By: Lydia Crow

Taking the Piff
Saturday afternoon, ‘Taking the Piff’ by Stream of Piffle. In terms of consistency throughout the entire show, this had to be one of the best comedy shows I saw at the Fringe this year. It was topical and current, and didn’t patronise. Alright, I accept that meant that some of the audience probably didn’t get all the jokes, but I do like a good comedy show which assumes a certain level of intelligence. The football commentary which interspersed the show was slick. Goodness knows how long it took them to get it running that smoothly (though admittedly two or three weeks at the Fringe would mean any chinks had been ironed out by the time we saw it). There were plenty of sketches that left me smiling, but perhaps the controversial Macbeth denouement, delivered during a duel on Space Hoppers, was the most memorable. After all, we’ve all queried the rather dodgy ground of Macduff’s assertion that he was “from his mother’s womb/ Untimely ripped” as meaning he was not of a woman born. Haven’t we? No, just me then? Fair enough, but at least Stream of Piffle agreed with me that semantics at that point in the venture must have irritated and dismayed Macbeth somewhat.

The Warm Up Show
The Warm Up Show, at the White Horse on Cannongate, was a fair enough way to spend an hour though it has to be said that the compère was funnier than all the other performers. It also has to be said that I can’t remember too much about the content of some of the acts, except the bits I wish I couldn’t remember, though I do recall it did produce some laughter. Unfortunately, as the show before had been so funny, the humour was somewhat overshadowed. Nevertheless the comedians who performed did a good enough job though I have to confess I’ve seen better comedy, and better free comedy too.

Magpie and Stump
After a delicious meal at David Bann on St Mary’s Street (oh my, the chilli margaritas made to taste (hot, in my case) were divine), we headed to The Space in the Radisson to see ‘Magpie and Stump’. Despite there being a handful of jokes which you can imagine would have gone down better with their home crowd of University of Cambridge students, it was a good, solid show; the best by far being the individual who was more political in his material (even though, when asked, only myself and a couple of other audience members apparently knew who Charles Kennedy was). It was hard to follow one of the acts, who suddenly jumped into talking about himself as getting on a bit when he probably only started shaving two years previously; and the only female act was funny, even if the material would probably be more amusing for intelligent but repressed posh kids (oh, she’s talking about sex in a manner typically associated with how men are perceived to talk about sex, fair enough then): she also managed to put the back up of the only man in our group, but she was quite amusing and, generally, I found the whole show to be intelligent and genuinely funny. At one point, when a joke about the importance of punctuation was made (‘no fliers are double-sided’), all three of my companions did a slow head-turn to stare knowingly and sympathetically at me. I did notice, but was also busy screaming ‘exactly!’ at the stage and the audience in general. In any case, a fabulous time was had by all, and it was nice to bump into a couple of the lads at the end and discover that for the most part they genuinely seemed like lovely people. I do so like a comedian in waiting who isn’t a tortured soul.

Hey, Piano Bar Lady!
The following evening, after being undecided about what to watch in the afternoon for so long that by the time we’d decided the tickets had sold out, we headed to Henderson’s on Hanover/Thistle Street for a truly delicious meal (as you may have guessed from reference to this particular eatery and David Bann, two of our company were vegetarians). Afterwards, we disappeared downstairs to the wine bar to watch ‘Hey, Piano Bar Lady!’ by Linn Lorkin.

The odd show out in our comedy-influenced jaunt, the show was based on Lorkin’s years in New York and featured original music interspersed with stories of her ventures and years spent kipping on sofas and in accommodation where much was to be desired. Though none of the songs except the title piece (oft-repeated) really stuck in my mind afterwards, it was thoroughly enjoyable and as an entire event was fabulous fun and a great way to spend our last night in Edinburgh.

It certainly set my mind in motion, thinking of possibilities. By bed I’d sketched in my head an entire piano and vocal show based upon my own loves (so far), featuring stories of some of the men who over the years have been fortunate and unfortunate enough to accompany me along some of my travels in life. Before breakfast, I’d even met with one to pitch the idea (in rough theory) to him.

It’s still there, my idea, bubbling away. I like to judge when the time’s right to pursue certain projects and, right now, it’s not right for me: but, at some point in the future, don’t be surprised if it’s me you find singing in a cellar bar at the Edinburgh Fringe.

After all, at the end of the day, that’s what I love most about the Fringe. It always stirs something in you, and leaves it simmering away for the future. It may be over come September each year, but it never really leaves you.

By: Lydia Crow

I flew the second time. That is, the second time I went up to Edinburgh in August, I flew there. I have to say I’m not hugely keen on flying; it’s not that I freak out, I just go very, very quiet and listen to my music  if I’m not distracted by conversation. The friend who flew up with me first thing that Friday said afterwards, over coffee and almond croissant, that she’d never known me be so quiet for so long.

After breakfast we chucked the bags and headed straight out for a wander round the town (well, city), collecting fliers and letting people tout their creative wares. Walking down the Royal Mile collecting fliers and speaking to people about their shows is one of my favourite things about the Festivals, I love heading out with little or no plans for the day, not knowing which shows I’ll end up being convinced to watch.

Please Hold: You’re Being Transferred to a UK Based Asian Representative
The first show we ended up going to see was ‘Please Hold: You’re Being Transferred to a UK Based Asian Representative’, the first of two shows we saw back to back in the Back Room at Finnegan’s Wake. It was good-natured fun and the comedienne was a pleasant enough character, but it did lack some of the bite that could have been injected into it. Nevertheless, everyone seemed to enjoy the show and the performer was eager to chat with people afterwards, as much to dispel any myths about her religion as anything else. There were several times I genuinely laughed out loud (such as when she discussed her rather simple but endearing colleague who clearly misunderstood what could be inferred from a Muslim’s choice of headscarf colour on any particular day (“and then I realised, she thought I was a ninja…”)), and the rest of the time I was pleasantly smiling. So, all in all, a good-natured and fun half an hour.

Schoolbooks in Wallpaper
It’s always a good sign when a performer at the Free Festival chooses not to collect any donations as they’ve already made what they need to cover their expenses, as was the case for Ian Perth following his, quite rightly, successful Fringe debut ‘Schoolbooks in Wallpaper’. I’ve always enjoyed stand-up where a random idea is thrown out there to start with, encouraging much mirth in its own right, and then is referenced again right at the end of the show, resulting in one of those ‘ah, so that’s where he was going’ moments. Perth did this incredibly well, and en route took the audience on a laughter-filled tour of what it was like to grow up in Ireland in the 1980s. It was what I think of as traditional stand-up, with some audience interaction and lots of one-liners peppering the script of more convoluted tales of misadventure. I also suspect that, at some point or other, every audience member nodded knowingly at least once at some of Perth’s reminiscing, another sign of well-prepared comedy in my book. It moved at a great pace, it was packed with jokes, and everyone loved it. Success.

You For Coffee?
Oh, dear lord. And so to ‘You For Coffee?,’ an hour of stand-up comedy (at least that’s how it was billed) from Edmund Cox and Elise Harris. I have to say I’m not sure how this pair actually survived as long as they did, to make it to the last weekend of the Fringe, so I can only assume that (material aside) they were having a really, really bad day the afternoon we went to see their stand-up. Both of them. Individually. Really, really bad.

I don’t like being mean, I really don’t. It’s not in my nature. But I left feeling numb with shock at the verbal and visual abuse we’d suffered. I felt violated. And not in a good way.

Edmund Cox’s set was first. Let’s think of the positives. Right. Well, he knew all the words to sections of the Labyrinth. That’s good, right? As long as it’s in an endearing, retro sort of way? In fact I do feel slightly guilty that he asked for an audience member to participate in a Labyrinth recital/skit with him and I kept my head firmly down despite being able to quote the section to which he was referring (‘you remind me of the babe…’). (I don’t feel that guilty: my friend later did take pity on him and agree to help out with some audience participation with him and ended up being mildly insulted by him, an interesting tactic seeing as she was the only person who’d shown any heart towards the driver of this particular car crash.) In a bid to perhaps not say anything to negative, I’ll sum up Cox’s set like this: he started by putting both legs behind his head, and it went downhill from there.

Elise Harris, as the flyer I kept states, ‘is the winner of BBC Upstaged and the best actor at Supershorts Film Festival, with more than 5 million views on YouTube’, so I assume that Edmund’s opening set had knocked her off stride somewhat. I have to confess I can’t bring myself to search for Harris on YouTube in case the horror of that afternoon comes flooding back, but please do look her up. I admit that I left thinking she was actually even worse than Edmund, but actually upon reflection her material was actually at least verging on quite humorous. Perhaps it was just that afternoon’s delivery, the fact her ukulele (was it a uke? I seem to recall it was but in my bid to erase the event from my memory it could have been another stringed instrument) was badly out of tune which meant her song fell flat (no pun intended), or the fact that she actually entirely gave up on the last few minutes of the set and didn’t even finish, such as was the mood in The Banshee Labyrinth Music Room.

Bad Bread Presents TV Times
I will be eternally grateful, therefore, that the next creative fare we tucked into was of far, far better standard. ‘Bad Bread Presents TV Times’ was hilariously conceived and well presented. It was the perfect antidote to the earlier disaster and was slick in its delivery. The sketches were very amusing, and the running joke of ‘Carlsberg don’t do…’, which got more and more sharp throughout the show, underpinned the whole event well. Of course, they could have analysed their marketing strategy a little more: if you send out the baby-faced and conventionally aesthetically pleasing youngest member of a trio to distribute fliers, you’re going to end up with a cavern full of teenage girls who don’t all understand the best and most cutting parts of your show and instead laugh at the visual and more overt jokes, meaning any well-produced skit based on Freudian concepts or take on the Frost Report ‘I Know My Place’ sketch leaves only the four members of the audience over nineteen screeching with laughter. And it was quite frankly depressing how few of the teenagers got the whole Tarantino inspired Teletubbies tableau. Still, the whole show was hilarious, not least for built in but throwaway one-liners such as ‘last week Eeyore sold his tail for crack’.

By: Lydia Crow

I can’t believe it has taken me so long to sit down and write this. Believe me when I say I feel more than a little embarrassed that, over two months after the Edinburgh Festivals have finished, I’ve only just managed to put fingers to keyboard.

I suppose I could pretend it’s deliberate. I could say that, several weeks after the event(s), I wanted to return to those creativity-crammed few days to remind myself of the delights and the definitely-not-delights (yes, sadly this year there was one of those): but I can’t lie to you. I have to confess that in the midst of all the excitements and craziness of the last few months I have had little time to write. That would be sad, except for the fact that now I do have time; I have energy; and I have inspiration.

I ventured north to Edinburgh twice this August: firstly, on my own for less than forty-eight hours; and secondly with a group of rather fabulous individuals for a long weekend.

The first time was in mid-August, after all the festivals had started (some only days earlier) and were relatively fresh and new. The fliers which were enthusiastically jabbed in my direction walking down the Royal Mile weren’t at that point cluttered further by scraps of paper stapled to them, quoting reviews of the shows, like they were when I visited with my friends at the end of the month. It is part of the natural metamorphosis of the Edinburgh Festivals; as the days progress the fliers grow from pristine, untouched, to being adorned with typed reviews complete with their own personal miniature constellations.

Like the previous year I had gone with part purpose, and part intention to wander and absorb, seeing what was on offer at the last minute. I suppose, thinking about it, that’s quite representative of my personality: I like to plan things, yes, but really only so I can be organised enough to pack in as much as possible, snatching any spare moments and spontaneously cramming them with tiny adventures.

My purpose in mid-August was two-fold: Evelyn Evelyn, and Neil Gaiman. I arrived early morning, and promptly ditched my luggage at the hostel where I was planning to spend the night before heading out to grab a coffee, which I sipped slowly in Princes Street Gardens as Edinburgh started waking up properly. I sat there, on my leather jacket on the bench that had still been damp from the previous night’s dew, and drank slowly, watching the weak, early morning summer sun filter through the trees. People in suits and work clothes starting tripping past, in a rush, chatting on mobile phones or gulping down their takeaway drinks as they scanned the day’s headlines from the papers clutched in their hands. It was almost as if the world was speeding up around me, while I continued to sit there until long after my coffee had gone too cold to finish, just watching everything and everyone.

