Edinburgh. A yeasty
smell from the brewery hovers over the city and my stomach bunches up in
response. It was here that my father and mother met; it was here my sister was
educated to a ridiculously high level to the point where she realised I was an
idiot; it was here 3 years ago that the play Talking Birds (which featured a
couple of birds that talked - magical realism was kind of hot 3 years ago)
fought for its audience share, and fought hard too - on occasion the audience
outnumbered us, and provoked the mighty Guardian critic Michael Billington to
boldly announce the arrival of a 'highly original' company*; it was here,
sitting in my grandfather's kitchen, that I heard the news that Elvis Presley
had died and my grandmother claim it was because he didn't eat porridge.
Perhaps she was right.
This year it is
merely a social visit and a chance to catch some shows liberated from the
unprepossessing character flaws which sometimes spoil a good fringe - envy,
paranoia, insecurity, status anxiety, gluttony, etc. Actually gluttony's still with
me on this trip.
I plan to watch The
Cheese Shop who are at the Gilded Balloon (Dave and Gordon were the original
birds who talked but for now, curiously, find the world of radio and television
more lucrative than devised theatre), and at the same venue is a promising
young comic called Simon Pegg, who is almost certainly a flash in the pan, but
it's good to show support to such people before they slide back to their jobs in
loss adjusting. Someone called Bill Bailey is also doing a show, he could
probably use the audience too.
Theatre wise, I'll
try and catch the new Grassmarket Project, 20-52, at the Traverse, but also the
David Greig written show for Suspect Culture. I've got a lot of affection for
Suspect Culture. We shared a venue once - one of those masonic lodges that
become theatres in August - and at the after show party David Greig worked the
turntables while Graham Eatough danced like a dervish. So much so that I saw
what I hope was a moment of bliss shine through the eyes of Sarah Kane. Or it
could've been a reflection from the glitter ball.
* Ed's note: this
quote would be used for a decade.
