Edinburgh Fringe Festival

Thursday 15th to Monday 19th August 2013

After my first ever attendance at the famed Fringe Festival in 2012 (where Lynne and I saw Al Murray with Louise and Paul), we decided to make slightly more of a thing of it the following year.  Whilst we are a bit slow on the draw in terms of booking acts, we nevertheless purchased tickets in advance for Rich(ard)s Herring and Hall.

We drove up on the Thursday, for which I have nothing to report, before heading to the beach on Friday morning on what was an almost-glorious day (almost because it was rather windy, not obvious from the blue skies here).  It was certainly very picturesque at North Berwick beach.

This is looking the other way, in case you were wondering what that view looked like.  The sea was fairly calm despite the wind.

This is the view of The Bass Rock (or sometimes simply The Bass, says Wikipedia) from the beach, where Lynne went for her 21st birthday, got seasick and had to eat chips to cure it.  (This is perhaps the memory her body had when enduring pregnancy many years later.)

This is another small island off the coast, this one a bit a closer and, seemingly, without a famous name.

The girls line up on the beach after a ceremonial dumping of the stuff on the sand.

Granddad Graham wandered off into the distance for some reason that I can't recall and, on his return, Daisy ran towards him with Grandma Avis in tow.

They strolled back together, thick as thieves.

Time for the obligatory sandcastle building, although the sand was a bit too soft here to be any good.  We needed to get closer to the water line to produce anything substantial, as indeed we would.

It all got too much for Daisy and Granddad Graham.  (We really should have brought something to sit/lie on.)

Gradually, as Daisy ran in and out of the sea, she got wetter and wetter, insisting that each damp item of clothing be removed.  She thus ended up in just her knickers, skipping gleefully in the shallow tide.

Running back, she dived headlong into the sand (or fell, I can't remember).  Having got wet in the sea, this meant she was now coated in sand.  Kids, eh.  There seems to be no sign of the other adults.

Back at the ranch for lunch, Aunty Lynne looks after a well-behaved Becky.

Taking turns, Granddad Graham does an excellent job of looking after Becky, trying the Sleep First And They Will Follow method.

That evening, the Friday evening, Lynne and I went to see Richard Herring's show, We're All Going To Die, his tenth consecutive stand-up show in ten years.  It was funny (although I later read on his long-running blog that he thought we were a "tough audience") with some neatly comic ideas explored about death.

Before the gig, we had met up with Messrs Barlow, Fletcher and others, who also happened to be in town having a quick pint in the gap our hectic schedules would allow (although our schedule was involved Daisy as much as comedy performances).  Mark emailed me their detailed itinerary, scribbled on a piece of paper (I'll try to get a copy for this site) but by that time it was difficult to actually find something that I could go to.

The only possibility of overlap was Adrienne Truscott, who was featuring at a local bookstore (although all the books had been removed - anywhere was being used as a venue for the purposes of a Fringe Festival.  I was a bit reluctant both because it was on late (and transportation back to Haddington was less than straightforward) and because it was about rape.  Nevertheless, it was acclaimed and you don't get many chances to do this kind of thing.

It was a small venue, seating maybe 30 people.  I had to hang around outside waiting for Mark and the gang to arrive (at one point, they thought they were too late and so nearly didn't come at all).  I was at least entertained while waiting by the preceding act, who was a semi-naked chef comedian who kept coming out into the street to chat to passers-by and people waiting (not me, as I was stood on the other side of the road).  Tickets to Adrienne Truscott were potentially available on the door, but pre-bought tickets took precedence.  It wasn't clear if I would make it in but they said I was part of their group of five but didn't have a ticket and I managed to get a seat.  It's not clear if I would have made it in otherwise.

The show itself was entertaining and somehow both as shocking as advertised (in one section, for example, she did a handstand while historical figures were projected around her naked crotch area, with her pubic hair forming their beards - you kinda had to be there) but also featuring much that was relatively straightforward stand-up comedy, albeit addressing an emotive issue.  She never completely railed against comedy formed around rape, instead seeming to take a more balanced view, i.e. there is place for extreme comedy but that such comedy could be done better.

We spotted a celebrity in our midst, Russell Kane, so I surreptitiously took a photo of him with Chris as a foreground focus.  My phone ran out of battery as I navigated to Waverley Station, getting the train back to somewhere in the middle of nowhere (not Haddington), where Graham was kindly picking me up.  The lack of battery, however, did mean that I had no way of telling those back home that I had made the train; well, until I asked a random person on the train if I could send a text (evidently this was too late, though).  The important thing is: I made it back.

The next day, we popped over to the Rowllings' household, "on the way" to the Ocean Terminal cinema.  I've highlighted "on the way" because we got stuck in horrendously bad traffic going across Edinburgh (such that it would have probably been quicker to head back to Haddington first) and we missed the film that we were intending to see (Despicable Me 2), instead watching Planes.  Coming here first did give Daisy another opportunity to play with Becky...

...at one point, offering up her Helly Kitty toy, which is A Big Thing.  Not that it was ever going to be a permanent offering.

Paul was perfectly happy doing the fatherly and uncle-ly thing, reading to Daisy whilst holding Becky, although Daisy did get distracted by the TV it seems.

At the Ocean Terminal, we only managed to get through about half of Planes, as Daisy did not want to stay for the full duration.  After we came out, she was keen to go on the rides, using full joystick control.

I quite liked the psychedelic feel of this photo, which is why I've included it.  The inevitable downside of letting Daisy go on these sorts of rides is getting her off them afterwards.

That evening it was time for home-made pie and mash, it looks like, washed down in my case with cans of Carlsberg.  I managed to get a semblance of pose from everyone.

The next day, the Sunday, our final full day here, we headed back to the beach.  Granddad Graham dug a large trench, seemingly for Daisy to climb into.  I managed to catch my shadow (accidentally) in the photo.

I saw Graham's trench and raised it into a... well, a more complicated construction.  It was something to do.

Here we see the fine contrast between the coat-wearing adults in the chairs (having learned the lesson of Friday) and Daisy in just her knickers (and, not pictured, me in a T-shirt and, probably, shorts).

There was only one thing for it - roll up your trouser legs and wade in the sea with Daisy.

It's a very northern British look, especially the contrast between the black trousers and whiteness of leg.

It was all too much for Daisy, who fell asleep almost as soon as she got into the car.

Later that day, the Rowllings came round, including Becky of course, enabling this sweet pose.

Before long (i.e. the next morning), we had to head home, stopping off at the garden centre as normal, giving Daisy the opportunity to go on the big slides.

And that, as they say, was that.

Back to the Secret Portal.