This year has been unusual for me in that I’ve managed to see very few shows at any of the festivals. I reported earlier after a flurry of activity during the first weekend then all went quiet. Mostly this was due to flu then just not being in Edinburgh.
This weekend I made up for the lack a little bit:
Fascinating Aida
Go! Just get a ticket to wherever they are on and laugh yourself daft. These three women are the funniest act I’ve seen at the Fringe for several years. Although they sail rather close to the non-PC line I am prepared to suspend my hyper-critical sensibilities as they are WymminOfaCertainAge and that’s pretty much ok then. Why they are not on TV (they used to be on ages ago) when they are so much more talented than the dross that currently passes for stand-up, is unfathomable.
http://www.fascinatingaida.co.uk/
Paul Sinha
Sig Other knows him, so we went to support this “Asian gay doctor comic
“ – his own description. I giggled at bits of his set, but otherwise, same old, same old.
I had not seen any exhibitions this year, so determined to have art-gluttony yesterday by fitting in four over the afternoon interspersed with friends and food.
Rough Cut Nation
Marvellous idea for an art show! The Scottish National Portrait Gallery is closed for renovation, but it was opened for a group of young artists to create an installation using one of the ground floor galleries to do with as they would. While it was not my taste in art, I just love that people who may never otherwise have their art displayed in a national gallery were given this opportunity. It was absolutely mobbed when I went there, so it must have proved popular.
http://www.nationalgalleries.org/whatson/exhibition/5:368/7989/
The Travels of an Urban Hermit
Artist Becky Fawcett has produced a small exhibition of drawings from around the UK with witty commentary explaining what she has produced. This was on show in the Assembly Rooms. I think it could have been better displayed, but it was worth seeing.
Zimbabwe Sculpture
Also on display in the Assembly Rooms. Beautiful stone sculpture from Zimbabwean artists. Sadly not at a price I could afford.
The Signspotting Project
I kept passing these on the bus and never getting off and taking a proper look - until the last half hour of this very funny exhibition of signs positioned above and inside the Prices Mall at the east end of Princes Street. 100 highly entertaining signs from all around the world, showing how idiotic the English language can be, especially when in translation. Other signs were perfectly grammatical but amusing and absurd. I’d seen one earlier in the month when up north: “BEWARE Freerange Children SLOW.”
http://www.signspotting.com/index.php?do=rate&gender=0&new=7
Some exhibitions go on for another week yet, so I might fit in more.
The International Book Festival outing for my book group this year was to listen to Elaine Showalter. Excellent! I could have listened to her wisdom for many more hours than the one allocated.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2009/may/09/female-novelists-usa
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2009/may/16/elaine-showalter-jury-of-her-peers
Not festivally, but I also saw Harry Potter draws his pension er, the Half Blood Prince. It was ok, but really Ms Rowling, do you have to portray teenage girls as such weedy characters swooning over boys?
Almost into September and fewer opportunities for kulture, but there may be some films I’d be interested in coming to the Edinburgh Filmhouse soon.
Late August general meanderings
One of my (less) endearing personality traits is my impulsiveness. This has sometimes led to good and bad decisions, but most often, neither good nor bad. I have always wanted to give my opinion on well, anything really. So, recently when I was idling away an hour online, I signed up to a site giving permission to, I thought, a limited number of pollsters contacting me.
OK, I should have thought this through before agreeing to speak to anyone and to realise that this might be more time consuming and considerably less straight forward than I imagined. My reasoning for taking this step is that there is virtually no representation of radical feminist middle-aged Scottish people’s opinion apparent anywhere. I now know why. In order to have such (apparently) specific opinion showing in polls, the right questions have to be asked.
What I have discovered since inviting access to my views is that my answers don’t fit the questions asked as most questions are framed using the dominant patriarchal outlook. Perhaps I should have been more cynical before embarking on this, but surely it cannot be beyond the scope of computer programmes to analyse a wider range of views than currently seems to be the case, going on the, admittedly, limited number of surveys I’ve taken part in. Until questions are more flexible, minority opinions cannot gain any representation and answers will continue to be hopelessly skewed in favour of the status quo. The other glaring problem is that surveys are answered only by those who are interested in answering surveys. This insight does not lead me to conclude that there is a silent majority of Scottish, middle-aged radical feminists in our population who are failing to make their views known.
To date, I’ve only answered one political survey. It was online and dealt almost exclusively with issues that only affected the English therefore I didn’t feel able to make much of that, as I’m reluctant to offer views on another country’s affairs.
