Wet day at the Fringe

I had booked some tickets for a play at the Smirnoff Underbelly (one of the Fringe venues), starting late afternoon, and arranged to meet Lavender-Leaf and Floppy-Brolly in Edinburgh beforehand. Leaf had forewarned me about the traffic, but I've never been good with timekeeping in recent years and as usual it was all a bit of a panic.

The roads were busy with slow buses and flashing traffic lights, so the driving pace into town was a crawl. Play started at 3:15 and with just an hour to go I had to park, get to the Fringe box office, pick up the tickets and get down to the venue to meet the others.

My normal shortcut (a bit like a game of snakes and ladders around the city centre) wasn't being a shortcut today, but I thought that if I could park in my usual slot, I might just make it. At the usual slot I couldn't even see the yellow 'no parking' lines because of parked cars, so I kept on crawling behind the traffic until I was almost inside the Botanical Gardens. Never seen it this busy before.

2:30 now and of course the rain is tipping it down as I shuffle quickly along and up towards town. I can't run any more these days (ankles are trashed), so I hobble up the hill, continually looking over my shoulder for a taxi, jacket open, getting hot and wet. Must look a sight. Fourth taxi along stops so I dive in.

2:50, phone rings, it's Leaf, "What do you mean you're running late? I told you it was going to be busy!". On the start of the Bridges now and traffic is stationary. I raise my left eyebrow at the Taxi driver (he could tell I was getting frustrated). He said, "I'll try and zip up the bus lane", as we sit stationary waiting for the bus to move. 2 minutes and 20 feet later a car breaks down ahead.

I jump out and start hobbling again, up-down, up-down, like Rolf Harris chasing a Kangaroo. It's usually not very polite to go streaming through the middle of Edinburgh street theatre ... hang on, they think I am Edinburgh Street theatre ... flapping, waving arms "out of the way please, emergency, I'm a doctor". Eventually get to the box office down a thin alleyway, huffing and glowing, only to meet the end of a huge queue. I cheekily barge through and find a sign "Don't wait in the queue if you have pre-booked tickets". Great!

3:05 now, inside and I'm in another queue behind two couples at the ticket desk. Why does it take so long for people to pick up tickets? They've paid for the damn things already! Stop chatting about which card you used, you arse! Eventually it's me. No it's them. Eh, who was here first? OK, you go. DAMN! Why do I have to be so polite. Now I'm kicking myself, tick-tock, tick-tock. Whoosht as I grab the tickets and fly out the door.

Up the road past the police "Where's Victoria Street?"
"Just down there m...", to late, I've gone already.

3:14 trotting ... stumbling ... flying, I hit the front entrance of the Underbelly at a zooming 5mph trundle and unable to stop, career down the stairs. Luckily there's a bend with a wall half way down so I smash into this rather than end up flat out and bruised.

Leaf sees me and lets rip "WHAT TIME DO YOU CALL THIS!!", but what do I care. Shoulder's sore and I'm squelching water, but I've made it now. Phew!

I blogged about the play here, but didn't mention that I was the one glowing with all that steam and heat in the second row.

Amazingly, Leaf and Floppy-Brolly enjoyed it so much that we only spent 20 minutes squeaking about how I'm always late and how we almost didn't get in (this bit usually lasts much longer). Instead, we spent the next 20 minutes arguing about where we'd eat since I was so 'fussy' (they all call me a vegetarian, but it's just that I don't eat meat).

It was still tipping it down, so we found an Indian restaurant called Khushi's just along from the Underbelly. The place looked quite new and it was half-empty (or is it half-full?). Just up the stairs is one of those polished marble floors that makes walking with wet shoes treacherous. I collided with the "Danger, wet floor" sign but managed to stay upright.

Lovely meal. The young woman making doing the coffee's might have been new since she made her first ever Cappuccino for Leaf.

These two were then asking me all kinds of questions about blogs and blogging and who these people were, that were in the play, and what kinds of crazy people write blogs, and how they could write so openly about their lives like this, and how they found the play interesting, but that these blogs must surely all be made up.

... ummm, "I don't know, yes it must be a bit strange, I guess", erm, moves one hand under the table to slide pad marked "Bunnyman's Blog Notebook", slowly and quietly into my deep jacket pocket.

Hmmm, so, what kinds of crazy people write blogs then?