Edinburgh Fringe - Day 2 - Sunday

Probably the least eventful or interesting day, but bare with me, sure I can drivel on about it for a fair old while.

After the offensively late night Saturday, my body decided it would be a good idea to refuse further sleep at 8:30, meaning at most 3 hours recharge had been accrued. Nevertheless I was actually feeling pretty darn good. Oh yeah, get me. Perhaps it was some kind of subconscious determination to show I could still hack it on my very last day as a 27 year old.

Once everybody had arisen the decision was made to go to our first (proper-ish, in that we had to pay) show. Even though at this point we had next to no idea where the hell we were supposed to be going, and how long this would take, we set the tone for the rest of the week; leaving slightly later than would have allowed us to get to our destination comfortably on time. After a long, fast and not necessarily direct march to the theatre, intermittently checking iPhone maps, we arrived, around 10 minutes late. Oops.

The show was mostly good. Although the compere’s M.O. appeared to be to ask people their occupation before spouting mostly unfunny blather about that line of work. The first of the 3 acts was a dweeb (yes I did use that word) whose routine was mainly highlighting his life of dweeb-ness, but he was quite funny to be fair to the lad. The second was a tall thin Jewish (she kept pointing this out) comedian who went for the sick and wrong angle. We liked her. The last guy was brilliant, and despite having a minor breakdown half way through after he had begun to try and chat a girl in the front row up, he made me laugh plenty. I have since discovered his name is Jonathan Elston but the stuff of him on youtube doesn’t really do him justice.

After the show, and after getting a hot dog from a couple of posh students who must have been the least efficient street vendors to have ever graced this Earth, we attended another compilation show, this time free. At this point I would have seriously considered giving my left (or right) testicle to have the ‘ask about jobs’ guy back; the M.C. was unbearable. Now I appreciate she had to look somewhere, but surely she could have picked a space towards the back, or switched her gaze from person to person around the room? Apparently not, and the lack of choice of seats on our arrival (almost late again) meant that I was in the hot spot to allow every single moment she was there for her to be staring right at me. This coupled with the fact that she wasn’t funny, was annoying and had a voice that could be compared to a dying peacock on helium made things somewhat uncomfortable. I tried to feign a chuckle every now and then and attempted to maintain a bit of a smile as much as possible but she must have known I thought she was shit. This photo might give you an idea of my ordeal (note; the guy on the left is NOT, repeat NOT me):

(although I could probably do a pretty good impression of him:)

This show was pretty average apart from one young Scottish guy who was apparently performing comedy for the very first time and was really funny. Give him the M.C. job next time.

After a bit of a wander, a pint at a pub next to a shop that constantly pissed annoying bubbles in your face and then some pizza at the aparttment we got actual tickets to what would be our first proper show – ‘Talking cock’ by Richard Herring. I had liked this guy’s stuff for a while and since it was my suggestion I was somewhat anxious about the show being good, or else I would have unnecessarily cost a load of mates £14 each. Thankfully he didn’t succumb to this immense pressure and delivered, or at least nobody called me a twat for the recommendation (although they probably called me a twat for other things). The show was funny and interesting and you could definitely tell the difference between this in terms of style, delivery, content, etc. and the cheaper/more amateur stuff we had seen. He made a couple of references to a guy who had written to him about having spooned jelly into a toilet roll tube to perform sex acts upon it. After having found copious amounts of jelly in my cupboard months earlier the bucket was certain that this was either me or that this is what I do. Wrong bucket…………..I have to use a kitchen roll tube (wink).  Or is it a thimble? I forget. And for the record I like EATING jelly and it was on offer.

Although talking cock finished pretty late, a few of us were hungry for more (entertainment that is, not cock, although Ronald did have a bit of a twinkle in her eye) and found a show that felt like it was about 15 storeys below ground, but was surprisingly almost full. Now that we were officially fringe festival pro’s, the front row was a must. That and the fact that we got asked to sit at the front and didn't dare do otherwise. The show was 2 women (above) doing some stuff on bad advice who were generally excellent.....................

