Expect the unexpected

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.

Scotland - less flat than Peterborough

Well, on Sunday morning, I donned my tracksuit, wired myself up to the heart monitor, and headed out. Given the lack of training over the last week, and the fact that I was going be running in Edinburgh (less flat than Peterborough) I decided that a circuit of Arthur's Seat, which should take about an hour from the flat, would be an excellent start. I went outside and turned the Garmin on, whereupon it started to tease me. It has to locate the necessary satellites, and often takes a few minutes to do this. Irritatingly, it has a bar that supposedly indicates its progress in this, but what actually happens, especially when you change locations, is that the bar indicates almost complete, and then drops back to half way. Sometimes it does this several times. I think it's going, "yep, yep, yep, Woah, it says we're in Edinburgh. That can't be right! I'd better check that again. Woah... still Edinburgh. Right, once more. NO!" Then it asks some questions, which go, "Are you indoors right now?" "Have you moved several hundred miles since you last used this?" (This part is true, by the way). Then it starts again. This is OK in Peterborough, where summer means that the temperature is, you know, over 16C, but let me tell you, ten minutes of this in Edinburgh, I had nipples like bullets.

Anyway. (I definitely overuse the word anyway). I set off eventually. I was struck by how much less friendly runners, and passers by generally, are in Edinburgh, than in either Thornbury or Chirk. Never mind. I suppose in cities you have more reason to be suspicious. I passed two American ladies out for a run, when I'd started my ascent of Arthur's Seat, and caught a snippet of their conversation "so all the hours of organising and making sure the clients were covered, has all been absolutely worthwhile, because I got to do THIS". Which made me wonder if she's always been looking forward to running around Arthur's Seat as some sort of dream goal, or whether she was enjoying the Edinburgh Festival.

I had a minor dilemma over which way round I should run Holyrood Park. I intended a complete circuit this time, so could choose - either downhill first, then a slow ascent, and then downhill again, or steep ascent, slow descent, and then a climb. I suppose in potential energy it shouldn't make too much differenece, but I decided that the second would bethe  more challenging option, and I needed challenge. I could tell you about managing to get my running nose to go down my throat without gagging, instead of down my face, and then almost choking, but you wouldn't thank me for it, so I won't. Oh, whoops.

On the way back home, I observed how quickly a light breeze reduced my warmth gained from running to shivers in an instant. Moments later I passed a lady wearing a green sari and a full length woolly winter coat, whose shoulders were hunched into the wind and we exchanged a meaningful glance that said - this chill is miserable, isn't it? Although in all honesty, her glance might equally have said - what on earth are you doing out dressed like that, in this weather? Generally I like having meaningful exchanges of glances with people, though it almost always happens in foul weather, I've noticed. (Mind you, I tend not to notice the more romantic sort...)

I somehow struggled all the way home, egged on by some heavy droplets of rain, and maintained a good spead of 10 m/m average, for my 6 miles, which I was pleased with. The shower helped warm me up, and I hastily set out to catch "Best of the Fest", which again, had a guest appearance from The Magnets (again, enabling me to a comp ticket). After the shenanigans of a ventriloquist, a card sleight of hand artist and an Australian comedian (who made me think of Sally, actually, as he recounted a problem he'd had with gulls waking him in the morning. In Australia, it was a couple of crows, and in Ireland, it was pigeons. But in Edinburgh, it was seagulls. He said they tapped on his window in the morning. And as he said, "But you know, your seagulls aren't just bird-sized, they're like 12-year-olds in costume" which I thought was remarkably true.). After the show, I set out to see a show by a girl I met at Andi Osho's show early in the month. I don't know what it was that had impressed me about her and her friend, but they both told me about their shows, and they sounded powerful stuff, so one of the things I really wanted to use my extra time for was to see their shows. Happily they hadn't sold out. Hers was called Dream Pill, and was about the sombre subject of sex trade of young girls from Nigeria.

I saw my friend in the ladies just before the show, and she remembered me, too, and seemed really pleased I'd come to her show - it was her last day. But, wow. It was brilliant. The two little girls (well, actually young women, but convincingly playing a 9 and 10 year old) were utterly charming, and we loved them straight away. It was with trepidation that we engaged with them. We knew this story wasn't going to have a good ending. And we were right. The innocence of the two girls made their horror story unbearable. It made me feel utterly helpless and genuinely horrified and sickened. I was in tears by the end of the show. I wanted to do some shopping, but my emotions were so intense, I felt it was only right to wait for the actress to come out so I could congratulate her. And her friend, who I'd met with her, was also waiting - like her, he remembered me immediately. He was delighted when I said I was coming to his show, Mad about the Boy, the next day. I was excited to learn that he had picked up a Scotsman Fringe First award earlier that week. It baffled me that Dream Pill hadn't had an award too, in all honesty.

