Postcard from Edinburgh - Fly and dry

The airport is, I have discovered, where couples of any age go to bicker and where parents take their kids to scold them. It's like Asda with cheap booze. So just like Asda then.

When cheap flights took the romance out of air travel by allowing the sort of people who wear football shirts when not playing football to fly, the airports tried to put back some glamour on the ground by turning the departure lounge into a retail emporium of delights, like a duty free Willy Wonka factory, but with more vodka and Toblerone.

Then 9/11 happened and now by the time people get airside they have been treated like a criminal, even if they are not one, at security - although in the interests of balance on-line check in means that a machine asks you if your bags have been left alone with a drug dealer or terrorist for any length of time instead of a real person asking this, so instead of being gripped with a mad urge to snap of the sort of sarcastic answer that sees you answering awkward questions in a small room lit with sickly fluorescents while your friends fly out to Malaga, you simply click 'whatever' to every prompt on the machine, paying about as much attention as you do to accepting the terms and conditions of an iTunes software upgrade and hey ho, you are good to fly and wondering if the booze trolley on the flight will be self service as well.

It's not.

The was glamour at the airport this morning though. TheTeam GB Paralympic team were milling about, obviously getting ready to fly off to their secret undersea volcano training base in preparation for conquering the world, or at least the medals table.

On the flight to Edinburgh, I don't think I have ever been in a more crowded aeroplane. We were packed in so tight that I thought they would have to relax restrictions and allow one of us to sit up front with the pilot, although being stuffed into an overhead locker was probably a better bet.

The flight itself was uneventful, apart from the overcrowding and everyone going through mobile 'phone withdrawal. You can also tell the exact point when you cross the Tweed in an aeroplane, that's when the turbulence starts.

Edinburgh though is a lovely airport to arrive into. It has that fierce national pride that inhabits all small countries, with large cheerful pictures of beautiful countryside or inspiring architecture and upbeat messages that translate into 'Welcome home!' if you are a returning native or just fancy yourself a wee bit Scottish and 'You Have Arrived At The Best Country On The Planet' for everyone else. There is a real 'Scotland - why would you want to be anywhere else?' sense to the place.


The taxi ride into the centre of town allows one to study the familiar landmarks, in particular the roadworks to lay down more new tram rails. They are still building the bloody thing. Either that or Time Team are here doing a special on a huge scale.

What was unfamiliar was the sunshine. All the tourists were sweating in their waterproofs, having not packed any dry-weather gear, while all the locals are wondering what the enormous ball of fire in the sky signified. Obviously not the end of recorded time and Doomsday, as one of the signs of that is predicted to be the tram line being finished. I'll tell you what sunshine in Edinburgh signifies, it signifies time to get something to eat and then start drinking, outside for a change.


There are hundreds of great places to eat in Edinburgh but fuck it, having found a decent pub last year that does good food the plan was to hole up there for the remainder of the stay.

But eventually, drawn out by the sun, it's time to wander.

Something of a surprise on George Street, the road is closed. In London roads have been closed recently of course to allow Olympic events, like the marathon, the cycling and the triathlon to take place, which have all resulted in road closures. But this is Edinburgh and so the only decent reason to close a road - apart from laying down some tram tracks - is to put down some artificial grass and erect a pop-up bar. Genius!


A pastoral scene with bar stools in George Street is not the only change for this year. The Assembly Rooms have been redecorated. This is entirely at odds with Fringe comedy, an art form associated with something sticky underfoot that smells of the ghost of binge drinking past. Instead Stewart Lee does his act in an elegant space smelling of new Axminster.

Stewart Lee's act is good, for over an hour he simultaneously performs and deconstructs his act. So, so much better than seeing his at the Strand, the comedy club that outlaws laughter.

Emerging into the sunlight with the feeling that we may just have seen the best show of the Fringe first, time for a beer before the next show. It's warm and people are walking round in their tee shirts.

Edinburgh fashion tip - one that fat men appear to have seized upon like a cheeseburger - if you are overweight and wear a character tee shirt, or a tee shirt with an amusing slogan on it, people will be too busy either chortling or thinking 'cock' to notice your shape and speed up their pace to get ahead of you in the queue at the chip shop.

From the Assembly Rooms to the Assembly Hall, Rainy Hall in particular. This is the sweatiest venue on the Fringe. They ought to be heading out fluffy towels, birch branches and Volvo key fobs as they take your ticket. Marcus Brigstocke is performing his new show 'The Brig Society'. Very good and surprisingly a lot of new material, considering the sheer volume, in both senses of the word, of ranting that he does on 'The Now Show'.


Finish off at the BBC pop-up village on Potterow and 'BBC Presents'. This show starts at eleven in the evening and it's fair to say that the real star here is the audience, a giddy mixture of sleep depravation, booze and BBC license fee payer belligerence and one can see the fresh young acts 'only doing a short spot' visibly pale as the audience fall quiet during their performance. Nothing strikes fear into the heart of a young man who aspires to fill a prized seat on a tee vee panel show quite like sleepy indifference.

Review - BBC Comedy Presents - Early and late

Usually the best ticket in in the Fringe and this year was no exception. The late night comedy from the BBC is always a good show, often a great show. It starts late enough for the audience to be sufficiently 'relaxed' and, because most of the comedians have come here after their shows have finished and the venue is a large one, they are a combination of relaxed and terrified, pleased to be playing before an full venue that's probably far larger than the tiny empty place that they have just come from and possibly regretting that drink or line they took to settle their nerves. But that's okay because the audience have been drinking too.

