I took the opportunity of having a long weekend to travel on offpeak advance tickets which made first class affordable. Always nice to start one's journey with a wide comfy seat while being plied with food and drink all journey. Even though the Virgin "menu" of food designed by celebrity chef James Martyn is rather overblown. I am afraid gourmet sausage roll is sausage roll, whatever adjective you use to tart it up. But similarly gin and tonic is always gin and tonic. And I will have another thank you very much. Even if they have run out of ice. (First world problems?)
Now first two impressions getting into Edinburgh. 1 F*** me its crowded. 2. Behind the hordes it is a beautiful city. And my friends live in a beautiful part just 30 minutes walk from the centre, although since it is all so attractive that doesn't narrow it down too much. I was billeted in their loft conversion and here is the view through the velux window.
Friday night was spent eating and drinking. Saturday morning lent itself to a trip to a pretty Victorian pool for a swimming session with the little ones. I take a halfway house option on joining in. Was happy to go down to the baths but not keen enough to hit the pool. So I stayed up in the viewing room but didn't do any viewing, just read the paper. And thinking pics of the pool could be misconstrued, I just took one of the room.
After lunch I pottered into town to see an exhibition at the Scottish National Gallery. Which I soon found wasn't on at the Scottish National Gallery, but at the Modern Art Gallery. Ah well, I like the Gallery anyway.
I had a little time to kill before meeting Jae for our first Edinburgh Festival event, so wandered around the City centre on a rather overcast afternoon to take a few photos. Voila.
Along the gardens there is a memorial to the Polish soldiers who were stationed in the area in WWII (including my Dad) which features around a bear that the Polish soldiers adopted.
The show was called "I can make you Tory" and was a nice change from the endless supply of left-wing comics who all make the same jokes, frequently unfunny ones, about the Tories, posh people and anyone who can be deemed racist, sexist, etc. The show was not at all bad. Leo is a tall Scotsman brought up in a lefty hippy environment. The anti-left jokes were good and went down well, even if the majority of the audience were left wing themselves. However the sexist stuff, the more jack the lad humour, frankly fell a bit flat. It almost lacked conviction. As anti-lefty it felt sincere, as sexist he seemed not to have his heart in it, as if he was only doing it because he ought to.
However, the most noteworthy thing to report from my first fringe experience was the appalling conditions. The pub was heaving with loud drunks and there was the aroma of fresh vomit in the air. The cellar in which the gig was performed was horribly hot, and indeed two people had fainted during the previous performance. While queuing to get in you don't want to find someone charging out of the performance area shouting "Is there a doctor anywhere". But one didn't want to leave having finally got accustomed the smell of the vomit...
Our next gig had been recommended by by the MC at my local comedy club - so a tip from a professional. Phil Nichol is a Canadian comic although with Scottish roots. His show "Your Wrong" featured a lot on his fundamentalist Calvinist background, although the title came from a spat with some nutter on line who insisted that the Earth was flat (amongst other things) which Phil tried to correct but got the response "Your wrong". Phil responded by pointing out that even his grammar was wrong. To which, rather splendidly, came the retort that the grammar was fine, he had just made a spelling mistake.
Anyway, the theme was that everyone hates being wrong. It was funny but a little preachy for someone who was rebelling from his preachy background. And my enjoyment was somewhat curtailed by his reference to David Icke being a former Sunderland goalkeeper whjen everyone knows he was famously a Coventry City goalkeeper (although never made it to the first team.)
But I would also have to observe that if anything this venue was even more physically uncomfortable than the Three Sisters. Just an unbearably hot cellar with Phil on a tiny stage, hardly bigger than an upturned crate. And I can only imagine that Edinburgh's fire safety officers turn a blind eye over fringe venues and their capacities.
Phil Nichol, who bears a remarkably similar appearance to Mel Gibson in his later mad ranting days |
After that we did one more late night show, booked on the spot rather than in advance. This was a show called a Night at the Museum and was in a the National Museum lecture hall. As such compared to the previous two venues it was wonderfully comfortable. It was also by far the least funny. A good idea poorly executed. The concept was that three comics came on pretending to be professors and were shown pictures by the moderator (also a comic) on the big screen of obscure items in the collection which they had to explain in an amusing manner. Clearly some thinking on one's feet needed here which at least two out of the three comics failed to manage to any satisfactory degree. The best joke of the night by far came from a member of the audience. The comedian started a pretend auction which had no comedic value at all, except that one member of the audience raised the bid to £4 which another followed with "One Euro". Intelligent quick-witted and current. Unlike the comics.
