Suitcase bulging, train heaving, seat reservation system playing up. Arrive late, straight to hotel, unpack, straight off to first show – Frantic Assembly’s Beautiful Burnout – hot, so hot; performers dripping, audience fading, plastic seats not helping. Wannabe boxer tumbles out of washing machine, star boxer bursts through TV screens. Spot familiar faces on other side of audience, walk to next show together, one collides with another passer-by in spectacular Frantic Assembly style. Drink beer on steps and ponder next experience: Sub Rosa. Follow story of a murdered chorus girl up and down stairs in a Masonic lodge. Grand Guignol gore in mysterious rooms, sitting thigh to thigh with strangers. Down fire escape on to cobbled street, past midnight, looking out for villain of the piece, but to no avail. Back to hotel.
Early next morning, clothes for all weathers packed in bag, Mac slung over arm, plunge into throng of Pleasance Courtyard. Spot familiar face, catch up, then into show together – You’re Not Like the Other Girls, Chrissy. Hot, so hot. Tiny space, French train station, grandmother’s story, wonders in suitcases. Out into blazing sunshine, all-weather clothes loading down bag, mac unnecessary, dart down an alleyway, across road to another makeshift venue with what looks like a soup kitchen serving lunch inside. Les Argonautes: four bald clowns dressed in white. They balance, juggle, twinkle. In front row large group of adults with learning disabilities sit in silent amazement. Give next show a miss after hearing bad reports, lounge around hotel, repack all-weather gear into bag then off to pub for Honest. Find comfortable corner on leather-upholstered settle, order gin and tonic, sigh with pleasure. Spot familiar face over other side of bar, cross to say hello. Suddenly performance begins. Trapped on stool virtually in middle of bar. Gin and tonic on other side of bar. Shuffle along to seat with back. Awkward position, crane neck to see actor. Actor cranes neck to see me. Gin and tonic tantalising but out of reach. Actor sparkles, writing sizzles, gin and tonic loses its fizz. Long hike to Big Top for next show: No Fit State Circus. Replacement gin and tonic soothes blisters. All-weather gear heavy in bag. Spot familiar face on sound desk, catch up. She tells me it’s a promenade, hurrah: no seats at all. Imperceptibly show begins above head. Crane neck to see up. 19 performers, live band, huge space, swinging and twisting on equipment, throwing and catching each other, fire and water. Anarchic circus, huge party, leave on adrenaline high.
Up early next day, pack all-weather clothes in bag, off to the New Town. First show: Alecky Blythe’s verbatim drama Do We Look Like Refugees? In Georgian. Sparks of humour, moving stories, Georgian music. Hurried hello to familiar face at end before she has to move the set out for the next show which will begin in 20 minutes. A choice now: Our Share of Tomorrow back at Pleasance, or En Route at Traverse? Toss coin: En Route wins. It’s a promenade, so no seats at all, hurrah! Meet in foyer, sent off on first stage of journey. Juggling mobile in one hand, iPod in the other. ‘Turn right, then right again,’ I’m advised. Turn right, then panic. Did she say right? Or left? Journey through Edinburgh closes and wynds, up and down steps, round backs of buildings, across courts. All-weather gear heavy on shoulder, mac over arm, sun shines: hot, so hot. Find secret messages filed amongst CDs in record shop, hidden behind blue door at bar, chalked on walls and kerbs. Finally coffee in pavement café in shower of welcome cool rain. Wear mac! Eat swiftly en route to next show: Emma Thompson presents Fair Trade. Long queue, sell-out show, lavish production, 50 minutes of short scenes, long scene changes, unremarkable live music. Frantic journey to next show, queue in sun, all-weather gear back in bag. Limbik Theatre’s The Harbour. Frugal, inventive, poetic, striking live music. Stay put for Idle Motion’s Vanishing Horizon: grandmother’s story, wonders in suitcases. Back to hotel for relaxing dinner rounded off with sampling of various local whiskies.
Up early to catch train home. An all-too-brief, but inspiring visit. But by now craving a normal evening in a purpose-built theatre, an upholstered seat, a clear beginning to the show, a view of the stage that doesn’t involve craning my neck to see between two other heads, no sound bleed from next door and air conditioning.
Back to the New Vic it is, then. There’s no place like home!
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