Well, the evening held my penultimate Magnets gig for the 2011 Fringe, and had a drink with the Magnets and their fanbase, including Britta, who regularly travels over from Germany to see them (when they aren't touring there), proving that they do have fans more devoted than me (you can also replace that with "bonkers") and was actually celebrating her anniversary of the first time she saw the Magnets; then I was honoured to be a guest at the Magnets "aftershow party" (even though they hadn't quite finished, it made most logistical sense to have the party then) which was a meal in a delightful family-run Italian restaurant, Cafe Artista, in Marchmont. It was a merry occasion, with much vino consumed, and toasts made by all. I suggested a song for the owner, Bruno, which, once he understood that we weren't asking him to sing, seemed quite pleased, and certainly tapped his foot all the way through "I don't feel like dancing", which was sung by not just the boys, but all the "WAGS" as well. (I didn't spoil it, although I did hum along a little). Maybe the Magnets should consider broadening out a little...

Perhaps a little too much wine though... to really consider myself "back on track".

Another trip.

I'm still going with the best plan for dealing with a cold being to ignore the fact that you have one. Well, that and drinking a tonne of orange juice, green tea (which I have recently decided is the cure of all ills) and glug echinacea (tincture, always) at every opportunity. In accordance with the instructions. Under no circumstances, though, should you pander to a cold by taking time off from your hectic lifestyle. But that's a given already, right?

Well the weekend came round eventually, after four days of not (really) training - pilates counting more as an antidote to aching muscles than training per se. And what I had planned this weekend, the August bank holiday weekend, was a weekend off, where I would relax, do a bit of gardening and housework (long-overdue) and possibly pop over to Melton for my cousin's birthday celebration, advertised on Facebook as a party called "Destroy the Silence", where I am assuming his band, Pretentious, Moi? would be playing. Although in all honesty, I decided some time ago that I wasn't going to be able to do this, so I actually have no idea where the party was. In the event, it was as well I'd let him down gently at an early stage, because I ended up going back up to Edinburgh.

I know, I know, I've already been to Edinburgh - and what a great time I had! But you know, there are some friends that you'll do anything for, because when they ask, it's because they need your help, and you both know that when you need each other, that's when it's important. It kind of reinforces the friendship. It's good. Well, that happened. Emma rang. She said her plans had fallen through, and she didn't know what to do. She had to get her 8-week old daughter Dorrie, her son Jasper, and a month's worth of stuff, home from Edinburgh on the train. Her husband had to go straight to the next gig. She was by herself.

I'd like to sound like a hero here, and say I just told her straight off, "yep, I'll come". That is, of course, what happened, but the lack of heroism is because of how close I was to doing that anyway. The rational side of my brain said that I needed the weekend at home, sort self out, sort house and garden out, and most of all, sort cat out, train sensibly, get on track. The part of my brain that has taken over as dictator, however, already had a list of shows it wanted to see and had missed. It had psychologically already spent the money for the train ticket. This was simply the extra justification it needed. I'm happy(ish) to report that the majority of those shows had already sold out, so my Dictator-for-Life, Party-till-you-drop brain was foiled, but the missed shows weren't replaced by early to beds and healthy diets.

So, let's see, I had planned on coming up on Friday afternoon, but owing to feeling full of cold, I changed my plans to come up on the Saturday. I actually had a sober, and early to bed week, in a desperate attempt to clear the cold. I thought I'd better do a little more sorting of the house as well, so on Friday, I did some washing up, and generaly tidying, and also picked up about 400 rotten pears off the garden floor, and tried to disperse the drunks (made entirely of wasps, you understand), in preparation for Ian who was coming round to salvage some of the unrotten (less rotten?) pears, and I was keen that he wasn't killed in the process by my stripey, humming friends. More because he had kindly agreed to look after Frank at the same time, than out of genuine concern.

On Saturday, I continued the assault on the house, it was long-overdue, and several loads of washing were achieved. I set off for Edinburgh in the afternoon. I have to say, it still lifts my spirits every time I arrive. I walked over to the Magnets' venue, ensconsed myself at a crowded picnic table outside, and waited for the show to finish. The heavens opened, and a deluge of rain came down, doing little to diminish the crowds, but making me feel slightly smug at my umbrella-protected shelter. I later learned that the deluge had started at about five to seven each night with such precision that the backstage crew were genuinely unnerved by its regularity. The Magnets were just pissed off at the dip in sales on CDs that resulted from their crowds rushing off to seek shelter elsewhere. We made our way back to the flat in the downpour, and had some dinner, before heading out to see the Magnets guest on "The Horne Section" at 11pm, which is a great show, mixing some comedy banter with whacky games, set to some improvised musical accompaniment (including, but not restricted to, horns) and guest turns that I remember fondly from last year. However, we left the flat somewhat late, and had to run all the way to the venue, which was helpful, as it was a great way of kick-starting my belated training activities.

It wasn't the early bedtime Sally has been beseeching me to take. Somehow, it never is.

Single Ladies

Tuesday, my last full day in Edinburgh, and, obviously you will have realised that I like packing the day with activities, this was no exception. Having discovered a pool so close to home, I was moderately pleased to have another session down to use it. I headed in, paid up, and the lady said "It's just a half pool till 11, is that OK?" I said, "Yes, fine", but as I was leaving, she said "the shallow end's cordoned off". "What?" I asked. She repeated this, slowly for the English person. I couldn't really quite grasp it. They were really expecting me to swim widths? Apparently so - without even halving my entrance fee, which I think would have been fair. Fortunately it was actually five to 11 at the time, so I was able to dawdle for long enough getting ready that I had the whole pool. Something very weird was going on though. There weren't any lanes today, as there had been on Sunday, so I scanned the pool and decided that I'd cause least problems if I stuck to the middle, and let the meanderers have the edges. I guess there were about 40 people in the water, it was quite busy. As I slipped into the shallow end, I realised that I'd just dropped the average age to about 62. To be honest, I felt as if I'd inadvertently joined a set of Dr Who. Especially since they sometimes seemed to all move in the same direction, without really communicating. I did apologise to a granny for disrupting their leisurely swim, and she said, "nonsense, we just wish we could still swim like you", which was both kind and a bit creepy.

Today's task was to swim for 45 minutes, taking as few breaks as possible, and sticking with the crawl as much as possible. That' easy for Sal to say. The pensioners were not only drifting up and down the pool, they were also drifting across it - and diagonally. Every which way. I stuck with my  sets-of-five principle which had seemed to work, but in truth, it really didn't today. I came unstuck so many times, breaststroke is a far easier stroke to negotiate other swimmers in. Also, bear with me on this, I suspect it might be my rising insanity. I felt sick when I did crawl. The thing is, with crawl, I mainly looked at the swimming pool floor, with brief glances up to see which side the pensioners were attacking from. With breaststroke, on the other hand, I mainly look up, or at least forward at the pool. What I noticed about the floor of the swimming pool was it was filthy. Then I noticed that as I was in the middle, swimming directly towards a water filter, that the filter was 3/4 blocked. This is awful, and has no connection, but about that time, I started thinking about old ladies and incontinence. Then I started feeling sick. I don't know why breaststroke made me feel any better. Perhaps I was coming down with something, and the crawl was actually moving too fast for me, I don't know. But the swim, while I completed 62 lengths, was not as satisfying by any stretch as the Sunday swim. I was relieved to get out and leave, and grateful that, thought I wouldn't particularly boast about the cleanliness of Peterborough's regional pool, and I know where all the cracked and missing tiles are, and where the funny brown marks are, it has never made me feel like that.

On Tuesday, I had a treat, which was that I was having lunch with Mwara, a friend from the olden Edinburgh days, and her three girls. We met at Bruntsfield Links, and headed into Bruntsfield for lunch at Montpeliers, which was lovely, and generally pretty good value, although wine by the glass is extortionate. On the way back, we called into Nippers, where I was able to pick up a gift for the younger Loat, and also observed that the fine and upstanding "Peckhams" sells Thistlycross Cider, which is Scotland's only cider. It comes in some amazing flavours though, including with strawberries, in malt casks, and my favourite, with ginger. In fact, I happened to be having lunch with the wife of Scotland's only cider-maker. There should be a film about that: "The Last Cider Maker of Scotland". Or something. I think Peter's up for the lead.

After lunch, I just had time to stop off at the Udderbelly/Cowpasture, and drop off apricot jam (my second delivery after Mwara) with Emma, along with the cute ladybird leggings I'd got for Dory, and have a quick cup of tea with her and Mike, before heading off for The Seagull Effect. This was another up and coming theatre company, who did some impressive feats with projection during their play, which was largely about the 1987 hurricane, and climate change, and the impacts on people's lives. It was a well-put-together piece.

