Fringe Benefits - symbolists, rent boys, polyester and Miriam Margolyes

Ah Edinburgh! Wonderfully hilly capital of Scotland and seat of the Scottish parliament, and host to the annual cultural madness that is the Edinburgh Fringe. After a two year absence from this place of diversity and kilts*, a visit was much needed, if only to see how far they have got with the tram network.

You know you're not in Cardiff anymore, Toto, when you're wandering down Rose Street and you get serenaded by two girls singing the Flower Duet from Lakmé... perfectly. 

Not having attended for said two years, the festival seemed just that bit bigger and madder than usual. Trying to get down The Royal Mile without being accosted by some weirdly attired youngsters thrusting glossy leaflets into your hands about their latest production - "two for one offer!!" - is a exercise in futility... however, worth it though as you get to see some great street theatre and musical acts. Holy Moly and the Crackers and the wonderfully energetic The Perch Creek Family Jugband were two such acts... and the guitar player from the Jugband was tap-dancing... fabulous!!

And the highlights from this woefully short sojourn included: being entertained by the camp prince of polyester Bob Downe at the Gilded Balloon, having an intimate encounter with the wonderful Lucy Porter at the Stand Comedy Club, perusing the symbolist landscapes 'From Van Gogh to Kandinsky' at the National Museum of Scotland, being wowed by the electrifyingly heartbreaking dance piece 'A Beautiful Hell' by Edge FWD, luvvied up by the splendidly bonkers Miriam Margolyes with her delve into the world of Dickens' Women and the latest from the excellent Out Cast Theatre group, 'Mr Braithwaite Has A New Boy' with its tale of adoption, rent boys and narcoleptic neighbours. Oh and not forgetting the perennial favourite 'Shakespeare For Breakfast', 10 o'clock at C Venue with a croissant - this year subtitled 'The Only Way Is Little Venice'. Good job I ate the croissant first otherwise I would have choked on it, I was laughing that much.

Bracketing this much needed visit over the border was a stay in the wonderful Hedges guest house just off Leith Walk. It was the perfect accommodation - clean, great facilities, an impressive range of breakfasts and within walking distance of Princes Street... and hosted by the most fabulous Heather - a woman so warm she is sad to see you go and gives you huge hugs before you leave. I didn't want to.

The tram network still isn't finished by the way. 

Here's the pics.

*I came back with one. Kilt that is.

The Facebook Folly or How I Posted my Passing and Lived To Regret It

Three simple words. That's all it took. Not the best chosen in retrospect and posted in circumstances that were neither rather rational nor sober. Typed in, logged out, power off, sleep.

Farewell cruel world.

That's what I typed into the 'what's on your mind' box of my Facebook page and hit enter. I wasn't prepared for the consternation this rather melodramatic but (to me anyway) benign way of signing off for the evening would cause, however. The next day, while I was struggling to overcome the inevitable hangover at work, I was met by all manner of messages on Facebook asking if I was ok and if I was still alive. Seriously?? While touched by the messages I thought it odd that people had taken the post to be a potential suicide note. If it had read 'I can't take this anymore' or 'I can't go on' then that I could understand. But 'Farewell cruel world'? A provocative statement, yes. But a little too dramatic to indicate anything more than to elicit a response... oh ok I admit it - I was subconsciously trolling!

Trying to look at it from my friends' perspective, I can understand their concern. It also made me think about how, in this age of increasingly electronic and abbreviated communication, words can be misunderstood, misconstrued, taken out of context and the like. A throwaway comment from one person could be taken to meaning something else totally by the receiver, especially if it was meant to be delivered with an ironic slant. Without the intonation of voice to get the context of the message across, the words are just open to all manner of interpretation, depending on the person or even just the mood they are in.

I'm terrible for that - a post could come through and even if there is a hint of ambiguity about it, the question "what do they mean by that??" will be rattling round my head, seeking a resolution. And being the insecure person I am, I seem to automatically assign a negative aspect to it. It's a hard habit to break, but I'm getting there... I like to think.

I just hope that electronic communication doesn't replace verbal communication - while it is a convenient and expeditious way of keeping in touch, it comes with some serious drawbacks if misused... I'm envisioning World War III scenarios here.

As for me, I think I need to keep away from social networking sites when I've had a skinful. It's gotten me into so much trouble in the past and I've had to issue so many grovelly apologies to all and sundry the following day. Either that or get someone to gaffer tape oven gloves to my hands when I have that glazed look in my eyes.

Whatever works.

ps. Farewell cruel world!!

Playtime/In Memorium

Two recently completed artworks. Both use materials salvaged from the clearance of my parents home earlier in the year.

'Playtime' (acrylic, counters and dice on canvas) used some counters I found wrapped in cellophane with the dice - I have no idea what game they were for but rather than chuck them I felt I could use them otherwise;


'In Memorium' (acrylic and buttons on canvas) - I took my mother's old tin of buttons that she had been accumulated throughout the years. Being of the post-war austerity era, she knew never to throw anything away as it may be of use later; it's a view that has passed down to me. There were literally hundreds of buttons there, but I selected the ones that would be best shown on a red canvas, for more impact.

Both are rather formally arranged - a penchant I have for rhythm, but also probably exposes my subconscious anally-retentiveness!

Playtime

In Memorium