Well, Monday last proved to be something of a challenge. I would have laid money on it not being possible for me to run anywhere with the amount of white wine (and bubbly) that was consumed the night before at The Magnets' after show party. And yet, at ten o'clock, I actually felt almost reasonable. The morning did seem to move quite slowly though - I had a lovely chat with Julia, who was looking after George, while everyone else remained unconscious (Jasper, not least, among these - he hadn't got to bed until 1am, with no nap the day before). Julia does voice coaching, so we had some interesting chats about warm-up exercises, which I wanted to explore as a potential Mask director (amateur dramatic groups tend, on the whole, not to warm up). All of a sudden, I realised it was nearly 11. This wasn't a problem per se, but I needed to get the training in, and I had a show at 12. I togged up, and went off to run around The Meadows, as my instructions were to do a short run the day after the long on, just to remind your legs that they can. I say these were my instructions, I was still on catch-up, using the ones from last week that I'd failed to carry out then.
On the street, the Garmin failed to find its satellite location for 10 minutes. I was freezing by the time it had asked me how many miles I was from the previous day, and the rest of its routine. I'd all but decided to ditch it, when it loaded up. Anyway, I'd figured on completing the run by half past, and didn't have lot of leeway to play with, so as a result of this, I'd figured on twenty minutes. I ran around the Meadows, and up and across Bruntsfield Links, and then back down Warrender Park Road. I ran in, grabbed a croissant (well-known for its recovery goodness after a run), a shower, and got dressed. I said farewell to those awake, and, keeping my running shoes on (I learned, after running to Saturday's show in some not very appropriate footwear), I legged it. Handily enough, it took me about 10 minutes to get to the show, so in effect, I topped up my twenty minutes to the full half hour.
I grabbed some sesame snacks on the way - I just thought they might be better energy replacement. They seem kind of good for you, as snacks go, even though they are blatantly just sesame stuck together with sugar. I went to see Phil Nichol's show, Somewhere Beneath it All, a Small Fire Burns Still. It was really good, it's a monologue piece. Very funny opening, about this guy who is infatuated with a waitress, but then midway through the show, he acts like he's breaking off from the play and coming into "real" mode, just the actual actor, talking direct to the audience. He has the lighting people put up the house lights and everything, tells us that the story he's been acting out is based on real people, he opens a powerpoint, and shows us the young kid in a wheelchair, and the waitress. He tells us what the kid is suffering from, and how he was actually involved, and dated the waitress himself. He had photos of them. Then he says he's going to finish the show, and goes back into character. He's actually canadian, but was acting the part with a (very good!) Scottish accent - so it was really easy to believe him when he was out of character. It was impressive, how easily he slipped from one accent to the other as well. Anyway, I came out really wondering whether it WAS based on true characters that he knew. It was very hard to say. But the answer came from Mike - he knows the actor, and it was all part of the show, none of it was based on real characters. Fascinating! Also, the show was written especially with Phil in mind, that was kind of fun to know too! Anyway, most excellent, I can recommend it (now it is finished) - but maybe it will pop up somewhere?
Then I went off to see Mad About the Boy, and was disappointed to be standing next to "a talker" in the queue - more so because she was wearing some distressingly strong patchouli type perfume. Some people standing quite near us at the bar, and she thought one of them was famous, so she was seeking my confirmation. I had no idea, so I told her, quite bluntly and shortly. She persisted. I said, maybe you're right - I don't know. I don't have a television. Then she lifted the collar of her jacket (in case they were lip reading?) and said "They've got that sort of suntan, don't they?" What?!! I just gave her a fish-eye stare, till she shut up.
The show was intense. The boy, my new friend, was on stage, hoody up, goofy expression, dancing and mock-boxing to some hip-hop type music, as we trailed in. He looked terrifying. Like every gang of kids you've ever crossed the street as far away as possible, hoping they don't notice. When the show started, he was joined by two older men, one of whom was famous! Well, it was Cyril Nri. Followers of The Bill would pick him out straight away. The rest of you would too, I expect. He was playing the dad, and the other was the school counselor. There was a really interesting device used, whereby they were knocking words, ideas between them, really rapidly, but not actually having a conversation, it was more like three monologues that were in some way responding to the views of the others. It was like an amazing poem. Then the story developed more, and it all got a bit darker. It was a clever, moving, and uncomfortable experience. Bayo was fantastic.
After that, it was time to head back to the flat for a final tidy-up, before the last Magnets gig of the festival - and an early(ish) night. Just as well - I was shattered. Another great Fringe.
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