I went back to Edinburgh this weekend. It was the first time I'd been back to the place following the silly season that is the Fringe. Every year I go there knowing how the Fringe will turn me into an excitable buffoon, and every year I know that there'll be a post-Fringe come-down. Despite knowing this, every year it happens without fail and every year has a weird September as I readjust to life without the joys of August in Edinburgh.
Even though I live far too far away from this city of love, I went back to the scene of the crime only a few weeks after I was last there. It was good to wander around the place, rediscovering all the Fringe haunts as they now look, with the seasonal nonsense removed from them, and the more permanent Edinburgh, which sits underneath its annual summer costume, revealed. Edinburgh can tolerate such silliness, because it is old, wise and fun loving. Edinburgh is common sense and the silly season passes without tipping it into the insanity which I seem to throw myself into annually.
So, I feel more sane. It was good to pound the streets, full of the joy of being somewhere I like being, and see normality returned.
Having read a book recently in which the narrator climbed Arthur's Seat, I had decided that I'd like to do the same. My journey was accompanied by two lovely friends who live in Edinburgh year round and we reached the top without too much effort - on my part at least. The new-found healthiness means that I can scale minor hills without worrying too much. We got to the top, we saw the stunning view, we headed back down. At some point we found a big grassy bank and the girls decided to roll down it. I watched, my 33 years weighing me down as the sensible soul among these 25 year olds. Then one of them, suggested that she could take the coats and bags and that I should have a go.
I haven't laughed like that in ages. The sort of laughter that comes from the absurdity of doing something that makes you dizzy... for no reason at all. Highly restorative. Of spirits, at least. My hair ain't comin' back. No way. No how. No chance.
A gig in Glasgow on Saturday night to 12 people was another step along the route of the weekend. I decided to go predatory-flirty-camp and somehow confused even myself about how successful a strategy this was. Thankfully, I finished the show, packed my stuff and got out the place before making eye contact with the lady in question. I can do silly flirting in front of an audience for laughs, but quite frankly, when real people are involved, it's far too complicated.
Still, in my head now, I've turned the corner from minging to gorgeous.
This is not true.
Even though I live far too far away from this city of love, I went back to the scene of the crime only a few weeks after I was last there. It was good to wander around the place, rediscovering all the Fringe haunts as they now look, with the seasonal nonsense removed from them, and the more permanent Edinburgh, which sits underneath its annual summer costume, revealed. Edinburgh can tolerate such silliness, because it is old, wise and fun loving. Edinburgh is common sense and the silly season passes without tipping it into the insanity which I seem to throw myself into annually.
So, I feel more sane. It was good to pound the streets, full of the joy of being somewhere I like being, and see normality returned.
Having read a book recently in which the narrator climbed Arthur's Seat, I had decided that I'd like to do the same. My journey was accompanied by two lovely friends who live in Edinburgh year round and we reached the top without too much effort - on my part at least. The new-found healthiness means that I can scale minor hills without worrying too much. We got to the top, we saw the stunning view, we headed back down. At some point we found a big grassy bank and the girls decided to roll down it. I watched, my 33 years weighing me down as the sensible soul among these 25 year olds. Then one of them, suggested that she could take the coats and bags and that I should have a go.
I haven't laughed like that in ages. The sort of laughter that comes from the absurdity of doing something that makes you dizzy... for no reason at all. Highly restorative. Of spirits, at least. My hair ain't comin' back. No way. No how. No chance.
A gig in Glasgow on Saturday night to 12 people was another step along the route of the weekend. I decided to go predatory-flirty-camp and somehow confused even myself about how successful a strategy this was. Thankfully, I finished the show, packed my stuff and got out the place before making eye contact with the lady in question. I can do silly flirting in front of an audience for laughs, but quite frankly, when real people are involved, it's far too complicated.
Still, in my head now, I've turned the corner from minging to gorgeous.
This is not true.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home