Edinburgh 2010: Part I – The Journey
Some would say that two years is quite a long time to go without a proper holiday. They’d be right.
Some would also say that eighteen months doesn’t really count as two years, even if technically 1.5 years would round to 2.0 if you absolutely had to round them for some reason. Perhaps an integer obsessed gunman is on the loose and asking questions about how long it’s been since you’ve been on a proper holiday? But nevermind the reason. They’d also be right.
Some others would say that the Edinburgh Fringe is a ludicrous choice of destination for a first proper holiday in two years a long time. They are fools. But they’re also right.
Regardless of this completely manufactured debate I did indeed choose two weeks at the Edinburgh Fringe as an appropriate place to go to recharge my batteries after a tricky few months. Would it be a decision I’d come to regret? Only by reading this upcoming series of posts will you find out!
I broke up the journey by stopping twice – once for an adventure in deepest darkest Shropshire with my Sherlock-obsessed political fangirl friend Nat, and once at the old family home on the Wirral.
Both of these were excellent decisions.
I had only intended to stop at Nat’s for a meal (at the finest Indian restaurant in the whole village), but ended up preferring the option of a pub crawl and a night on the farm to driving into the rainy darkness for another few hours. The village has more pubs than people and is thus well set up for a superb night of conversation and mild debauchery. Highlights included the cheapest pool table since my days in the British Legion (honest), the best local newspaper letters page I’ve seen in years (one particularly fantastic letter genuinely complained about the effect Hitler had on the development of Plymouth town centre), watching the local youths ‘flirting’ with each other by stealing the girls bras and wearing them on their heads, and trekking back to the farm in the pitch blackness through fields of mud, cowpat and terror.
On arrival back at the farm I was presented with a small dilemma. I had taken against Sherlock out of spite after unknowingly missing the first episode and being blown away by a torrent of hype and squealing. Stubbornly I decided to avoid it unless it became strictly unavoidable. And since Nat had watched the first episode every day since it had been first aired it transpired that staying at her house made it strictly unavoidable.
Luckily it turned out I loved it.
I am nothing if not open-minded.
The Wirral also made for a delightful but sadly brief visit. The main feature was a marvellous dinner party with some friends, spending most of the night discussing a mutual friend’s bizarre lovelife and the equally bizarre proposed development of one of the tallest buildings in Britain on the Wirral. And an argument about politics which for once I stayed out of!
At one point I saw my chance to try out the Greatest Joke Ever again. It failed, but I think I’m just hanging around with the wrong people.
But as all good things must come to an end, so must my journey to Edinburgh. Luckily, however, after it finished I was due to have two weeks actually at the Fringe… introducing my flatmate Hope to the delights of the festival, seeing lots of shows, eating, drinking and meeting interesting people.
So I didn’t mind the journey ending. If anything… I was quite happy about it.
