Hazel McHaffie

the Fringe

Festival city

Wow! Once again, how fortunate am I?

I live just south of the city of Edinburgh, home to the biggest arts festival in the world and in history. For years I’ve been a keen supporter of the International Book Festival. My record of attendance to date is 23 events in 2008 in that famous tented village!

Fringe ticketsHowever, since my granddaughters have demonstrated a keen interest in the performance arts, I’ve divided my time between the EIBF and the Fringe, taking in lots of plays, shows and concerts with them. A real treat. So I have a fat wallet full of tickets ready for an exciting couple of weeks this month.

This year’s events began well for me with the Writers in the Fringe event in Blackwell’s Bookshop on the first Thursday in August. Five authors gave us a fifteen minute glimpse into their latest books; entertaining as well as informing. One even put on her own little side-show involving a suitcase and audience participation! Very clever. (Five different authors each Thursday in the month if you’re interested. Oh, and it’s free!)

Food Festival teapotThe Foodie Festival in Inverleith Park was new to me but great fun, offering tastes and experiences well outside my usual comfort zone. Jam made with chocolate as well as fruit? Toffee vodka? Blue cheese oatcakes? Lemongrass chocolate? Marmite popcorn? Frozen passion fruit prosecco? All quite delicious. That was gloriously sunny Saturday – fortunately; the event was closed for its third and last day on Sunday because of the high winds!

Tomorrow evening, I’m off to a beautiful old church in Palmerston Place (creating a grand stage) to see a fab theatre company Saltmine for the third consecutive year. They’re a hugely talented young Christian group who convey powerful moral messages about society in their polished and very artistic performances. This one’s called The Soul in the Machine and tells the story of George Williams, Founder of the YMCA –

“We are more than bodies to be fed to a machine. We are made for more than work. We have souls, we have spirits and somewhere in this dead city there must be a place for those things.”

London, 1844 – Centre of Empire, crucible of the New Jerusalem. Her gutters run with effluent and blood and her skies are choked with the smoke of a hundred factories and foundries, but above the smoke, the stars still shine. George Williams is a country boy who comes to the city to find his place in the world and to make his mark. Appalled by the spirit-crushing rhythms of the Worker’s life he fights to spread the light of God, and create a place where the soul can be nurtured.

I have high hopes.

Next week we begin the serious daily show-hopping, but of course, the streets are also strewn with market stalls and performers strutting their stuff for the millions of tourists cluttering up the city, to the everlasting frustration of the natives who’re simply trying to get on with their ordinary everyday lives.

 

Pavement artistes

Street market

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LiliesBut living where I do, I have the luxury of escaping the mayhem and sitting in the garden enjoying the peace and fragrance all about me with only the boom of the Red Arrows and the muted-by-distance explosions of the Tattoo fireworks to remind me of the frenzy a few miles away.

As I say, extremely fortunate.

 

 

 

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