………………………………… apart from the fact that one (left) had a massive build up of saliva in her mouth the whole time she was performing. That might seem like an odd thing to say but after the show everybody who went commented on it,  so ner ner ner ner ner. Maybe that's what the beer can and wine bottle are strategically positioned for. I think what she was saying might have been funny but all I could think about was 1- does she know her mouth is full of saliva? 2- why doesn’t she have a drink? 3- kissing with that girl must be like kissing a rabid llama? 4- why is the amount of saliva increasing and getting thicker and dryer? 5- what if some drops out on me? 6- why doesn’t she have a drink? Maybe this helps explain it http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yVlkuGygLdw .

After this it was home time – tomorrow was the big day……………………………..(Monday), and the day before Gibbo’s birthday, and a month after Fab's, but nothing else.

Day 3 to follow shortly, now where's my jelly spoon

Edinburgh Fringe - Day 1 - Saturday

The time had finally come to head off for our long awaited and well-earned (in some cases) trip to the Fringe festival in Edinburgh.

So with bags packed (kinda) and excitement just about nullified by the severe fatigue of a mental week of work trying to get everything done in time, we set sail.

The drive to Edinburgh was scheduled to be around five and a half hours, but thanks to the delightful company of the Teen Wolf and Digger it absolutely (but not literally) flew. Highlights of the journey included TW getting reassured/chastised by the Digger as follows: “you are worse than you are”! Maybe this follows some kind of woman logic to which I am not clever nor experienced enough to understand, but what the poor lad was supposed to do about it I really don’t know. Regardless he appeared to take it in his lupine stride, as Jenny did of my 10 minutes or so of following hysterics.



"Howl?"

  

Another possible item of note from the journey was the apparent frightening plummeting of standards, the closer that we got to Edinburgh. At one point what I initially announced as a ‘definite no’ somehow metamorphosed into the woman of my dreams within the space of about 100 metres drive. I should point out that this was within a traffic jam, but still, the upper/lower-brain power struggle seemed to be swinging violently south as we travelled north. Could be dangerous but could also make for an interesting week. It was the Teen Wolf's turn to laugh at me.

Another highlight of the trip was the crazy detour we took when the traffic halted for longer than our attention spans could handle just North of Newcastle. We did what any sensible people would do and took the unanimous snap decision to follow what I can only describe as a large agricultural monster down miles of single-track country road in an optimistic attempt to shave time off our journey. The oncoming traffic had little choice but to fully mount the grass verges to let him (and by extension us) through. We, like the wimpy kid who hangs around with the Hard nut, followed our gargantuan chaperone with ecstatic impunity. “In your face oncoming traffic, these roads belong to us” may have summed up our contempt for those unfortunate enough to happen across our impromptu convoy. The glee was short lived however as shortly after rejoining the A1, having saved what I am sure could have been up to 1 minute with our detour, the source of the delays were revealed. It appeared that a motorbike and car had collided. The car was in a bad way and little remained of the bike. I won’t dwell, but it is alarming how such a sight can jolt one into the heightened care and attention that we should probably all observe as a standard, but even more so how rapidly one drifts back to their normal driving mode. Somehow (and you wouldn’t believe it if you had seen the wreckage), mercifully it appears there were no fatalities http://www.northumbria.police.uk/news_and_events/media_centre/news_releases/details.asp?id=64192

You may accept this as your official instruction to be more careful forthwith.

We kept passing signs that said ‘emergency layby’. I suggested it might be funny if somebody added an ‘a’ to these. Me and my lip eh? no? oh ok then, whatever. TW didn’t quite get it but still laughed at the thought of an emergency ladyboy, which wasn't the joke I was going for but I suppose made the efforts worthwhile. Eventually we arrived in Edinburgh. Despite my expectations and the weather reports it was glorious sunshine! Either we had got very lucky or the Scottish tourism board are doing an especially crappy job with portraying their nation’s climate.

