In seventy years, the Royal Mile will have been renamed the Royal Fifteen-Thousand, Eight-Hundred-and-Forty Hands to acknowledge Scotland’s post-Brexit acceptance of this ancient form of horse measurement. A hand’s equivalent to four inches, so here’s my workings:
The castle road will be so chock-full of contemporary dancers, the Fringe will attempt a leotard amnesty to curb numbers; likewise, anyone staging a youth musical production will be asked to leave town immediately or face the wrath of the Elaine Paige Society; it only has six members, but they’re feisty (when disconnected from their nebulizers).
It won’t just be the student scene that’s saturated; by 2087, comics and punters will be at a ratio of 36:1. We’ll be forced to rut like deer to win an audience. I’ll be performing from an iron lung - and what’s worse is I’ll still be described as “up-and-coming”.
Friday, 30 June 2017
Many Years From Now.
One thing you're often asked in the lead-up to Edinburgh is to put together short written-to-order pieces to act as promotional material for your show. A couple of weeks ago a publication got into contact with me via my PR to ask if I could supply a short article relating to this year's 70th Anniversary, speculating as to what the festival will be like in seventy years time. Here's what I said: