Simon, Cheryl and Arthur's Seat

The Height of Fringey Madness

A pictorial mish mash has occurred here - the first few photis are from North Berwick on a cold and blustery Sunday during Katy's visit, when we couldn't really be arsed doing anything after 3 days of fringey parties.  Heroically we forced ourselves out of the warmth and comfort of the flat and out into the proverbial shit storm.  I exaggerate, but damn was it windy!  The kind of wind where you can actually feel yourself being physically moved in the wrong direction.  So we hunched on a bench, sheltered by a conveniently-placed structure to eat our lovingly prepared picnic lunch, and then quickly retreated to the Seabird Centre (the Queen's been there don't you know), to admire stuffed Puffins.

I've never felt more British.

At Commercial Wharf to grab us some delectable dumplings from Chop Chop.  Mmmmmmm, dumplings.  We ate our body weight, then some.

I know FB lookers will have seen this - just saying, I want to grow me some veggies, but apparently I have to wait for someone to die and leave me an allotment in their will.

Arthurs Seat bottom left of centre, in the background - can you see it?  Up close it be much more impressive.

Delicious reflecto-bread from a favoured cheese shop.

A circus in New Town.  New Town/Stckbridge is for the hoighty-toighty, and for bastard students whose parents continue to pay their way beyond any reasonable age.  Serious real estate for total wankers and their offspring.

My summer drink of choice (and possibly the reason my jeans are too tight), Pimmmmmmmmmmmmmmms!

The Scotch national flower - a thistle.  Poignant, n'est pas?

Ascent into madness, champagne and skyline as part of our Festival experience.  Unfortunately, my exciting surprise turned out to be a bit of a nightmare for Kate - she's extremely afraid of heights as opposed to what I now realise is a mild case of vertigo on my part.  She made it through by concentrating on our guide's prattling, and didn't really get much of a view, but hey, that's what pictures are for.

Pictures like this one.  Damn, it's a good looking castle - all Scotch-like, dark and brooding, perched high on craggy walls of rock, looking down on the masses 'neath its haughty sneer (the castle equivalent of Heathcliff).

Kate prior to departure, more than a little squeamish, poor wee lass.  There was an incident just before we were meant to 'take off' whereby I was left looking foolish while Stu and Kate went to pee Pimms.  There were forms to sign and stuff in case we fell to our deaths, and they weren't there to sign them.  It looked like it might be a solo flight when I got a text from Kate saying she'd locked herself in the loo, and Stu was trying to find an attendant who could release her from smelly captivity.  I thought she'd probably done it on purpose.  Turned out she was joking.  Ha ha.

That's me leg in dangle-y mode as we head up.  I must admit, I'm not great great with heights, and this made me feel a little wobbly.

Champers may have been the only thing to stop Kate from totally freaking out.  Bless you sparkly goodness, I never knew you had so many talents.

Feeling mightily relieved to be back on solid ground, Kate thought we should celebrate with ... guess.

The day after flight of near death (FOND).  We were once again town-bound for more fringey-ness.

Doin the Bus Stop.

Thses pictures don't even begin to describe the sheer madness of the crowds on this, one of the last days of the Fringe.  We were relieved to discover that since we had bought our tickets in advance, we would not be required to wait like dogs in the most fearsome queue I'd ever seen, but could smugly walk past the less-organised squillions and straight up to the Fringe shop.  Honestly, you'd think after all the times I've been the poor shmuck in the line, I would've felt bad.  I didn't, it was awesomeness.

I spy with my little eye ... something beginning with 'K'!

Me, and ... Gavroche?  Yeah, that must be it.

The deliciously hilarious Phil Kay and his not-so-delectable looking dinner.  Really, he is a national treasure, all tall and quirky with his passion for Tweed (charity shop only, of course).  And to top it all off, he's adorably soft-spoken and shy when he's off stage.  You see, I can now say that with utter confidence, because, we're like, tight y'all. 

Phil showed us around Forest, yet another venue with yet another lovely eccentricity - this time in the form of a vodka shot + haircut for £10.  I wish I'd had the time to take them up on the offer, my hair is looking tragically unhep these days.

The green glow of the castle from the Grassmarket.

Well atleast Kate thought it was funny.

Stu's dubious.

Ohhhh, now I get it!

So concludes another photographic essay of foolishness and fearless fraccas.  Hope you enjoyed it.  One of these days I may toy with the idea of a post steeped in wisdom, instructed by an insightful commentary on life, love and THE STRUGGLE therein... Probably not.