If I’m asked about my views on the current burning topic, (at least amongst the chatterati online) I will have to resort to that enormously helpful Scottish legal verdict and assert that my view is ‘not proven’. I’ve no idea whether those who think the Libyan chap is not guilty have it right or wrong, neither have I a firm view on compassionate release, although I found Annabel Goldie’s idea of hospice care for the prisoner, inconceivably short-sighted. Responses have been remarkably narrowly framed in party political terms by too many politicians who project a view that can only arise from a belief that Scottish people/politicians are uniquely unable to deal with international implications, (with the commendable exception of the ever impressive Malcolm Chisholm in his statement in Parliament on Monday.) I am inclined to regard the way MacAskill’s handled it as him making the best of a difficult situation and that Scots politicians stride the world’s stage with as much or as little talent as those of any other nation.
Innate pragmatism engenders a feeling of gratitude that he will die at home and not in a Scottish jail with all the fall-out that would have entailed, particularly if he is eventually found not guilty. Slightly wistful thinking has me speculating that maybe Hillary would have moderated her views if dealing with Nicola and Harriet, but then again, probably not. And now I have to go answer an email on the subject from a baffled American pal whose views are always satisfyingly contrary to my own.
OK, I should have thought this through before agreeing to speak to anyone and to realise that this might be more time consuming and considerably less straight forward than I imagined. My reasoning for taking this step is that there is virtually no representation of radical feminist middle-aged Scottish people’s opinion apparent anywhere. I now know why. In order to have such (apparently) specific opinion showing in polls, the right questions have to be asked.
What I have discovered since inviting access to my views is that my answers don’t fit the questions asked as most questions are framed using the dominant patriarchal outlook. Perhaps I should have been more cynical before embarking on this, but surely it cannot be beyond the scope of computer programmes to analyse a wider range of views than currently seems to be the case, going on the, admittedly, limited number of surveys I’ve taken part in. Until questions are more flexible, minority opinions cannot gain any representation and answers will continue to be hopelessly skewed in favour of the status quo. The other glaring problem is that surveys are answered only by those who are interested in answering surveys. This insight does not lead me to conclude that there is a silent majority of Scottish, middle-aged radical feminists in our population who are failing to make their views known.
To date, I’ve only answered one political survey. It was online and dealt almost exclusively with issues that only affected the English therefore I didn’t feel able to make much of that, as I’m reluctant to offer views on another country’s affairs.
If I’m asked about my views on the current burning topic, (at least amongst the chatterati online) I will have to resort to that enormously helpful Scottish legal verdict and assert that my view is ‘not proven’. I’ve no idea whether those who think the Libyan chap is not guilty have it right or wrong, neither have I a firm view on compassionate release, although I found Annabel Goldie’s idea of hospice care for the prisoner, inconceivably short-sighted. Responses have been remarkably narrowly framed in party political terms by too many politicians who project a view that can only arise from a belief that Scottish people/politicians are uniquely unable to deal with international implications, (with the commendable exception of the ever impressive Malcolm Chisholm in his statement in Parliament on Monday.) I am inclined to regard the way MacAskill’s handled it as him making the best of a difficult situation and that Scots politicians stride the world’s stage with as much or as little talent as those of any other nation.
Innate pragmatism engenders a feeling of gratitude that he will die at home and not in a Scottish jail with all the fall-out that would have entailed, particularly if he is eventually found not guilty. Slightly wistful thinking has me speculating that maybe Hillary would have moderated her views if dealing with Nicola and Harriet, but then again, probably not. And now I have to go answer an email on the subject from a baffled American pal whose views are always satisfyingly contrary to my own.
The Girlz Viewz
The Girlz decided to meet up for a chill out. Said chill out involved insignificant amounts of C2H5OH compared to the norm before we all grew up and chose to behave decorously on ‘school’ nites. Hence, I am home in sufficient time to post this.
We ate, drank and conducted in-depth analysis of the doings of our nearest and dearest. Oddly, we appear to have crossed a Rubicon between feelings of yeuch at parental sexual relationships to now trying to set up dates between our respective widowed progenitors. Although my suggestion of a civil partnership for two dads was perhaps premature.
However, this post is supposed to be a quasi-official rant – at the tramsbuggeration of our fair city.
While marooned en omnibus on Leith St on my way to the girlz-rendezvous I had far too long to anti-ogle (as in try not to look but be helplessly drawn to the awfulness of) the male objects not working on the tramscrash, i.e. holes in road.
