These guys were hanging out right outside the University of Newcastle student halls of residence.
And so, as the wheezing bagpipe of social smoking finally succumbs to the sharpened pike of liver failure, and the numb buttock of audience marathons is given a rough slap by the hand of unread emails, my time at the Edinburgh Festival has come to an end.
By the time you read this, I will be on a Virgin train, somewhere beyond Berwick-upon-Tweed, sobbing into a £8.76 lukewarm cheese panini and gently pawing at the window.
But at least I went out with a bang. If you can call running through the recycler’s nightmare that is the Royal Mile dressed as C3PO and drinking five cups of free coffee before 11am a bang. I also watched one of the best pieces of immersive theatre I have ever had the pleasure to nearly sabotage.
Look Left Look Right’s Edinburgh-specific show Once You Said Yes was, without a doubt, one of the unlikeliest pieces of theatre I have ever experienced. It was also one of the best. From driving around the cobbled streets in a banged-up old Volvo and false moustache to drinking cider with a sea captain, it was frankly brilliant. Now, obviously, I can’t tell you too much about the show – not only would that ruin the whole point of the frickin’ thing, it would also look like gloating, considering how few tickets are still available.
It has, however, made me consider what I consider a Fringe triumph. For me, the things that worked best at the Edinburgh Fringe were those that gave the audience the benefit of intelligence. Doctor Brown’s 80% silent, totally surreal and snot-snortingly funny show didn’t explain its jokes. It didn’t even really make jokes. The American clownman simply did his thing and assumed that the audience was fun enough to keep up… continued HERE.
I write this, sitting in an Abattoir.
Now, before you send out the search dogs, let me explain. This abattoir is less meat and grit, more meet and greet. It is, in fact, the IdeasTap Edinburgh hub – at the Underbelly Abattoir – and it is lovely. It has sofas, free tea and coffee, a little sun terrace and a splendidly well-stocked bar. Oh, and it’s next to a big inflatable purple cow. Of course.
But I don’t just spend my time propping up the members’ bar. That wouldn’t just be grossly unprofessional (if I’m going to be gross, I prefer to do it professionally) it would also be a terrible waste of a prime theatre-watching opportunity. And, as we all know, sometimes the best theatre can be found on the chip-streaked pavements and cider-puddling roads of Scotland.
For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of sploshing through Rebus country let me paint you a picture. Edinburgh is a child’s drawing of Batman city, sliding down an enormous set of hills, covered in beautiful madmen. The lunatics are fairly easy to spot; they’re the ones in full corpse makeup, standing in the rain, thrusting culture into the hands of passersby. They are, for the 12 of you who haven’t already guessed, flyerers.
Flyering is big business in Edinburgh. Not big business in the sense of a collective occupation that earns a lot of money. It is big business in the way that Dickensian workhouses were big business with punishingly long hours, no breaks, freezing conditions, ragged clothes and an apparently endless workload… continued HERE.
Today I may have just reinvented the term AWOL.
Meaning Absolutely Wrong On Life.
As in, “Uh oh. He thinks Beyonce’s chubby. He’s gone AWOL.”
Use it at your will.
I am about as magical as a fart in a box.
Watching grown men in waistcoats fiddle with hankies and cards brings me all the joy of a pair of knickers made of nettles. I can’t abide riddles, I don’t believe in fairies and crystals bring me out in a rash. As for wizards, they should all go back to their accountancy jobs in Nuneaton, buy some deodorant and check into velvet rehab.
And yet, sit me in front of Peter Pan and I cannot help but turn in to some sort of twinkly-eyed sprite. A twinkly-eyed sprite with the hair of a late-70s Noddy Holder and shoes like breeze-blocks, I grant you. But there is something about that moment when those dog-supervised children discover they can fly that gets me right in the ventricles. Which is why I am so terribly pleased to hear that York Theatre Royal will be hosting Mike Kenny’s new adaptation of Peter Pan. After the triumph of The Railway Children in Waterloo station and The Wind in the Willows, this Victorian tale of negligent parents, interracial romance and attempted infanticide is bound to be a real cockle-warmer.
Let’s just hope they get those harnesses up to scratch. Because, let’s face it, nothing ruins the magic of live theatre like a strained crotch and maniacally flapping child. Especially when pyjamas are involved… READ ON HERE.
Nell Frizzell
First published, IdeasTap.com, August 2011.
Behold! The Dragons are standing on top of the very same tower blocks our beloved Lord Sugar was contemplating chucking himself off just weeks ago. Is all British business enacted on helipads and fire escapes? Is this some sort of anti-CCTV strategy?
Now, fans of the show cannot fail to notice that there is a new dragon in town. She’s northern, she’s brunette, she’s glamorous and she made her millions in the haulage industry. It’s Hilary Devey – the den’s answer to Cheryl Cole. And she’s strapped a couple of high fashion airbags on to her shoulders for good luck.
The first investment opportunity comes in the form of ex-city trader and mum Georgette Hewitt. Now, quite why Georgette has decided to make her presentation by bike is something of a mystery, seeing as this is basically a website to ease the financial dealings of children. Perhaps there just wasn’t anything to lock her bike to outside – maybe this warehouse is actually surrounded by moorland.
Anyway, Georgette’s site, The Present Club, “treats children to an online experience”. Sadly, all the coloured boards and talk of presents has made Georgette freeze up like a penguin in Farmfoods. She just about chokes out the words £60,000 before Peter Jones has to take over. “It’s kind of a wedding list for kid’s birthdays,” says the lost Jonas brother. Funnily enough, both Jones and Theo Paphitis rather like the idea of a site where you can just transfer money to children without actually entering a shop. I honestly had no idea that business men didn’t simply yearn to zoom up the aisles of the Early Learning Centre in one of those yellow plastic cars.
Sadly, the idea falls a touch flat with Duncan Bannatyne. “This is a terrible, terrible, horrible idea,” says the den’s Braveheart. Luckily Georgette still has her ‘retail guru’ and ‘technology expert’ on side. Not to mention a £60,000 for 30% offer. I tell you, there’s money in that there internet… READ ON HERE.
Nell Frizzell
First published, Offices.co.uk, July 2011.
I have started an exciting, new project.
Now, I may be more callous than Noah’s palms but, frankly, I found the sentimental, tear-jerking, schmaltzy posts on dearphotograph.com just a little hard to swallow.
In fact, they made my raisin-like little heart curl up like a puppy that’s been kicked in the gonads.
So, I set up DearPhotographz. Follow it on Tumblr to have your lives filled with all the degraded, filthy, depressing, revolting joys of real life.
And tell your friends.
Nell Frizzell