Sunday morning and with the kids needing some entertaining we went to Dalkeith Country Park on the Estate of the Duke of Buccleuch. This has the advantage of an extensive and very upmarket children's playground. It also had a nice large courtyard with restaurant and overpriced gift shop, into which I settled after a brief visit to the playground.
Now here is an observation that occurred to me while sitting there as families came and went. Occasionally, and only very occasionally, did one hear a Scottish accent. I can't be sure if that is because the middle classes here are actually all English exiles, or that educated Edinburgh Scots don't sound Scottish, but genuinely this could have been the Cotswolds.
This is part of the playground - kids crawl through the tunnel entwined around a bridge. |
I haven't included any photos of the kids (who are of course very sweet) out of respect for the parents' wishes, but that means I do include one of mum enjoying the tractor. You see that is what parenthood does to you. Robs you of all sense of dignity.
Anyway, back to Sunday afternoon and the Festival again. This time we did get to see Ali Smith having turned up on the right day. I won't go into all my thoughts on her during this hour-long interview, but after 5 minutes I thought I should buy her book, and by the end I was determined not to do so. I am sure not the hoped for outcome of a book promotion. But I think everyone else there was a fan. The short question session at the end was quite informative. No one goes there to actually ask a question. They go there to make a sycophantic presentation to their idol, dressed up unconvincingly at the end as a question, duly lapped up by the author.
In stark contrast, our next session was with comic Al Porter. This was my choice having heard him interviewed on Radio 4. I didn't know exactly what to expect. It was in one of the better venues - queue below.
The show was, well, quite a show. Backed by two female backing singers (mother and daughter) dressed in togas and a chubby bloke on keyboards similarly attired, the show started with this trio belting out pop standards. Then on comes young Al in old style suit and tie and offers a pretty old-fashioned style of joke-telling and entertaining BUT with very explicit gay material. I enjoyed it a lot and can see why this guy has been chosen to present an Irish version of Blind Date. Think a cross between Leslie Crowther, Larry Grayson and Graham Norton, but far filthier. Tone down the filth and he would be perfect for the sort of Saturday variety show that I don't watch. A natural entertainer.
Now, you may recall I said that on Saturday night's late night show two of the three comics were pretty poor. Well we decided to see the one who wasn't too bad - Garrett Millerick. In part this was an attempt to avoid seeing big name comics whose shows one could see in London. Once more a trip to a cellar - see below - but this one was tinier than the ones we had been to before. I think the audience might have been twenty or so. Which was a pity because he had a well-crafted and well rehearsed routine. Lots of very good material - an angry rant at everything apart from political affairs (Hoorah!) - students, living in Essex, healthy living, banks rejecting your card while abroad. Should you ever get the chance to see him I would recommend it. Best thing we had seen so far, in front of the smallest audience. But if anything a little over-rehearsed. No audience interraction, apart from some slightly disturbing close eye contact with thoise on the front row (ie me).
So after a drink there in the student courtyard (above) we headed off to our last venue - the Tron to see an act that Jae had booked but meant nothing to me - Fin Taylor. Venue was another pub cellar. This one looked like a bombed our cellar in Mosul. But although absolutely rammed it wasn't unbearably hot due to working air conditioning (even if a bloke did have to hold it so it didn't rattle noisily during the act). But this was a case of leaving the best to last. This young comic was absolutely superb. Great little stories and gags, and again not a leftie doing tired old jokes. He did start with saying how good his January had been. You are supposed to give up something, and this year he gave up being left wing.
But an interesting contrast to Leo Kearse. Funnier, more assured, more confident in poking fun at feminism, and his sex material just had a more convincing tone to it. Definitely see this young chap. My tip to go fairly far. But not the material to go on before the watershed.
Now I still had Monday morning free in Edinburgh, so while Jae went to work Kirsty hit playgroup, I went to the Modern Art Gallery to see the exhibition I had expected to visit on Saturday afternoon. It was a lovely morning so I walked to the gallery - a pretty walk in itself.
This the Modern Art Gallery or at least Mo 2 - Mo 1 is across the road
With a nice Victorian graveyard next door.
The exhibition "True to Life" was an exhibition of English realist painters between the Wars, and it was well worth the admission price. I loved it all. One reason was that I wasn't familiar with all but one or two of the works, or artists. Apart from Stanley Spencer and Laura Knight I don't think I had come across any of them. One or two items from the Tate, but most from small regional galleries like Bournemouth and Rochdale.
Mo 2 also had a section on surrealist as part of the permanent collection - but apart from this one by Dali I don't think much of it.
One across the road has a larger permanent collection.
Interesting Ken Currie amongst a not very distinguished selection odf Scottish modern art. |
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