I had some time before my next show, and we'd realised the problem with finding Simon's friend the day before - his show, So Much Potential, was in the venue where we'd been watching comedy the day before... but in a different room. So we went to check it out. Annoyingly, they weren't doing it on Tuesdays, but kind of weirdly, they'd chosen to spend their "day off" sitting in the room, having a banter with anyone who came in, having an open mic, and drawing people. They were relaxed and friendly, and drew Summer, and didn't object to people walking in and out, which was lucky, because that's exactly what I had to do to get to my next show. We wished them well for the rest of their run, and bid them farewell.

Well, my next Show was "All the Single Ladies" with Andi Osho, which I was very excited about. I think she's a very funny lady. While I was waiting in the queue, a strange bloke came up, and asked me if I'd put my arms out, scarecrow like. You might think I was wrong to do this, but there was something I couldn't quite... "Van? Is it you?" So this was a man I'd met in my Freshers Week at University, who was at the time setting up a society called the Hugga-Bugga-Jaffa-Appreciation Society, and it largely involved hugging people (and eating jaffa cakes). Clearly the bloke is mad as a hatter, and it goes without saying that I love him. I asked someone to take a photo of us, and he immediately swept me into his arms, like this:

He was in town with his wife and three kids, but it was amazing, the people you run into. What a find!

Anyway, I'd rather accidentally got a ticket for Andi Osho, because Tom's mum Diane had bought one, but because it was a 2 for 1 day, she'd thought she'd get the spare one incase anyone wanted it, so my luck was in there. I found her in the queue, which was good, because it's fun to have someone to see comedy with. We sat kind of near the front (obviously avoiding the front row), and as we sat down, noticed that she was right there! Perched at the edge of the stage! She spoke with one or two of the brave folk in the front row. I looked at her in awed admiration, unable to think of a single thing to say. She started off the show saying she liked sitting out front for two reasons - one was that it's really boring back stage, and second because it's really funny seeing people's reactions to her sitting there, doing a sort of bunny at car headlights impression. So I guess I behaved pretty typically.

She asked who was in couples, and who wasn't, and I guess I may have been a little exuberant in my whoop when she asked for single ladies, because she was able to identify my position in the audience. She asked how long I'd been single, so I told her, since Christmas, and then she asked me if he was a dick, and I agreed, and she said "yeah, they all are". She asked me if I was ready to date again yet, and I stood up and said "Hell, yeah", which made everyone laugh, and Andi said I could go on a double date with her! That is easily the most exciting offer I have ever had! The gist of her show is that she finds single men in the audience, and then, really, picks one and goes on a date with him. There is some other audience participation in which person she picks. Tragically, there was no one in the audience who would admit to being single that night, so I lost my chance. She did address a lot of the rest of the show to me, though, as she ran through internet dating disasters - I shared her pain! It was an awesome show. I wish I could have gone on a double date with her. I did hold onto my last shreds of dignity and not shout out "Me and you, Andy, sod the men!", so that was lucky. I also didn't offer to read out my poem about internet dating (although I think it's one of my better ones, and I had it with me) because, well, you know, it wasn't actually my show.

At the end, I spoke to a couple who were in the front row, and Andi had picked up that they hadn't said they were in a couple. She asked the girl, who said, No, they were just friends; then she pointed out to the guy that his friend was very attractive, and asked if he'd thought about it, to which he nonchalantly said "Yep", which also got applause. It turned out they were both in shows themselves, one called Mad about the Boy, and the other called Dream Pill, about kids from Nigeria being trafficked. They both sounded really powerful pieces, and I'd have loved to see them.

I set off to catch up with the others for Outland, and for a change, I arrived first. It was quite a hard piece to follow, being very dreamlike, and dipping in and out of childhood and adulthood, and dreamland and reality. I think it drew on the life of Charles Dodgeson, or Lewis Carroll, although confusingly there was the odd Narnia reference thrown in as well. But largely the play was dealing with a younger man trying to break it to his older, and respected friend, that he had a disease and needed to face up to it; needless to say, he dealt with it by running away to Outland and hunting the Snark. I'm not sure if it was supposed to be semi-biographical or not, but it was a stunning piece. After Charles collapsed, and the young couple hugged each other, weeping, the play was clearly over, but as a mark of how moved the audience was, they were going to creep out respectfully without even applause, which seemed to me to be a massive accolade that the audience preferred to believe it was real, and not disturb their final grief, than clap. Needless to say, I lead the applause, which was still quiet and respectful, because I really enjoyed it, and if I hadn't have clapped, I'd have had to wait and explain to the actors why not at the end.