Certainly the show I saw contained two comics who had taken a drink, one obviously, one not so much but both still very funny as they reeled out the highlight ten minutes from their set. The compare was sober, he has to be as he interacts with the audience and that can get interesting at this time of night.

Most of all though, it was tremendous fun, the compare was great, the acts were good and the star turn, Nina Conti, was outstanding; make no mistake, ventriloquist dummies are creepy, Nina embraced that, turned the creepy into funny, the funny into spooky, the spooky back into funnier and the funnier into disquiet bordering on dread. I haven't been that scared and amused at the same time since I was tickled at gunpoint.

This showcase tends to provide the acts that you tell your friends about when you get back from the Fringe and they ask you who you saw, because as cool as it is to tell them about the comedians they know from panel and stand up shows, it's cooler still to tell them about the comedians they'll be seeing in a few months time on panel and stand up shows.

This is still the best ticket in town.

Postcard from Edinburgh – Reviews

Al Murray the Pub Landlord’s Pub Quiz

Fucking. Genius. The cheapest ticket bought you the funniest show. Al Murray rebooted the format of his show (casual racism, sexism and remarks about pork scratchings) by incorporating an actual pub quiz. The audience are placed in groups of six and named after pubs (‘horse and plough’, ‘rose and crown’) and ‘compete for the meat’, a frozen chicken that the quizmaster rotates under the spotlight like the rotisserie from hell. Or Asda.

Laughed my arse off. As always the audience were part of the show. High point was when he noticed a woman drinking coffee and confiscated it (artificial stimulant), low point, shouting ‘oi, bloke with boffin hair’ at me and, on impulse, I turn around ‘No, don’t fucking look behind you’.

Jo Caulfield

Saw he last year accidentally, their year intentionally. Very, very good. Fairy Tales To Prepare You For Life = genius. Also, exactly as bitter as her audience about getting older.

Sarah Millican

Went based on radio performances. OKish. Do women still have to make jokes about M&S and cakes and chocolate? And being fat? Is it the law. Last twenty minutes dragged.

Laura Solon

Stone cold genius and really interesting to see in the flesh. Had the funniest joke of the festival (I still giggle randomly at it now every time I think of it and confidently predict I will continue to do so for a few months).

Reginald D Hunter

Oh. My. Starry. Eyed. Surprise. I love comics like this. Essentially, some comics in Edinburgh have been on telly shows like ‘Have I got news for you’. They are funny. They do not swear. RDH comes on stage and explains ‘television is business but stand-up is art’. This translates to: ‘I will now effbomb and ceeebomb’. Then he does.

He was good. True to his word things got a little uncomfortable at times and occasionally he was obviously trying out new stuff but hey, that’s OK.

The couple in front of me did not laugh once. I think that they were expecting the fellow from HIGNFY. Not some sweary fella. Reminded me of Eddie Murphy’s concert film ‘Delirious’ where half way through he acknowledges that a lot of people might have come along because he was quite funny in Beverley Hills Cop and that, frankly, he’s scaring the hell out of the children in the front row.

BBC Comedy presents

The outstanding show of the festival and the place where you see next year’s crop of fresh talent. We saw comedians coked off their head, comedians who took ill-advised loo breaks and comedians who were so good that while they were on stage entertaining us they were winning best newcomer elsewhere.

But be warned, we have sat in the front row before and been picked on. Then we have sat in the front row and not been picked on (a combination of ‘fuck off’ vibes and looking like you’re eager to chat). This time we set a record. Six rows back and we were picked on, after my wife pointed to me in a ‘who’s the tallest person in the room’ survey. I had to remain standing for a couple of minutes. The chap behind me was thrilled.

BBC comedy presents starts at eleven at night. Everyone is just getting warmed up. It’s great, it’s cheap and you can start dropping names NOW to show you are cool and hip. If you can remember the names.

The Tattoo

The second best show in Edinburgh. See that bloke with the pipes and the kilt. See the medals on his chest. Right, last week, he rammed those pipes up the arse of some child-raping teacher-killing al-Queerida scumbag. He is a piper and he makes the word safe for children. Crying yet?


You would be when the fireworks went off. I’m still picking bits of gunpowder out of my hair.

Impressionist gardens

The show of the festival. A blockbuster exhibition in that the queues for the tickets went round the block.

Until paint and patrons both became cheaper, the gardens that were painted were along the lines of commissions, many of which seemed keen to have the artist capture the strength and power of the landowners fountain.

As paint became cheaper and the middle class started to have the money to but paintings that they hadn’t commissioned, painters started painting the formal guardians that were springing up under the reign of Napoleon. The gardens may have been formal but the people were not.

The impressionists appeared to happen because paint got cheap. Especially green paint. Especially cabbage coloured green paint. The impressionists weren’t interested in registering the power of your fountain, they were more interested in conveying the frost on the cabbages of the allotment of the bloke who was too poor to buy their paintings. Cabbage green must have been a cheap coloured paint, or, possibly, cabbages were attractive to painters because there are a lot of paintings with cabbages.

But, to be honest, allotments and kitchen gardens are places of industry and passion, who could resist setting up and easel.