Final notes

The two last shows I saw in the fringe, I also saw last year. These are Sig Other's choices, but I have no complaint about them.

Fascinating Aida were on even more sparkling form than previously. Their new material, especially the bitingly accurate new agey proclivities of certain sections of the female population. I laughed while acknowledging my own forays into that wide field.

Their glorious vulgarity had me in tears several times and laughing to the point of breathlessness. Politically, they judged the sentiments of this Edinburgh audience well. There is something uplifting in seeing and hearing mature ladies rip Blair and his ilk to shreds with a few choice phrases.

Last year, I called for Fascinating Aida to get back on TV and reach a wider audience, but I realise that TV would probably mean a dilution of their political voice. I will be content with viewing them annually at the fringe.

Paul Sinha also gained approbation in last year's write up. He again delivered his personal and political material in fine form and added that he will be more on our TV screens in a quiz programme later this year. I might just look out for that. Oh - and he is in luuuurve. I really hope that works out for him.

Drought and Rain


I thought that was the end of the whole fest experience, but no! Friend M offered a free ticket to a festival show. Not one I'd heard of, but ever eager to see as much as possible I accepted, then looked at the programme. Vietnamese grannies choir said K, another pal who already had a ticket.  I'd agreed to go, even though L yet another friend dangled the tantalising idea of deckchairs and vodka near the Castle to listen in to the Brian Ferry concert that night.

You may appreciate my dilemma.

The Vietnamese grannies won. I'm glad in many ways, but will always wonder what I missed.
 


From the programme

French Vietnamese choreographer Ea Sola celebrates historical and cultural memory and meditates on the human cost of war and imperialism in Drought and Rain (re-creation 2011). Together with a group of elderly women from the north of Vietnam, whose singing had consoled soldiers on the front line, and an ensemble of virtuoso traditional musicians, Ea Sola has re-created this moving and beautiful work. First seen in 1995 it offers deep insights into the tumultuous history and sufferings of Vietnam.


Shifting between hypnotically slow, graceful movements and urgent, almost visceral reactions, the choreography creates a spare, powerful and bittersweet account of the human legacy of war with performers who lived through it.

Good enough description, but does not convey the intensity of emotion watching this group of women move towards the audience and back again while holding photographs of relatives(?) presumably killed in the war. I'm rarely intimidated by older women, but this shook me. Sadly, I have no way to describe this extraordinary show.

A quick look through the reviews, and they are very mixed. Some people got it while other reviewers were underwhelmed. I think that is fair. I can imagine if I was in a quite different mood, it would have left me untouched.

A fitting end to my fringing leaving me with much to think about.

Fringing on a Saturday Night

It's not that usual for me to go see events in the official festival, so this year should hold a few treats as Sig Other has chosen one or two he fancies. He seemed surprised I would so readily see Philip Glass and his ensemble not knowing I've liked PG since first hearing his music when I was fairly young. I find it appealing, but being so musically untutored I would not be able to explain why.

Koyaanisqatsi (1983) Hopi for 'life out of balance' is the first in the Qatsi Trilogy. Sig Other reassuringly noted it is not about something without specific meaning or value. This averted much speculation on my part that would otherwise have completely distracted me from the experience of the film and music.

Definitely the best image from the film.

The Ensemble was a treat to listen to, in particular the vocals of Lisa Bielawa. Powaqqatsi and Naqoyaqatsi the other two films in the trilogy were on subsequent evenings, however, I don't think I would have fully appreciated the immersion in Philip Glass. Maybe I'll see them another time.

Because there is so much on at the fringe, instead of leaving Koyaanisqatsi and spending time reflecting on the impact this had on my, I wandered into another show.

Kiss of the Red Menace, a Tribute to Kander and Ebb was by no means a bad choice. Melody La Rouge and her four piece backing group put on a cheery performance of show songs from Chicago and Cabaret and some others which I'd not come across.  And if we hadn't gone then, we'd have missed it as this was her final show for this fringe.

Indeed the fringe throws up opportunities for strange juxtapositions. It's what makes it an exciting month. And exhausting!

Another go at fringing

Ticked another box with this fringing effort. The Festival of Spirituality and Peace offered a Japanese Tea Ceremony and this has long been a desire I wanted to fulfill.  The ceremony began with a young Japanese piper in a very fetching blue plaid kilt playing traditional Japanese tunes he'd arranged for the pipes. Different, but in a good way.

Then the beautiful gracious ladies began the tea ceremony. Sadly it was all too disturbed by tourists wandering in and photographing it and other comings and goings to be the relaxing event it is designed to be.

The audience all tasted the tea - not bad and sampled some other Japanese teas - very good, but we weren't told what they were.

