Postcard from Edinburgh - Views and Tattoos

The delight of the festival has been the book festival. The pop-up book shop is fantastic (to clarify, a pop-up book shop is a large marquee housing a temporary book shop, not a book shop that exclusively sells pop-up books, although wouldn't it be great if you had a pop-up pop-up book shop?). I could really have done some damage in here but thankfully had to consider the weight limit on luggage for the flight home and so confined myself to purchasing a paperback, and a hardback roughly the size and weight of a house brick about the history of the British Post Office (how could anyone resist a book that reproduces notice that gives instructions to postmen about keeping their firearms clean and ready at all times?). What was pleasing was that as well as the best sellers, thee was a whole aisle devoted to Scottish authors and Scottish publishers. Here was a wealth of Scottish literature, not all of it about smack.

From one cultural event to another with a trip to Hollyrood Palace to visit the Queen's Gallery, showing a small selection of the Queen's Collection. It's rather hard, looking at the collection, to gauge the tastes of the present Queen, as her acquisitions are based on complementing the pieces acquired by her predecessors.



Hence, there is a lot of stuff from the Victorian era, when even the most modest candle holder from Balmoral had to look at home in a room with tartan on the floor and stags' heads on the walls, so was six foot tall and marble.

There was a lot of stuff from India, where 'gift of' sounds so much better than 'looted by', and where the decorative taste appears to be: cover everything in precious stones, even the swords, although, in fairness, just the pommels, the blades were originally Persian and looked as though they had just been given a perfunctory wipe after last being extracted from somebody.

There was also, and let's be fair - some tat. Royal tat, but tat none the less in the form of Faberge eggs. One in particular was a platinum frame encrusted with diamonds held there only by their perfect cut. Inside was a broach. It must have cost a fortune, looked tacky as hell and was a long way from a 'Kinder'. The royal family have the largest collection of Faberge in the world, most of it acquired from the Bolsheviks after it was in turn pillaged from the murdered Russian royal family. No doubt acquired because it was too good to remain in the hands of murderers. Fair enough.

One stand out piece was a painting by Canaletto of the grand canal in Venice. Light seemed to flood from the painting and barges bobbed on the water. The whole thing was awash not just with canal water but with symbolism and hidden meaning. Like a Dan Brown book. But good.


Perhaps the most striking piece there was a crown. From Ecuador and about 1,000 years old it was a broad band of gold with a fan like the rising sun at the back. Simple and primal, there was no doubt that whoever wore this was top dog. Presented to Queen Victoria just because it was wise to keep a mighty monarch on side.


Out in the fresh air, just time for a scone roughly the size of a small car and then to the Plesance to see Tim Vine. Tim good, venue shite. It's one thing to crowd people into a small room with total disregard for dignity or fire safety laws, quite another to sell more tickets than you actually have unobstructed view.

No such problems that evening at the Tattoo, which was exceptional. The bloke in front was getting a bit over-excited and sprang up and down from his seat to photograph the action. I can sort of understand, as if you have not seen the Tattoo before, you must be thinking 'the folks at home will never believe this!'. The Tattoo is so good that it remains the only show in town that you don't have to be a little bit drunk to get maximum enjoyment out of. Pipes, drums, huge aggressive men in kilts. This is Scotland, especially when they project the St Andrew's cross onto Edinburgh Castle.


By the time the fireworks go off the crowd are in such a state that they are not sure if the pyrotechnics mark the end of the show or the opening salvo in the battle for independence but if the latter, they are for Scotland, and freedom!

An early night tonight - home before midnight, meaning time enough for a trip to the bar and a scotch to aid restful sleep.

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.

Edinburgh Reviews - the Tattoo

Unmissible.

Opens with a flyover from an aeroplane so low that you really don’t want to be in the top row of the stand. Kilts. Pipes played so loud they should be classed as weapons of mass destruction. The lone piper on the battlements, a fitting tribute to Henry Allingham, my ongoing problem with dust in my eye (which also causes my nose to run).

And bravery. Not just because a lot of the bands contain soldiers that last week were pounding the mean valleys of Helmand and shooting at Johnny Afgan, but because the night we were there one piper, after doing his thing marched into the spotlight waiting for him and asked his girlfriend to marry him in front of a crowd of 8,000 and all his mates.

Now last week he was probably charging at a hoard of murderous Afghans but THAT was being brave. He was an Aussie as was his girlfriend and one can just imagine that as he rejoined his mates he was chided ‘you asked a girl to marry you. Mate, that is so gay!’. Ah, forces humour.

She said yes, by the way.