Cut My Fringe

Well, the Edinburgh Fringe Festival is finally drawing to a close, can you believe it? Yes, probably. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility. Otherwise it’s an international arts festival that goes of forever. While that’s no bad thing, I think Scottish people would grow weary of people on stilts handing out flyers for Japanese espressive puppetry for eternity. To be fair; I think they’re sick of it now, but they’re doing well to disguise it.

The fact that we’ve been here for three weeks now is incredible. It feels, simultaneously, like it start yesterday and in 1980. My perception of time has become incredibly distorted. I’m like Dr. Who waking up with a hanngover, having been out on the lash with some Cybermen – I know I’ve enjoyed it but I’m still trying to piece together what’s happened, and find my sonic screwdriver. The problem is, it’s not over yet, it nearly is. It’s nearly over. Which, in itself, is no bad thing, but I’m not running off nothing more than adrenaline and gin. It’s no pretty picture. I can see the finish line but I’m well aware I have another five miles to go. I bet this though never crosses Usain Bolt’s mind, does it? Not least because that would be one of the longest 100m races ever. Nevertheless I’m sprinting to the finish line with a sprained anckle, irregular bowel movements and a thousand flyers still tucked under my arm.

I have really enjoyed the festival, it has been brilliant; a great experience, learning curve and holiday all rolled into one, but I am looking forward to getting home. It’s the little things I miss, like sleep; eating; not having to share toilet roll with two other people. These are the things I will enjoy the most when I’m home. Sitting down, that’s another one. Watching TV knowing I can switch it off if I’m not enjoying it, instead of having to quietly get up, make some excuses and sneak out the living room door. Standing on the street knowing I won’t face soul-destroying rejection on a daily basis (well, no more than usual.) It’s all these little home comforts I miss. Yeah, and family and stuff I suppose. Whatever.

But I will miss the festival. A lot. I have had some brilliant moments and some not so good moments, I’ve had some once-in-a-lifetime experiences and things that happen every day that I used to take for granted, I’ve done and seen some brilliant things and some utter dross but I would do it all over again. Where else would I get to flyer Max Boyce, the Archbishop of Canterbury and Les Dennis twice, in the space of a week? I will be back.

From: 22nd August, 2012

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