It’s quite the most laid back festival going. Set against the backdrop of an idyllic historical city its crammed full of creative types, antiquated buildings and thousands of fringe theatre acts of interest. And there’s plenty of scope for some serious drinking.
The other huge difference between this festival experience and every other I’ve been to is that instead of waking up bleary eyed and dehydrated in a tent I did so in student digs. Instead of struggling in the morning to locate a mouldy old toilet roll before traipsing through swampland en route to catching hepatitis C on a toilet seat. This time I just pulled back my duvet, strolled down the centrally heated corridor and used freshly cleaned facilities shared by six people rather than thirty five thousand. It was quite pleasant.
But it couldn’t be a festival without rain and this was no difference. And by all accounts it had made more than a guest appearance in the weeks preceding our arrival. Several of the comedians used it as material for their shows as for the first two weeks of August it had pissed it down.
By the time we hit town a sighting of sunshine was being talked about as excitedly as any of the 2,000 acts on show. And that included Hans Teeuwen who may well be the long lost son of the ‘Flying Dutchman’ I met in Perth back in 2006.
Arriving just after midday on the Friday it seemed that those certain things that occur whenever I arrive in a country continued. Firstly, that it’s raining at the moment I disembark. And secondly, that Fulham choose this moment to beat Arsenal. And both occurred once again to spark reactions at separate ends of the emotional spectrum.
As we struggled with our luggage in the pissing rain I immediately regretted wearing my suede shoes with holes in the front, back and bottom. I think it was god’s way of telling me not to be a cheapskate and buy a new pair as within ten minutes they and my socks were drenched through and I was keeping an eye out for shoe shops rather than soaking up the Edinburgh atmosphere.
Thankfully it didn’t take long to walk to our digs as we’d booked rooms near the centre of town. Unlike last time there were to be no late night long drunken treks back for us just short ones.
Fe and I, Luke and Tash, Fe’s sister Lizzie, Calum and Bradford were in the same block which meant we had a floor to ourselves, with bathroom and kitchen facilities to share. It was like being a student again but with money in the bank, an inclination to shower and the intention to actually do something apart from getting trashed.
Thankfully for those amongst us unsure of this new world order the first event we were booked into combined the arts with the art of drinking. ‘Office Party’ takes audience participation to a whole new level. For without an audience there would be no office party.
The premise is that you turn up and are immediately split into different groups/departments within a fictitious company. Everyone is given a name tag and I was put in the ‘domestic services’ along with Fe and Lizzie. And we were almost immediately whisked away into nearby toilets to have a celebratory drink and a talk with our departmental head, Cath.
Being actively encouraged to drink alcohol throughout the show and the unusual start to proceedings immediately impressed me. But Fe was clearly petrified that Cath was actually going to get us to clean the toilets.
After drinking shots by the urinals, we trooped out and me and Cath led a conga line around the hall before being joined by those in the other departments.
All this was followed by several trips back to the bar in the auditorium that ‘Office Party’ is staged. While a live DJ, various stage acts, and ‘appearances’ by the various divisional heads and the boss of the company reminded everyone that they weren’t just at a normal run of the mill disco.
It lasted for a good two hours and was more than worth the £18 entrance fee. It featured nudity, limbo, fake puke and tribalism between groups that up to two hours previously had never come face to face.
The spirit that those involved participated reminded me of School Disco during the late 90’s. And I believe ‘Office Party’ could go somewhere to replicating the success. As it draws on experiences everyone over the age of 21 can relate to, it allows attendees to have a big drink and a dance while also providing entertainment and a lot of fun.
And at the end of the show everyone is expected to stick around and continue dancing away and drinking at the bar. In fact even those who don’t attend the show can pop in and join the disco. I don’t want to ruin the surprises in the show but it matters not that I say this. Unless I go again it’s unlikely you’ll see this drunken fool anywhere near the stage.
Nor will you see these crazy types strutting around on the dance floor.
It was a fantastic evening. The perfect start to what would be one of my best festival experiences of all time.
