details of what we've been to, but The Nualas gained a couple of new fans last night.  And we finished with the godmother of Scottish comedy, so a laugh was guaranteed.

But this is more about reflecting on the artificiality of the Fringe-going life, and what is now to come.  If you've read previous posts you'll know that immediately prior to launching into all that comedy, drama, music, radio, TV and sundry other events we were tied up in the house moving process, shifting ourselves and worldly goods from Southport to Edinburgh (even if most of said goods now reside in a warehouse a mile from where I now sit), and trying to squeeze a quart of clothing etc. from a four bed semi into the pint pot of a two bed flat.  Which is a pretty artificial existence in itself, and even more knackering.  So it's been quite a few weeks since we've experienced anything resembling normal and I am looking forward to a quiet night in as much as if I'd been asked round to supper by Sidse Babett Knudsen.  Well, almost as much.  Maybe.

So having, in effect, just arrived, the new kids on the block, we have to contrive to find out what normal now looks like.  If normal can include house hunting, which looks like taking up a lot of our time in the coming weeks.  Viewing properties, getting to know various areas of the city better than we do at the moment, and acquiring Mastermind levels of knowledge of bus timetables.  So it's going to be an odd kind of normal, looking for another life to replace the one we're trying to establish.  And retirement's supposed to be restful?

There's one final block to something like normality.  A little local matter of a referendum, taking place in twenty three days time.  You might have heard about it.  Or even read how I reached my own decision on the subject.  The polls still say there will be a negative result, but three weeks is a long time and much can still happen.  So I'm going to offer my services to Yes.  It won't be much, but at least it's something.

So what is normal?  And can it include moving house, Fringing, seeking out a new home and trying to ensure the future of democracy in your country?  Normal might just be a bit boring.

More Fringe stuff

LOOKING FOR THE BEST?

Aaaargh!  They played that bloody Sting song on the radio this morning.  But, fortunately, I suffered none of the flashbacks I feared when I wrote this post because there have been a few other distractions in the intervening eight days.  Like finally getting the flat into something like a liveable state after our move up here, having guests to stay over the weekend, and seeing a further seventeen Fringe shows.  We're not short of distractions.

If you're coming to The Fringe, or already here, you might read this hoping for some recommendations of what's best to go and see.  And I have a problem with that.  Partly because my tastes are eclectic and almost certainly very different to yours (you weirdo), and also not knowing what 'best' means.  We've seen stand up comedy, science based comedy, physical comedy, music, drama, a full blown musical and a couple of guys having a bit of a chat.  Which 'best' did you want from that lot?

There is one definition of best I could go with.  That's when the thing you're watching ends and you don't applaud because you're thinking "that couldn't have been sixty minutes".  Then you realise it was and you've just been so engrossed that time compressed.  If that's your idea of 'best' then I can give you a clear winner from the stuff we've seen so far.

If you read about my personal Top Ten from Fringe 2013 then the name Jennifer Williams might ring a bell. Wonderful last year, even better this time.  The Cold Clear Elsewhere tells the story of Australian war brides who came to the UK in 1946, a tale Williams makes far more interesting to watch than it might initially sound.  She plays Grace.  And Grace's best friend.  And her mother, and her husband, and his mother, and few others along the way.  With music and ambient sound provided by her brother, Jennifer makes smart use of a big space and carefully chosen props to take the audience through time and on a journey across the world.  She is funny, moving, pathetic, inspiring and coquettish.  It is a compelling performance with scene succeeding scene in rapid succession, but with no confusion as to time and place.  We might even go again when our next visitors turn up.

Other recommendations?  Go see the wonderful, hilarious, at-times-confessional, big softie bear that is Mr Aidan Goatley doing 11 Films to Happiness at Ciao Roma.  You will be amused, charmed, entertained and barely educated.  (Did I get that last bit right?)  Molland and Sullivan in the Beehive were laugh-a-second funny with a fine line in instant insults for audience members.  Possibly not the best choice for the shy and retiring.  Finally there is an odd comedy/lecture/art demo hybrid in the National gallery every Thursday.  Phill Jupitus shows off the copies he's made of paintings in the gallery, Hannah Gadsby (art expert and stand up comic) gives her, em, views on his efforts.  Some of his drawings are great.  And some are less than great.  You never know what's coming up next.

And then there was Red Bastard..... but that deserves a post of it's own.

That's it for now, there's another couple of shows awaiting our attention.  Barbara just suggested we have something she calls 'a day off'.  I think she must be talking about September.

There's no such thing as weird on The Fringe

OF A BIG BLUE TENT, A BLONDE WIG AND A VAGINAL LIFT

But not all three at once.

So we've done two days of Fringe going so far and seen three shows.  I'd call that a nice gentle start, easing ourselves in.  

