Last night walking through the Cowgate, Fringe posters everywhere, I got to pondering if someone was trying to remember a recommendation …. “I remember it’s John, yes definitely John, the surname was something like Roberts, or possibly Robertson? What’s that? John-Luke? Oo, not sure, the guy said he was very good. Huh? Roberts? No, I think it was Robertson. Well, they’re both comedians, how different will they be?” Well, sir, they are very different, just like porters and golden ales are both beers but one style is bogging whilst the other is rather nice; pick the wrong one and the result may leave a rather unpleasant taste! Personally, of course, I enjoy both Roberts and Robertson but I don’t like porters.
Earlier today after seeing Scary Story at Paradise in the Vault I headed home the roundabout way down the Royal Mile, now the last chance saloon for flyerers desperately trying to drum up one last audience. Also walking along was one of the silent disco walking tours, yeah right, silent?! They dance around singing loudly and badly to the amusement/annoyance of other pedestrians. Today I happened to catch their rendition of Sheena Easton’s 9 to 5, damn them, it’s still in my head! And I remember all the words, oh the shame!
Let’s make it a threesome, yesterday afternoon heading from the Gilded Balloon up the Royal Mile I happened upon a chap typing up instant poetry on the street. Ho, I thought, never had a poem written just for me, so I commissioned him to tap something out. Him was Ben, a lovely American chap who’d seen it done in New Orleans and decided to give it a whirl himself. We had a lovely chat, enjoying the late afternoon sun as the world passed by. Here’s his endeavours, a new treasure to add to my Fringe Box.