The remainder of the evening was spent at a local bar where we drank late into the evening. And my cousin Stuart learnt a valuable lesson after Calum went to get him a burger. In trusting Fe and Lizzie to pass it to him when it arrived he realised that these Kiwi girls aren’t the types to let free food pass them by.
The next day Stuart had stopped moaning about losing half his burger to the two gannets and we all took the chance to watch ‘Pluck’ in action, have a look around the Golden Mile and visit the Scottish Museum for a view over the city.
Several of us were nursing huge hangovers for the second day running. And because of our advancing years a couple even took the opportunity to go home for a nap. But for the hardcore amongst us the afternoon was spent sitting down and having a nice chat and taking a photo of Calum’s name in the floor of the Museum.
That evening we went to see ‘The Time Step’ which featured our friend Marnie and the mother of our mate Sam, the award-winning actress Linda Marlowe. It was a fantastic play which boasted some superb one-liners, good intense acting and a neat twist along the way. And it ensured we could all say we’d witnessed a bit of culture during our stay.
Later that evening we went to see the American comic John Pinnette. I’d booked these tickets and so it was on my head if he turned out to be a bit of a turkey. But we were all in good spirits before he hit the stage. And his act didn’t give anyone any reason to complain. Another big boozy night soon followed.
For Stuart there had been another painful lesson to learn. After being promised a sofa to sleep on back at our place he’d stayed on drinking with Luke, Tash and Lizzie. But on arriving back at ours in the early hours found out that Fe and I had stolen it from the living room to add more space to the single bed we were sharing. His pleas for a spare duvet fell on deaf ears and he spent the night on the kitchen floor covered only in a coat. That’s South London hospitality for you.
For the rest of us, Sunday started much like any other with a headache, memory loss and a single confused eye open with a mind working overtime behind it trying to work out if an ass had been made of oneself the evening before.
Again the day was spent milling around the town centre and catching up on the football reports from Fulham’s 1-0 win over Arsenal.
The sun was out and spirits were still high despite the effects of alcohol on our aging bodies and minds. For what better fill-up than a trip to see Pluck in action and their new show ‘The Titanic’ which plots the last moments of the band that sailed on the doomed ship. Sounds depressing? Anything but as it was given the Pluck treatment in front of a packed out crowd that lapped it up. It was magnificent stuff.
Following this we had a couple of hours before the second comedy act I’d signed everyone up to. A strange sounding man by the name of Hans Teeuwen and his Underground Amsterdam Comedy Collective.
We headed to a nearby curry house that we’d visited in Edinburgh on our last visit back in 2004. We were running a bit late so had to wolf down the tasty hot food and hot step it to the theatre.
Just in time for the evening’s entertainment and we joined the queue which was already filing into a small, blacked out venue which had us in a sweat moments after entering.
On the stage was a piano to one side and a single mic on the other. The rest of the stage was blacked out. And some upbeat Eurotrash pumped out of the speakers. It was all boding so well. And then he came on.
Offensive, physical, aggressive, overtly loud, childish, musical, extreme, uncomfortable, sweaty and did I mention offensive? Hans ticked every single fucking box. And split our group firmly down the middle.
For the likes of me, Luke and Bradford it was the best show we’d seen. For Fe and Lizzie it was most definitely the worst while Tash was somewhere in the middle finding some of it funny and amusing and some of it childish.
It was to be the talking point of the weekend as his act veered from one outrageous subject to another. Every seen a comedian touch on paedophilia one minute before embarking on a sexual encounter with God via a story about a disabled firefighter? I did mention it was a comedy show didn’t I? This is a guy worth seeing.
The last big night of the festival ended with me and Luke arguing on the dance floor about who would take the woman’s role as we ballroom danced our way round a tacky Edinburgh club. Thankfully there aren’t any photographs of that particular moment but embarrassingly I have to admit to succumbing. I obviously consoled myself with a spot of air guitar.
And that was about it really. The Monday was probably one day too far for us all. With Stuart having gone home the day before and with Luke and Tash flying back that night the holiday was coming to an end. And after three days of hardcore drinking it was time to head back to London and normality. But with promises we’d return and do it all over again in the not too distant future. Edinburgh rocks. It really does.
No comments:
Post a Comment