At the end of the evening, Summer set off to nurse her cold, and also ice a cake which she was madly proposing to carry back on the train, in time for Pint and Poetry's Fifth Birthday Extravaganza at Charters the following day. (I had already pandered to her madness by bringing a mixing bowl up with me). Ashley and I wanted to max out on our last day at the Fringe, by staying out late and seeing more stuff. We shouldn't have done. We should have quit while we were ahead, and gone back and had a glass of wine with Summer. We instead, went to see "Stand up, Fall down", and boy, he did. Not literally, although he did have cerebral palsy, but he really didn't have a funny line, nor enough stage presence to carry off his show such as it was. Mind you, it's quite reassuring to have it confirmed to you that stand-up is actually really hard. The cabaret show after that was entertaining, but only in a "this is free" way. I suspect we'd both have preferred some sleep.

What a city! What a Festival! I love it.

Crawl

Sunday's instructions were quite clear. It was either have a rest, or go for a swim. Now I know what you're thinking. You think I plumbed for the rest, don't you? You know nothing about the grit and determination that makes me tick. I did a search on my iPhone, and despite it giving me some duff gen the day before, it came up trumps with the swimming pool - there was one right around the corner from our flat, the Dalry swimming pool. Summer assured me that she had especially chosen the flat with me in mind. I set off, hoping it was a reasonable size - some of the old swimming pools are 20 yards, which irritates me - I always feel that you kick off at one side, and hit your head on the other side, and don't really get any proper exercise done. I was in luck, though, it was a 25 yard pool, which I estimated to be somewhere around 22.5 metres, not too bad. It was a glass-roofed building, which I also rather like, there's something nice about seeing the sunshine and the clouds. (Mainly clouds). One thing that surprised me was a dispenser that appeared to be full of blue plastic bags. I wondered if they were for wet costumes, but ignored them, as I've got through swimming for long enough without taking plastic bags. When I got to the changing area, there was an old lady with a full length duvet-coat, white trainers and blue bags over her shoes. I initially assumed she was out on day-release from a local asylum, before clocking that everyone had plastic bags over their shoes. It seemed rather wasteful to me, and I'm glad I didn't deign to put any on. I'm also not ruling out that the lady WAS on day release, she was still hanging round the lockers looking lost when I finished my swim an hour later.

I'm not very good at maths, or counting, as I think we've established, and I'm also not very good at swimming crawl, which was mainly today's task. But I liked the idea of swimming sets of five, because counting each set means that the odds are at one end and the evens at the other; and furthermore found that if I do a length of breaststroke halfway through, it really kept me on target with the counting. I was fine right up till my 11th set, where I was swimming breaststroke and was so tired, I didn't realise it wasn't crawl (honestly). So I thought I'd finished the set, but I hadn't. Anyway, I kind of made up for it, by getting to set 14 and doing two extra lengths for "cool down". I'm never entirely sure whether this does cool me down, because frankly, by the time I've swam 70 lengths, I'm going pretty slowly anyway, but I do my cooldown breaststroke, which is always a bit slower. I have to say, I was kind of impressed with myself. That's more front crawl than I have ever swam in my life.

Needless to say, the rest of the day got rapidly better. We saw a performance of Macbeth, starring Ashlea's friend Costa as Macduff. It was a brilliant performance all round, with an amazingly small cast, and parts shared out among them, although it was rather speeded up, to get the entire play into one hour and twenty minutes. There was a simple but effective set of weird bronze-like blocks of different heights, and a full moon projected onto a mirror, which had a range of different things appearing on it, including a dead raven in various states of bloodiness. By the end of the play, the blocks had cracks of red lit up as Macbeth became entrenched in his bloody battle for power. Macduff's speech when he found out that Macbeth had killed his wife and children brought a tear to my eye. Magnificent stuff, and I can't wait for it to come to Peterborough Key Theatre this autumn, when it will be full-length.

Later, our paths separated as Summer left us to see Monsters in the Hall, which she greatly enjoyed, and Ashlea and I went to the Bang Bang Circus, who had an amazing selection of wonders for us, including jugglers, bendy ladies, and hula hoop artists, and rather impressively, a man who balanced a full-size shopping trolly, and a bicycle (although not at the same time), on his chin. The whole show was seamlessly held together by Charlie Chaplin, whose silent-mime compering was amazing. It was rather let down by the venue, which made it hard to see some of the acts, but all in all, most enjoyable.

