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Cross-Country Me.


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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