I didn’t want to write this post because I felt in danger of being all like ”and then THIS happened, and then THAT happened” – aka, the blog equivalent of making someone sift through 18,000 of your unfiltered holiday snaps.
But I do have to write something, otherwise I’ll be leaving a gaping hole in this vague chronicle of my life. Plus, I need to move on with what’s on my mind now – or, rather, what should be on my mind now – which I fear I won’t be able to do until I tell this story.
So, in recounting the month that has just flown by, I’ll do my best to avoid the aforementioned pitfall of boring…
Let me preface this by saying that I’ve never done the full month of a festival before. Most I’ve ever done is two weeks. I’ve certainly never performed for 27 consecutive days before, as per our schedule for our Edinburgh Fringe debut.
So, based on my limited previous festival experience, I had the following expectations.
Cuisine a la Fringe
Expectation
I’ll get to cook healthy food in the apartment, thereby saving money and ensuring health simultaneously.
Reality
- Breakfast: Fruit and toast at the apartment (not the porridge I’d aimed for and quickly forgot about, but so far, so good)
- Lunch: Toasties from Baguette Express, paninis from Baguette Express, the occasional baguette from Cafe Lucano – all accompanied by these two phrases from me: “If I eat one more sandwich, I will turn into one” and “baguette-me-not”. And once or twice there was the gleaming beacon of lunchtime deliciousness that is M&S food court – thanks Suz!
- Dinner: something ready-to-go from the supermarket, pizza slice from the van outside the Gilded Balloon (have chilli oil stain on jeans to prove it… mmm, chilli oil), Susie’s Wholefood Diner vegetarian deliciousness (ah, my people…), carrot sticks and hommous (giving my people a bad name), or a French martini (What? There’s fruit in it…)
The apartment
Expectation
31 days in an apartment with 7 other girls. I’ll probably hate them all after this. And they’ll hate me. I’ll probably spend a lot of spare time in cafes with free wi-fi, blogging my gripes.
Reality
We are the Sisterhood of the Travelling Leggings-As-Pants. I heart each and every one of them (but not the leggings). Hopefully I was at least bearable in return (even if I used the phrase ”baguette-me-not” on a daily basis).
Also, we stole free wi-fi in the comfort of our own apartment for the entire month. Bam.
27 shows in a row
Expectation
Overkill and insanity
Reality
Had a freaking ball, night after night after night…
Special mention must go to closing night, when we all decided to go a bit bollocking crazy – the pronouncement of a ‘sexy eunuch’ before the madrigal, the utterance of “toots” after Belle’s butt-slap (this had been in the works for the full month), my own alterations involving the stepmother’s hand-mirror and an angry moonwalk from Aladdin, but most hilarious of all: Bella insisting Edward grab her boob in the Twilight sketch. Corpse-o-rama.
Houses
Expectation
Ooh, I dunno, it’s our first year… they say the average house at the Fringe is 6. Hopefully we won’t sink below 8. Every night I fear that we’ll turn around in the opening number and be taunted by that ironical icon, the tumbleweed.
Reality
Average house? 78!!! That means 2111 people came to our show!!! Ahhhhaaaaaa!!!
Will people like us in the ‘burgh?
Expectation
I suspect so, but you never know till you go.
Reality
Just for the sake of handy reference (yeah, right):
***** – The Edinburgh Guide
**** – Hairline
**** – The Scotsman (praise aside, this was a beautifully-written review – and so totally got us)
***** – one4review
***** and other cool stuff from Edinburgh Festival Insider
And a nice write-up from The Groggy Squirrel
Best of all, though, our audiences clapped and laughed and cheered and talked to us afterwards and came back again.
Expectation
Cute and fun idea of Brydie’s that the characters should have their own Twitter accounts. Might glean us a bit more attention.
Reality
Our supreme Twitter presence (at one point, we were the most Tweeted show at the Fringe) got us on the front cover of Scotland on Sunday‘s ‘Fringe Review’ lift-out – in full-colour, full-page glory!!! Ahhhhaaaaaa!!!
Flyering on The Royal Mile
Expectation
I’ll probably hate all humanity after this.
Reality
The first week, the sun was shining, punters were excited, performers were excited, everyone felt generous, and it was fun. But by week three, there’d been enough rain and enough refusals that it was hard not to be at least a teensy bit bitter when somebody blanked you or was needlessly smarmy at you – or handed you a flyer they’d just been given by someone else! If you don’t want to be flyered, don’t walk down the Mile at Fringe time!
Breathe, Daley, breathe…
Surprisingly, though, the most offensive people in the end weren’t punters, but other flyerers. You’d expect a camaraderie, no? And with the more civilised of us, there was. But scores of others would get in the way, or even interrupt our conversations with punters, in order to accost them with their own shows. So rude!
Anyone in a crawling tableaux wearing a lycra unitard (‘multi-tards’) is just asking to have their flyers lodged so far up their wahzoos they’d require intricate surgical removal. Heed this warning for future years.
However. Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, that you really just wanted to go back to Starbucks for a second nanna nap till showtime, someone would tell you that they’d seen the show and loved it. And with that, you could put your spruiking smile back on again with ease.
Edinburgh ghost tour
Expectation
It’ll be a bit creepier than the last time I did it because this one’s at night.
Reality
Someone threw up and fainted. It was like The Exorcist. I don’t want to talk about it.
The Chippendales
Expectation
Greasy, fake-tanned, steroid-infused stripping that we’ll all have to be quite drunk for, but a bonding exercise for us all to go see it together (plus it’s in our venue and, hence, free).
Reality
Firstly, my expectations were fulfilled, except that we were relatively sober – but I’m grateful for this because, whether intentional or not (suspect not), this show was a work of comic genius.
The slow-motion, deeply unco strip to Enrique Iglesias’ I Can Be Your Hero (which we determined – from the military garb, the Statue of Liberty lit up on the backdrop, and the oh-so-subtle American flag boxers - was a tribute to the heroes of 9-11) may be the funniest thing I will ever witness in my life. The mere thought of it still brings tears to my eyes. The rest of us should retire.
The Red Hot Chili Peppers concert
Expectation
It’s right in the middle of town, it wasn’t too hard to get tickets, and they were only £18 or so for general admission – amazing! Most of us are going, we’re all really excited, and having seen them years ago, I know they’ll do a great live show (even if singing is not Anthony Kiedis’ best talent). I can see us all singing along and moshing and having a great time – one of the highlights of the month. This will be awesome!
Reality
Turns out we didn’t have The Red Hot Chili Peppers tickets.
We had The Red Hot Chili PIPERS tickets.
Yes, that’s right – PIPERS. As in, BAGPIPES. As in, cheesy rock music featuring BAGPIPES. I write BAGPIPES in caps because a loud, obnoxious ‘instrument’ (a word I use in the least musical sense possible) calls for a loud, obnoxious font.
Do you know what I hate more than BAGPIPES?
Nothing.
So yeah.
French martini anyone?
