Land Of My Fathers

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.