I spent most of the morning wandering around, soaking up the atmosphere of my favourite city once again, and drinking in coffee shops and scribbling away in my notebook. There have been many times a scrap of an idea has occurred to me in such circumstances which has later developed into a fully formed scheme or plan. I’m perhaps being overly romantic to say I owe most of my initial fragments of ideas to time spent holed up in eateries and drinkeries in Edinburgh, but it does sometimes seem that way.

Neil Gaiman
Eventually, after more caffeine than is possibly good for me, I ended up at Charlotte Square Gardens to hear Neil Gaiman be interviewed by Audrey Niffenegger. It was as good as I’d hoped for and more. Being eternally fascinated by mythology and folklore (themes which seem to permeate most of my writings, consciously or unconsciously), it thrilled me to discover that the first half of the talk centred upon fairytales. I could go on, I could go into detail about what was said: or I could direct you to this link where you can listen to the event itself. Ensure you do.

By late afternoon, after only having had an hour or two of sleep the night before, I decided to head back for a kitten nap before Evelyn Evelyn in the evening.

Evelyn Evelyn
I’m always a little bit apprehensive about going to watch artists I admire and whose work I enjoy, as there’s always that concern that I might be disappointed. The performance might not be up to scratch, there might be a distinct lack of artist engagement with the crowd, I might get that unsettling feeling that, somehow, something was wrong and it was all just a gaudy, hollow sham. This fear partly stems from the fact that I don’t understand the concept of celebrity. I like interesting people, people who are their own people, people who do things their own way. And so, being an admirer of several of the things that Amanda Palmer has done (or, at least as equally, the way in which she has done them), I was almost nervous about the evening’s billing.

I needn’t have worried: the show was everything I’d not quite dared to hope it would be. The atmosphere was fantastic, the camaraderie of the crowd in the queue outside was heart-warming, and the entertainment value was about as high as you could imagine. There was something so perfectly timed about the dark humour of the parapagus tripus dibrachius twins, that even when things appeared not to be going entirely to plan you were never quite sure whether the seamless reactionary skit that followed was deliberate or not. Watching them both (one arm each) play their instruments was a delight, especially the moment where a third arm sneaked out from their shared dress to hold the ukulele (a video of which I’d seen on YouTube, and which was even funnier live). All in all, I was left with a feeling of pure delight mingled with sheer relief. My one regret is that I missed Amanda Palmer’s and Jason Webley’s solo shows in the days that followed.

I would have stayed after the show to sneak a peek at the prototype for the Evelyn Evelyn graphic novel which, at that point in mid-August, had just been pulled together; but I was meeting a friend, so finished the night off with a drink or two in George Square Gardens and Udderbelly instead.

The next day I decided to go for a walk and explore parts of Edinburgh to which I hadn’t yet been, which resulted in me walking constantly for two hours and ultimately (but, fortunately, temporarily) getting delightfully lost. Afterwards I visited the Writers’ Museum in Lady Stair’s Close. The museum is a lovely little place, housing exhibitions about the lives of Walter Scott, Robert Burns and Robert Louis Stevenson and, this time, my visit was made even more delightful by a chance encounter with a gentleman from Shetland (the second of two gentlemen from Shetland I randomly chatted to in Edinburgh in less than twenty-four hours).

I love Lady Stair’s Close, namely because it houses not only the Writers’ Museum but also the Makars’ Court with its carved paving slabs, engraved with the words of writers from days of yore and not so yore, including the delightful quote from Nan Shepherd, ‘It’s a grand thing to get leave to live’; and the sheer emotive magic of George Mackay Brown’s ‘In the fire of images gladly I put my hand’ (from the poem ‘Hamnavoe’, written about his father: go read it now).

Michael J Dolan’s Dress to Impress
As the afternoon started to roll towards evening I found myself in the White Horse, ready to partake in a little of Michael J Dolan’s ‘Dress to Depress’. I sometimes find that comics fail to strike a pleasing balance between doing an act which is effectively one long grumble (funny or not) and then actually appearing to be a rather grounded and engaging person. Michael J Dolan managed to get it just right. His tales of misery were amusing, even if some members of the audience of which I was part didn’t seem to find them so (I swear some people turn up to free Fringe shows just to try and be as thoroughly grumpy as they can, to put the comics off), and at one point I actually screeched with laughter at the end of a carefully crafted and well-delivered comment about eating babies. And then, at the end of the show, he was there with the bucket at the back, looking thoroughly grateful that people had turned up and laughed. All in all, I thought as I sat sipping a whisky in the bar at the station later that evening, a great way to finish off the first instalment of my Festival adventures.

