I’m currently on
the train to Edinburgh, about an hour away from my final destination (DRAMATIC)
on what’s been a non-eventful yet comfortable journey.
The trip has been
all the more pleasant for the fact I was able to upgrade my ticket to First
Class for an extra £20, which may be a false economy, but it’s been nice to
have the luxury of more leg-room (I have two) and to be brought tea,
coffee, orange juice and food for free (insert inverted commas where
necessary).
While this is the
second time I’ve done the Fringe on my own, it’s still a strange feeling.
The hardest bit is leaving my wife and home for a city
that’s at its most exhausting and full-on at this time of year. If anything,
the journey is like lowering myself into the shallow end of the pool and
adjusting to the temperature, primarily due to the table of media types next to me, who haven’t been particularly overbearing, but are still niggling
me nevertheless
At least the scenery
is pleasant. I’m pulling into Berwick-upon-Tweed as we speak; crossing the
bridge that overlooks the harbour. It’s this stage of the journey that’s the nicest, with the sea to the left that does its best to make you forget about the
A1 on the right.
The downside to
tonight is I’m staying in a hotel instead of my digs.
Thankfully they’re a short walk from the venue and my flat, but it will be nice
when I get the keys tomorrow and can settle (though not before I dash about
town picking up equipment, meeting my flyerers and technician, collecting my
flyers and doing my tech). If the flat isn’t exactly the same as last
year, I’ll overturn a metaphorical trestle table in the disgust; something
about the Fringe brings out the Prema donna in me.
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