These individuals are now notorious for standing around gazing down deep holes and generally posing to no useful effect. Here, therefore is my argument: if this nation is to be ripped off for this political vanity project we, the concerned citizens, should at least have pretty boys to look at in the aforementioned poses. I vote for sweet faced young hunks artistically sporting sexy smears of dust highlighting delicious bone structure.
NOT dirty, sweaty unfortunates who are going commando-style in the August heat.
P, who knows much about such issues confirmed that the hole-in-the-road-diggers are indeed commando-style explained in precise detail just why. Apparently, it’s all to do with – er, um, boy-pants (?) Mercifully failed to understand the finer points here.
Anyway, this is a plea for pretty boys so those stuck on the bus can be enchanted with the view. And I can’t imagine anyone will disagree.
We ate, drank and conducted in-depth analysis of the doings of our nearest and dearest. Oddly, we appear to have crossed a Rubicon between feelings of yeuch at parental sexual relationships to now trying to set up dates between our respective widowed progenitors. Although my suggestion of a civil partnership for two dads was perhaps premature.
However, this post is supposed to be a quasi-official rant – at the tramsbuggeration of our fair city.
While marooned en omnibus on Leith St on my way to the girlz-rendezvous I had far too long to anti-ogle (as in try not to look but be helplessly drawn to the awfulness of) the male objects not working on the tramscrash, i.e. holes in road.
These individuals are now notorious for standing around gazing down deep holes and generally posing to no useful effect. Here, therefore is my argument: if this nation is to be ripped off for this political vanity project we, the concerned citizens, should at least have pretty boys to look at in the aforementioned poses. I vote for sweet faced young hunks artistically sporting sexy smears of dust highlighting delicious bone structure.
NOT dirty, sweaty unfortunates who are going commando-style in the August heat.
P, who knows much about such issues confirmed that the hole-in-the-road-diggers are indeed commando-style explained in precise detail just why. Apparently, it’s all to do with – er, um, boy-pants (?) Mercifully failed to understand the finer points here.
Anyway, this is a plea for pretty boys so those stuck on the bus can be enchanted with the view. And I can’t imagine anyone will disagree.
Sunday Morning Act of Worship
"Where two or more are gathered ....."
Yup, went to see Pythonesque yesterday at the Fringe. Four pretty boys energetically performing an homage to the seminal six while reinterpreting the most famous sketches.
Enjoyable.
It is likely that, at least in the circles in which I turn, Python scripts are more quoted than other holy writings, but overwhelmingly by only their male believers. Some time ago, I suggested an experiment to Y who was with me at the show, so is a known 'believer', that the phenomenon of Python-quoting was a gendered activity. I'd tested my theory one evening in the company of some good female friends whom I could trust to automatically ignore my foibles when in public. Sure enough, when sitting comfortably in a convivial establishment, I began to quote from the sacred skits. I was ignored, so I ceased and smugly considered my theory proven.
Y agreed to carrying out her own test, again with female friends and in public. Y had the same experience of being ignored. We compared notes and decided that the theory stood up, at least with these two sets of friends. However, I think it is possible that a subset of female friends might react differently, and that is women who are science fiction fans. It is just conceivable that they might join in.
Please try this and see what happens, then let me know!
I fitted in two shows yesterday, the second was a feminine interpretation of the Anglo-bard in the Complete Works of William Shakespear (Abridged). This time the Reduced Shakespear Company's famous script was performed by three talented young women.
Most enjoyable.
Go explore what's on in the Fringe programme:
http://www.edfringe.com/
Yup, went to see Pythonesque yesterday at the Fringe. Four pretty boys energetically performing an homage to the seminal six while reinterpreting the most famous sketches.
Enjoyable.
It is likely that, at least in the circles in which I turn, Python scripts are more quoted than other holy writings, but overwhelmingly by only their male believers. Some time ago, I suggested an experiment to Y who was with me at the show, so is a known 'believer', that the phenomenon of Python-quoting was a gendered activity. I'd tested my theory one evening in the company of some good female friends whom I could trust to automatically ignore my foibles when in public. Sure enough, when sitting comfortably in a convivial establishment, I began to quote from the sacred skits. I was ignored, so I ceased and smugly considered my theory proven.
Y agreed to carrying out her own test, again with female friends and in public. Y had the same experience of being ignored. We compared notes and decided that the theory stood up, at least with these two sets of friends. However, I think it is possible that a subset of female friends might react differently, and that is women who are science fiction fans. It is just conceivable that they might join in.
Please try this and see what happens, then let me know!