By: Lydia Crow

The Cast and Crew
Well, actually they’re one and the same group of people. Before we set off on our adventures tomorrow, I thought you might like to know which of your contributors are heading up north, and for how long. It’s a select group of three (at present), or, I suppose, really two if we’re talking in contributor-terms: myself and Vague. The third member of our trio is the inimitable Timity. Some of you may recall his appearance on these pages before.

As for how long, the plan is that we stay there for three nights. Timity and I are heading up on the train at lunchtime tomorrow, complete with an exciting Famous-Five-esque picnic, and Vague is following late in the afternoon. Upon arriving, Vague has approximately thirty-five minutes tomorrow evening to chuck his bag and get ready for Smoke and Mirrors, which starts at 10pm in the Spiegeltent in George Square Gardens.

Though we have a couple of vague (no relation) ideas about what we want to do, the only other show we’re booked in to see so far is Kevin Eldon’s short but sweet (so we’re told) standup on Monday.

So there you go: that’s the essence of the plan so far. We’ll be in touch again tomorrow. Needless to say, given my love for Edinburgh, I’m just a little excited…

Lydia x

Hurrah for Adventures!
Well today is finally here, the first day of this year’s Edinburgh Festival-ivities. Just a brief note for those following ShiverWriggle on Twitter: further to the cast list below, you’ll be able to tell who’s tweeting by the intitial at the end of the post. Happy Friday, one and all!

Lydia x

The First Day
Well, that’s the first day done.   I’m currently curled up with my second cup of tea of the morning, having finished off my cheese on toast, and trying to remember all of yesterday’s delights. There were plenty.

I always enjoy train journeys, and yesterday’s was no exception. It helped that I’d packed an awesome picnic for Timity and I to tuck into. In best Famous Five style, there was ginger beer (alcoholic, though – which possibly isn’t quite like the Famous Five), fresh bread packed with tangy cheese and deliciously ripe tomatoes (seasoned with a dash of salt, naturally), cocktail sausages, mozzarella and sun-ripened tomatoes, marinated Greek olives and followed by a bar of white chocolate and fresh fruit salad. Along with the delicious picnic, we met several interesting people on the train, including a stag party heading for Newcastle who charmed the carriage with a twenty-minute bout of impromptu karaoke (well, I found it charming anyway).

On arrival at Edinburgh we headed to our apartment (I’ll pass judgement on that at the end of our stay, but we’ve stayed before and it hasn’t disappointed yet), chucked the bags, had a rather delicious and much needed cup of tea, and then headed out to collect our tickets for the shows from The Fringe Box Office. Along the way we deliberately sauntered down The Royal Mile, grabbing every flyer going and chatting to the performers, quizzing them and anyone we spoke to for recommendations.

After a brief shop and return to the flat, Timity and I headed out to see Richard Dawkins Does Not Exist.  All in all, it was enjoyable; the performers were quite engaging and humorous, and the script (for it was definitely a script-led show, something the performers themselves acknowledged on more than one occasion) was mostly well-structured. There were clearly some friends of the performers in the audience to our left, laughing before some of the most humorous points had even been delivered; and there were also some hardcore mathematicians in the audience, picking holes in the arguments.  Mostly though, everyone seemed to enjoy it. The venue, the Ballroom in the Voodoo Rooms, was packed and fine for the performance (even though the world’s thinnest chairs had been laced together so each audience member was rather close to their neighbour(s)). Timity particularly enjoyed overhearing an audience member after the show exclaim ‘Man! There was some seriously messed up maths in there!’

And so to Waverley Station for a brief whisky (or beer, for Timity) prior to meeting Vague; and then a brief return to the flat before heading out to the Spiegeltent for Smoke and Mirrors.

Smoke and Mirrors. Wow. Absolutely fantastic, the venue was brilliant and almost surreal. As Vague pointed out, you could feel the history. The audience was great, really getting into the show from the very start. And the show was quite simply amazing. The acrobats were phenomenal, and carried off their act with confident charm, the trapeze artist certainly attracted the attention of the two men in our group, the tapdancer was entertaining, and the magician left us desperately trying to figure out one or two parts of his act. The music was fantastic. The Bearded Lady’s solo in the second half quite rightly gained a stunned but huge round of applause, and the host was brilliant throughout, flipping from bawdy comedy through to the other extreme: the final song pretty much had me staring wide-eyed, mouth partly open in surprise. Throughout the whole performance I only noticed one mistake. It was all phenomenal.  It was odd stepping outside, returning to the every-day (as much as the Spiegel Garden counts as the every-day).

And so we finished off the night dancing away quite happily in The Jamhouse, or at least as much as our feet could manage, and chatting with an old friend. And then it was time for a burger and bed.

There you go.  After all that excitement, my body also decided at eight this morning that three and a half hours sleep is plenty for now, so I’m heading out for more fun.

Lydia x

The Second Day
I thank the late-night burger for ensuring at least not all of us had hangovers on Saturday morning. After a leisurely(ish) morning, we set sail for Pizza Hut (yes, I know – we should have gone somewhere unique to Edinburgh, but when you’ve been drinking you just crave certain things) for a tasty brunch of, erm, pizza, obviously.

We then tripped along to Dirty Dicks, a delightful little place on Rose Street that, due to circumstances relating to a previous visit, has been labelled by some The Anger Bar. Given this, Vague was particularly delighted to discover they were serving a beer entitled Bitter and Twisted. It’s the small things.

After a disco nap, we went to see Continent by Cava, a Japanese comedy mime troop who were absolutely fantastic. It had been recommended by some ladies Vague became briefly acquainted with at the Spiegeltent the night before, and I have to say it might not have drawn our eyes otherwise amidst the huge array of festival delights. But it was well worth the ticket price, being all-round fabulous and a lot of fun. Above all else, though, the most impressive part was the relentless activity. One of the actors never stopped somersaulting/dancing throughout the entire routine. Amazing.

And so to The Beautiful People Bar which was, predictably, full of the Beautiful People. Some delicious wine was drunk by all before an early night (or morning, in truth) in anticipation of the next day’s events (but not until the second burger of the weekend had been consumed).

Lydia x

The Third Day
Sunday morning saw us all refreshed and tucking into a rather delicious breakfast at The Filling Station before heading to The Abbotsford on Rose Street (which houses a rather fabulous whisky collection), where Timity inquired as to which of the ales the barman recommended. The poor guy launched into a ten minute spiel of the pros, cons and taste of each before Timity replied, without the slightest irony, ‘I’ll have the Festival Frolics please; it’s got the word ‘festival’ in the title’. Our stay in that pub also resulted in some rather amusing and predictably bawdy limerick writing, some of the results of which are perhaps better never mentioned again.

Nerds of a Feather was next, Chris Stokes and Graham Goring both telling their tales of geekdom in rather different, if both amusing, ways. Stokes was more the traditional stand-up, and did have me in stitches with his Edward Jones / Edward John Smith skit, amongst other gags. It was all delivered in that almost-deadpan-but-still-engaging manner which some comedians have, and he managed to pull it off without being too condescending. Graham Goring, on the other hand, did make you feel a little more like he was judging every single person there – but that fitted with his routine which was so cleverly peppered with visual images, all very amusing. He did cover religion in a nearly-predictable manner, but that can be forgiven if only for the impressive extent of his amusing slideshow presentation.

After a drink or two at Bannerman’s we set off for Lewis Barlow’s magic show, which was all in all fairly fun. It was very impressive to see close-up magic done so well and so (um) close-up, and for that alone it was worth the ticket price. There weren’t, however, too many surprises – though it was clearly impressive enough that some in the audience were returning visitors.

Dinner was at the delightful Itchycoo, one of my favourite ever restaurants. The savouries were as sublime as ever (we had stir fries and curry), but the desserts, particularly the cheesecake, surpassed even them. The undoubted highlight of the meal, however, was the fabulous waiter. He is possibly one of my highlights of the entire weekend – you won’t understand if you weren’t there, but you’ll just have to take my word for how funny and engaging he was. A star all round.