Next up, the main reason I was there - was to see Emma's new baby Dorrie! Well, also, The Magnets, who performed their usual astounding performance of a slick show with amazing singing and a fair bit of eye-candy to boot. I had a new victim, in the form of Ashlea, who enjoyed the show enormously, and excitingly, not one, but two repeat offenders, Summer and Daniel (he of the bicycle), who both seemed to enjoy their Magnets fix as well.  I remain, as an adoring fan, utterly in awe of all six of them. I had a chance to catch up with the boys after the show, as they were buying their flyer-ers a drink, as a gesture of good will. A very smart move on their part, I thought, and also one well-deserved, speaking personally as someone who has tried the task.

As a last ditch attempt to stay out after 10 pm, we went over to Niddry Street and watched some Free Fringe comedy that was called Dave Hoy's Stag Night. Apparently the Stag had been told by his fiancee that he could either do a show at Edinburgh, OR have a stag night, but not both. So his choice was to do a show about having a Stag night. It was quite entertaining, although truthfully, more so once we realised the acts were literally acting being drunk. They did it a bit too well... watching people who are behaving like tits isn't actually that funny, unless you are too. So we had to heckle. The Stag himself was heckled by someone who told him he was a "Poor Man's Milton Jones". He wasn't. He did rely heavily on some rather tired puns, but he had nothing like the comic timing and genius that is Milton Jones, and nor, sorry to say, the character and charm. But it was fun all the same.

Stop me if you've heard this before...

So a bear walks into a bar, and says "Could I have....

...a beer please?" The barman says "Certainly sir, but why the big paws?"

Sorry. That was by was of an apology that I last posted OVER a week ago. The good news is, you've all sorts of excitement in store, mainly my trip up to the Edinburgh Festival, and how I combined that with training.

Anyway, our last episode left you with the startling news that Sal had relented (and we're getting the idea that as reasonable people go, she's actually quite high on the list. Wait, did anyone else hear an echoey; "Mwah ha-ha-ha, they're falling for it..." Hmmm just me? Right.) and in an effort to ensure that my leg actually gets better, so I can do some proper pace training, she has me resting for two weeks. Well, I say, "resting", what I mean is "not running". That's not necessarily the same thing. 

So I made a vain attempt to book my bike onto the train to Edinburgh, but they claimed that that the bike slots were all full. As a last ditch attempt to keep up with my instructions, I posted a message on Facebook to ask if anyone had a bike in Edinburgh that they were willing to lend me. I came up trumps! Daniel agreed to lend me his bike. Of course, this could be because Jeanette suggested that he should. You know how I said there was something about Sally? Well, Jeanette makes Sal look like a fluffy little kitten. I like to think that Terry Pratchett based Susan Death on Jeanette. To give Pratchett fans an idea of how scary Jeanette is, so does she. The best example of Jeanette-ness that I can give you is to quote from one of those “Friends” emails that come round every so often, where you are supposed to answer a dozen or so questions, and then send them onto your friends. One of the questions was “Glasses or contacts?” and Jeanette had replied “Glasses. Contacts stop my death stare from working”. 

Anyway, I’d hate for anyone (especially Jeanette) to think I was complaining, because Daniel lent me a very fine bicycle indeed. It’s a Marin, which is exceptional, and probably means Daniel has never seen the way I ride bicycles.  (Let’s just say it’s not dissimilar to the way I was driving in New York). Well, I’m never one to ignore a rest day, and that’s what Friday was, which was extremely fortuitous, because that was also the day Summer and I took the train up to Edinburgh. Once we arrived, and checked out the venue for our show, it was time for me to pick up the bicycle. I trotted over to the top end of Princes Street, where I found Daniel and the bike. He’d been so thoughtful as to bring a tool for me to drop the seat, and some bike oil (which frankly I found alarming), he seemed to think I’d need it for when the chain fell off (what?). We made arrangements to see the Magnets together on Sunday, and he told me he’d offered them his flat to stay in, which was when I realised I’d massively missed a trick when I asked for a bicycle to borrow… I should have asked for a flat! Never mind, next year. Well, Friday was all about the excitement, meeting up with Tom, Jonni and Ashley, and deciding what poems I was going to read out for my part in our show. Oh, and writing a poem – I called it Jlogging.