I fitted in two shows yesterday, the second was a feminine interpretation of the Anglo-bard in the Complete Works of William Shakespear (Abridged). This time the Reduced Shakespear Company's famous script was performed by three talented young women.
Most enjoyable.
Go explore what's on in the Fringe programme:
http://www.edfringe.com/
Mythical beasties
I spent a few days in the highlands last week partly seeing how far north I could manage to travel from my base in Dornoch, but also to entice some shy beasties out to play.
The first night was spent at Fort Augustus which is on the Caledonian Canal as it runs into Loch Ness. Nessie was present only in the artistic interpretation shown above. Neither did she turn up as hoped when I stopped at Castle Urquhart on the shores of the Loch.
I was miffed, as I’d grown up hearing about my grandfather’s sighting of the monster some 80 years ago. Sig Other commented acerbically about family traditions of visits by mythical beasts, at which point I harrumphed and shut up.
Loch Ness
Despite travelling a fair bit around and about, no dolphins appeared to me either. Lots of cavorting seals by the shores of numerous firths. Those photos are still in Sig Other’s camera.
Although the wildlife was largely in absentia, the sun was out and the beaches were as advertised with foamy surf and few other humans around.
However, I did achieve one goal of my trip and that was to find an old friend whose address I had lost in a long ago house move. I am quite proud of my amature detective efforts as I nipped into the public loos in Tain and asked the women guarding the facilities if they knew of my friend. Delightedly they said yes, and pointed me in her direction. (Tain is a small town.)
Even better, B seemed happy to see me despite the shock she must have had at me arriving out of the blue after some 14 years of silence. Kettles were boiled, high-speed gossip exchanged and I left with her contact details.
Although I felt some trepidation at boldly knocking on her door, I was reasonably confident of a welcome. We’d long ago agreed that as neither of us were any use at keeping in touch, that no matter how long it was, we’d pick up our friendship when we met again.
She said something rather touching … that “I carried a part of her past and she carried a part of mine”. We met in our first careers more than thirty years ago. This was a turbulent time for both of us professionally and personally, thus we were important supports to each other during these years. I no longer have anyone else in my life who knew the highs and lows and neither does she, so a renewal of our contact means some good/bad old stories can be dusted down and reappraised in the light of maturity and distance.
But this is also a reminder to me to trust in the bonds of real friendship no matter how stretched these might become.
Er, I’ll stop now as I suspect I'm beginning to channel Francis Gay's* column.
http://www.sundaypost.com/frangay.htm
*Another mythical beastie!
The first night was spent at Fort Augustus which is on the Caledonian Canal as it runs into Loch Ness. Nessie was present only in the artistic interpretation shown above. Neither did she turn up as hoped when I stopped at Castle Urquhart on the shores of the Loch.
I was miffed, as I’d grown up hearing about my grandfather’s sighting of the monster some 80 years ago. Sig Other commented acerbically about family traditions of visits by mythical beasts, at which point I harrumphed and shut up.
Loch NessDespite travelling a fair bit around and about, no dolphins appeared to me either. Lots of cavorting seals by the shores of numerous firths. Those photos are still in Sig Other’s camera.
Although the wildlife was largely in absentia, the sun was out and the beaches were as advertised with foamy surf and few other humans around.
However, I did achieve one goal of my trip and that was to find an old friend whose address I had lost in a long ago house move. I am quite proud of my amature detective efforts as I nipped into the public loos in Tain and asked the women guarding the facilities if they knew of my friend. Delightedly they said yes, and pointed me in her direction. (Tain is a small town.)
Even better, B seemed happy to see me despite the shock she must have had at me arriving out of the blue after some 14 years of silence. Kettles were boiled, high-speed gossip exchanged and I left with her contact details.
Although I felt some trepidation at boldly knocking on her door, I was reasonably confident of a welcome. We’d long ago agreed that as neither of us were any use at keeping in touch, that no matter how long it was, we’d pick up our friendship when we met again.
She said something rather touching … that “I carried a part of her past and she carried a part of mine”. We met in our first careers more than thirty years ago. This was a turbulent time for both of us professionally and personally, thus we were important supports to each other during these years. I no longer have anyone else in my life who knew the highs and lows and neither does she, so a renewal of our contact means some good/bad old stories can be dusted down and reappraised in the light of maturity and distance.
But this is also a reminder to me to trust in the bonds of real friendship no matter how stretched these might become.
Er, I’ll stop now as I suspect I'm beginning to channel Francis Gay's* column.
http://www.sundaypost.com/frangay.htm
*Another mythical beastie!
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