After dinner we decided to return to The Beautiful People Bar, but it was fairly subdued (a mood that permeated our party) so we ditched that for Whistlebinkies, a place which I can never decide whether I truly and unashamedly love, or whether it’s a guilty pleasure. Needless to say it delighted as always. The introduction of a huge beast of a Swedish-Real-Life-Viking who Timity persuaded to arm wrestle Vague definitely added to the hilarity. The evening passed with new friends and giggles, and most of the early hours of the morning did too – in fact enough hours that even the burger joint we’d frequented the previous two nights was closed by the time we each respectively made it back to the apartment.

Lydia x

The Last Day
And so it was, with too little sleep and too many aches and pains, that we woke on Monday morning. Our final day, for which we had reserved the pleasure of Kevin Eldon (so to speak).  And a pleasure it was – at times I laughed so hard I almost cried (yes, clichéd, but appropriate). He was fabulous, his impressions were brilliant and the loose themes were entertaining: the highlight, however, was definitely the amusing songs with which he regaled his audience. The songs, and perhaps also his fabulous poet-warm-up-act. The perfect way to finish off the Festival-ivities…

…though technically we did also partake in a drink in The Newsroom, sipped in knackered but friendly silence, as we waited for the train down south.

All in all, one of the best weekends of my life for one reason or another. Fabulous company, fabulous atmosphere and fabulous entertainment – all in my very favourite city. I can’t wait to go back. It never disappoints.

Lydia x

By: Lydia Crow

“Making any return visit (which they all have been since some time in the 1980s) to my favourite city always strikes me a little bit like returning to the arms of an old or past lover. Things have changed, yet there is a shared familiarity between the two of you. I can feel her looking at me, eyeing me up and down and noticing the extra few pounds I’ve put on or lost, noting the deeper creases in the corners of my eyes and, most importantly, searching my eyes themselves; looking for clues of the experiences, both joyful and painful, that I’ve absorbed since the last time we met. And I do the same to her. I look for the deeper scars that time has created and take in her latest outfits, her current guise.” (Edinburgh, 9th April 2009)

As you well know, a group of us visited Edinburgh towards the end of August in order to start the big shout (note the lack of capitals and all this infers).

I always think Edinburgh’s one of those cities that’s just dripping in interestingness. I love how you can walk down the same street a dozen times and notice something new each time. I love how there’s always something exciting to do. I love the fact that, even if you’re crazyunique, it just doesn’t matter – to anyone, not just you.

I suppose for me it represents a form of escapism. I don’t think I’ve ever been as comfortable in my own skin as I have done when I’ve been alone in Edinburgh. It’s like being lost in a good way. I think part of it is the anonymity of the place. Obviously, particularly in the centre, this owes a lot to the tourist industry but this doesn’t bother me (and logically shouldn’t bother anyone seeing either as, if we’re talking in terms of economy, without it the city would not be able to sustain herself as she currently does). Three years ago I almost moved there. As it happened I didn’t, but there’s still currently a 63%-68% chance I’ll move there at some point in the future.

So it was utterly delicious to be back there in August. From the live music on Thursday night, starting in The Ark being delighted by Neoviolet (amongst others), to the Enchanting Evening (the official title we gave the evening) that was Friday night, through to mixing with The Beautiful People on Saturday night – and all the daylight hour delights that also awaited us – we can honestly say much fun was had by all.

If you want to know where to go, then buy a guide book. You’ll be able to make your own impartial judgment that way; but if you want pointers I’d have to suggest the culinary excitements of Itchycoo on the High Street (which, by the way, has probably the happiest waiter I’ve ever met), the delectable ambience of Tempus on George Street, the well-stocked bar that is Dirty Dick’s on Rose Street, and the musical thrill that is The Jazz Bar on Chambers Street. Oh, and visit The Old Town Bookshop on Victoria Street. And Camera Obscura near the castle.

And just walk and walk and walk and soak it all up.

Ok, I’m going to stop now. Otherwise I suspect I may end up booking a one-way ticket back there…

Lydia x