The Fringe

Whilst everybody who knows me well can confirm that I live in my head most of the time, my official residence (for the first seventeen years and a half years of my life at least) is in Edinburgh, Scotland. The 'burbs to be precise.

Living in a city such as Edinburgh is such an incredibly diverse experience. There's the wondrous splendour and decadence of the elite Edinburgh New Towners; the abject poverty and social exclusion of the deprived estates. The incredibly rich culture; the incredibly deep-set lack of education and awareness. Cities always seem to have a seedy side to them.

The light side of Edinburgh in without any doubt in my mind, a little thing called the Fringe. A festival that celebrates the nobodies of the entertainment world and is internationally renowned for discovering some of the newest talents.

As an Edinburger I would like to say that I take advantage of the Fringe as much as possible. That would, however, be a falsity. As with most city-dwellers I rarely take advantage of just how darned awesome by city is. How many Parisians visit La Louvre regularly?

This year I made a small effort to experience the Fringe, after all, this is my last year in Edinburgh for the time being at least.

My small effort consisted mainly of attending free comedy shows, being unable to refuse fliers for shows I had no desire of attending and buying a wonderful dress made from scraps from a wonderful Israeli woman despite the fact I neither needed nor could afford it.

Inevitably I have now fallen in love with Edinburgh all over again. How could I not love knowing the short-cuts through closes and wynds, having people tell me how they loved my accent and spending my afternoons drinking and listening to truly awful comedians performing truly awful sketches? Sure, there were moments when I felt like snapping and walking straight through those Japanese tourists taking a gazillion photos, sure I yelled like a crazy person at the man and woman taking a picture of the house I work in. (It was creepy, OK?)

But now the Fringe is over, the performers are leaving, the tourists have (thankfully) left. All of a sudden I seem to be the last person to leave a party. It is a strange feeling, being here even after the festivities are over. Still, there's always the next year, right?