The apartment seemed to be in a pretty nice area, and inside (after the initial hour long challenge of making it in and help from insane eastern european staff) was relatively impressive. The view from our balcony was to die for…….

Although on the down-side the Boys room consisted of 3 sets of bunk beds crammed into what would perhaps be an average double sized room, necessitating the need to perform a Zoidberg-like side-shuffle to get to the far end. We selected our beds; I entered into my usual relentless over thinking process before choosing the lower bunk of the bed furthest from the door. I ended up with Ballie above me (whom I was fairly confident was not a bed wetter); Bendtner was below TW and Fab below Jimmy. Ballie put forward his revolutionary idea of a ‘buddy system’ in which bunk partners would be responsible for the safe return of one another during the inevitable drunken adventures of the forthcoming long weekend.

Objective 1 – acquire sustenance; achieved with great ease with the assistance of our official pack mule and phallic cucumber model (see images).

Upon leaving the shop, we noticed a local, looking and talking into a shop window. Jim had got the closest to this action and was able to reveal that this individual was in fact having an argument with his own reflection. Brilliant! Jim and I crossed the road to discreetly observe the situation from a safe distance. Ballie thought a better ploy might be to stare directly at it. Cucumber and all. There were various points where he shaped to throw a punch at his imaginary adversary, alas after a few minutes it seemed that the pair weren’t getting anywhere with their feud so we headed off. I hope that the man in the mirror was asking the poor sod to change his ways. Perhaps he was offering knowledge of who was the fairest of them all (more to follow on this conundrum on day 3). I suppose we shall never know how this ended. Not well I assume.

Objective 2 – get on it……………!

After dinner we ventured out to explore the city and sample some of its culture (by which I mean dingy bars).

You know the rest.

The dance floor of the club that we ended  up in (Garibaldi I think) had a pole. This took the biscuit. Now Fab is generally quite a low-key chap, but this pole turned him into an animal! Most of our party went home between 3 or 4 but Fab was intent on making the most of this night and feverishly insisted that the two of us continue. Never had I seen such admiration of his subsequent moves, the female bystanders just couldn’t get enough of it. I’ve seen strippers with less proficiency on a pole. Had he been practicing for a secret burlesque act? Or perhaps moonlighted as a fireman, for whom the trip down to the engines was just not sufficiently spicy? A further couple of hours of (questionable from both of us I am certain) dancing followed. About an hour into which Fab asked where everyone else was. After I filled him in he couldn’t understand why we had not gone with them. I couldn’t quite decide whether I should be frustrated or amused. Next came a vanishing act as soon as efforts we had been making with a couple of patrons looked to have bore fruit. I would Judge but frequently display significantly less logic in similar situations, and people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones (or should that be people arguing with glass shop fronts shouldn’t throw punches?). After our eventual exit and a bit of fun and games getting our bearings, we managed to get in at about 05:30. And there it was, a glorious and triumphant embodiment of standing up for what you believe in – Ballie; clinging to the tatters of the buddy system which he held in such high regard and would not allow to fail, half awake on the sofa (with a Gibbo as a duvet). Kudos. We had been given a taste of Edinburgh……..and quite frankly I liked it.

Tags: Gibbo, Bendtner, Fab, Ballie, Bucket, Jim, Welsh, Take-over, Big Ronald, Teen Wolf, Digger,

Highlights: Fab+pole, Edinburgh at night, reflective arguments

Low-lights: The first comedy act we stumbled upon really was not the best! (name forgotten), 6 men in a small bedroom

Lessons learnt: The buddy system is ineffective but has its heart in the right place, Long Drives can be ok if the company is right, Scotland can be sunny.

I'll leave you with this picture from the Edinburgh trip which made me smile for the caption competition :

More to follow...................