Last night we went to see our favourite local comedian/physiotherapist, Elaine Miller, in her show Gusset Grippers.  Appropriately for a day when the skies crowded in and Edinburgh took on a damp sheen this was an hour dedicated to people who pish themselves.  Part comedy, part education, part science.  But mostly just bloody funny, despite, or maybe because, being shambolic.  How many shows offer you interactive pelvic floor exercises, a mental image of Bruce Willis in a lift inside a vagina, and free fanny wash?  Recommended show?  Absolutely.

Today we went to the BBC's Big Blue Tent which we've visited frequently in the past, and will be doing again this year.  The draw is twofold.  There's a variety of interesting events taking place.  And (better still) it's all free.  But having applied for loads of shows it's in the hands of the licence fee gods as what you actually get tickets for.  This afternoon's offering was towards the more random end of the spectrum.

I haven't consciously chosen to listen to Radio 1 since the eighties.  So the name Greg James registered zilch with me, old fogey that I am proud to be.  His presence on stage might explain why the crowd we were part of felt a good bit younger than is usual for these shows.  Bring back a Radio 4 audience....

Mr (Master?) James was interviewing John Kearns, winner of the best comedy newcomer award at The Fringe 2013.  Talking about how his life had changed as a result (he only gave up the day job last November and is now a full time professional comedian) and why August in Edinburgh matters so much to comedians in general, even those who have been well established for years.  There's simply nothing else like it in the comedy world (which is great for those of us lucky enough to live here) and has been the launch platform for so many of today's laugh making stars.

Kearns described his own act as 'silly', complete with daft wig and comedic false teeth.  We 'do' silly, so we followed him down to town and filed into the Voodoo Rooms (a good place to visit for breakfast even when the Festival has packed up its suitcases and wheeled itself off to Waverley Station).  JK was certainly different, although far less weird/silly than a lot of other acts we've seen (and the lack of a miniature Die Hard star was noticeable), and likes a bit of audience interaction. We were in the front row.  So somehow I ended up being the one perched on a bar stool on stage, ill fitting curly blonde wig affixed to my head.  I was instructed to drain the remains of my pint which was then replaced by a mixture of Lucozade and Tia Maria.  So stroking John's right knee, and swaying with him in time to Sting's rendition of 'Fields of Gold', seemed like the easy option rather than having to take a sip of such a disgusting mixture.

But I wonder what pictures my mind will flash before me next time I hear Any Sting?

Not quite ready to Fringe

ON THE FRINGE OF THE FRINGE

It's day One of the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.  If you read any of my posts from around this time last year you'll know how much that thought excites me.  But today has been about restraint, before we gorge ourselves on the feast.

We have just completed a house move, and are now full time Edinburgh residents.  The flat isn't quite straight yet, and there's more to be done, so we can't become committed Fringe goers quite yet.  So even though we were up in town today we managed to resist the lure of all the sights and sounds that simply watching the street acts can offer.  Although, inevitably, I did find myself with a pocketful of fliers, despite skirting around the edges of the main areas of activity and performance.  The Fringe is unavoidable.

What I did do, and I know how sad this sounds, was sort all our tickets into date order and put them into daily plastic pockets so it's clear each day what we're on our way to see.  Eighteen Fringe shows booked, and tickets for eight of the BBC offerings in the Big Blue Tent.  Plus three plays in one day from the 'proper' festival.  There's comedy, of course, plus drama, interviews, a TV broadcast, music (folk, jazz and classical) and even a stage musical (a genre I would usually avoid).  All of which gives the coming weeks a bit of shape, around which we have to fit in a few of our favourite Free Fringe performers, such as the wonderfully funny Aidan Goatley and the lovely and talented Jennifer Williams.  Plus my personal highlight from last year, The Showhawk Duo.

And a friend has just told me, via Facebook, to go and see her friend in a play.  Will it be any good?  I have no idea, but I'll go anyway.  If there's one word sums up Fringe time it's serendipity.

Watch this space....

I'm feeling moved

LITTLE BOXES, LITTLE BOXES

If you are of a certain age the above four words will almost certainly have brought to mind the phrase "and they're all made out of ticky-tacky".  You might even have started singing this song.

It's been on my mind a lot recently, because we're about to exchange one box for another (and probably a further box to follow, but that's a tale for another day).  Not sure if they're both made out of ticky-tacky, but the place we're moving to, built in 2002, probably meets the description better than the 1876 crumbly we're leaving.  I don't think they knew what ticky-tacky was in them days.

But we've certainly experienced plenty of boxes looking the same, as this photo proves.

I have made up boxes, filled boxes, sealed boxes, carried boxes, stacked boxes, for days on end.  I hate boxes.  I am boxed out.  I crave box rehab.  Box me no more, don't cry for me argent boxes.  It's probably for the best that I didn't have enough time to watch the Grand Prix today because if I'd heard one driver being told to "box, box, box" I'd have punched the television (which I can't do because it's in a box).

But the end is in sight.  Here's the same view after two nice gentlemen, one of them a red headed Orcadian ( you felt the need to know that, didn't you?), picked up all of our boxes and stacked them in a very large and very dark blue, and very box shaped, lorry.

And.........

Relax

Until we have to start unpacking those bloody boxes again.....