The Edge Of The Fringe

In a couple of days, it’ll be time to start dodging the second year drama students lying prone on the pavements pretending to be corpses, the strange mimes that appear out of nowhere and the person who dresses as Charlie Chaplin but carries a smell of stale sweat which you never experienced with the silent films…

Yup, it’s time to go to Edinburgh.

We missed last year’s Fringe Festival because we were being grown-ups and dealing with the realities of being made redundant in a very sensible way. We cancelled our plans to go and, like any sane person would do, purposefully avoided anything to do with the Fringe at all – which, when you get sent a Fringe guide for free because you’re on the press list, is a little bit tricky.

And, as it turned out, we didn’t need to cancel last year’s trip because redundancy didn’t come as soon as we initially thought it would and I was still gainfully employed at the time. It turns out we could have gone and had a great time and all that jazz, rather than spending the year telling each other that we’d done the right thing and maybe it was good to have a break away from it all and other motivational poster-esque turns of phrase.

And now, as I am still professionally resting, it totally makes sense for us to go and squander hundreds of pounds on a variety of things across the glorious city of Edinburgh including, but not limited to, a lot of macaroni pies and, if I can find out what it is Cariad Lloyd cites as the main reason to go to Edinburgh which is edible and very delicious looking, then a lot of them as well.

And some shows as well.

And maybe an escape room while we’re there. Why they hell not.

I think, this year, we’ve booked for about 28 shows. A large stack of tickets came through the letterbox a couple of weeks ago, anyway. There are several shows tucked in and amongst that are free (but not really free), so we’ll be up to our usual standards of hitting something around the 30-plus show mark for the week, while leaving time for the macaroni pies, the things Cariad likes and escape rooms as well.

Not to mention the inevitable trip to Greyfriars where we’ll stroll around the graveyard – as we always do – wary of the drunks that are lurking between the grave stones and slightly fearing for our lives or, like last time, answering with a nod when they shout out “alright, big maaan?” in between sniffs of an aerosol of some description.

And the Royal Mile. Home to the largest concentration of mimes, and second year drama students producing plays about the Salem Witch Trials (honestly, one year a flyerer told me I looked exactly like the sort of person who would enjoy a play based on the actual transcripts from the witch trials) or something about the futility of marriage or, worse, physical theatre about sex trafficking.

I have mentioned the macaroni pies, though, yeah?

Can’t bloody wait.