I treated myself to Persian thick soup in a temporary Persian Tea house set up for the Festival. It smelt of unspeakable things, but they were so proud of their homemade food, it would have been heartless to leave it untouched. I bravely tried a spoonful. It was awful; not as bad as it smelt, but deeply unpleasant. I forced another mouthful and it got better. I ended up finishing it, but I will avoid it in future. I think it was the whey drizzled on top that was so bad.

Scuttled up the High Street and met a solid block of tourists. It took some doing, but I reached the Hub, to pick up tickets as instructed by Sig Other. More of this another day.

Time then to meet Y and her posse who were sensibly relaxing in the only empty cocktail establishment in town.  I was making up a fourth for the sets of two-for-oners purchased in anticipation of company by the posse.

The first show turned out to be less palatable than the vomit scented soup. Even the hardened fringe-going posse found Cul-De-Sac nasty and not a fit subject for comedy. Posse J thought it was akin to 1984 done in an hour. I was perturbed by the explicit bullying of one adult male by another about his experience of childhood sexual abuse. I have no problem with lines being crossed but this needed a trigger warning for any survivors in the audience who would have struggled with it.

This is a pity as the actors were fine, sets, props and direction good.

There was a quick turnaround and into Isy Suttie: Pearl and Dave. Pleasant Pleasance comedy. Soothing after our feathers were so collectively ruffled.

Drookit foto essay

Sometimes, I do things I never wanted to do. Sometimes they work out well, sometimes they don't. Or it can all be put down to experience, but not to be repeated.

My desire to say yes to anything coming my way overrode my common sense. G called saying she had a spare ticket to the Edinburgh Tattoo. I did pause for some thought, but decided to hope that the persistent rain yesterday would slacken off enough to make it worth while sitting on the ramparts of Edinburgh Castle.

Wrong! Bloody, bloody wrong.

Some positives: the queuing system is efficient, if shouty. But what do you expect from a military organisation. No umbrellas allowed in the que, fair enough, with something like 8000 ticket holders to shuffle up Castle Terrace, round into Castle Hill and funnelled into the esplanade. I salute their spokes in the aye avoidance protocol.

£16 million has been spent on new stands for the Tattoo. I've noticed them being built for the past several months, without taking any interest. After all, I wasn't going to go to the Tattoo, was I?

After I agreed to go, but before I set off, I checked on the Tattoo website. I wanted to know about the facilities. I've been to the odd rock concert and know all too well that large crowds and few loos are not much fun. Mention was made of the new plumbed in toilets. I was reassured. They turned out to be adequate.

According to the Culture Minister, the tattoo does well for the area:
"The net income from the tattoo last year was £7.96 million; it generated £34.37 million for the Scottish economy and supports over 780 jobs."

 

So I suppose it is worth it.

I took my camera, but the photos are not much better than useless and although I've fiddled about with them, they are not good. I put them up just to remind myself that I'd need a better camera if I wanted to photograph in the dark in a monsoon.

Stuff was projected onto the castle behind the display. It's too wet and hazy to make it out in the pic.

Squads of Scots and Irish traditional dancers bravely splashed about in the wet. They were smiling. I'd have gone home. I can't understand why their mother's let them do it. But maybe they were not as young as they looked.

This is the massed bands doing that marching thing where they march up to the end of the esplanade, then turn and march back through the ranks of the oncoming bands. It's usually impressive, but not when it's nearly impossible to see through the mirk.

I liked this. Mythical monster on the castle.

There were good things to see. The Dutch bicycling band, the Ledderhosen clad Germans chopping a tree trunk. The lone piper at the end was downright hair-raising - in a good way.

But I suppose the title gives it away. The Edinburgh Military Tattoo. I scoff not (for a change) because for many people, the military means something to them. At the end during a hymn to the fallen, the woman sitting in front of me was sobbing. For all my urban, sophisticated (cynical?) views on the armed forces, she has a different experience and I respect that.  But I was still stunned, to hear people actually singing the national anthem. In my immediate circle, it would be seen as so naff. I'm not fully republican, as I don't mind her maj, but I see no need to stand or sing to her.

I didn't buy a programme. it wouldn't survive the rain for a start. But the sequence of rain was as follows:

• Arrive into the stands - rain decreasing leading to false hope that it might go off
• Get seated, arrange plastic bag over my legs (huh!) - rain begins to increase
• Programme starts - average rate of downpour
• Programme continues - torrential rain
• Later, as people begin to wriggle about, a flash flood down onto my chair wets me from the waist down
• Later still, my waterproof coat gives up and leaks
• Eventually, the rain was so heavy it was bouncing off my jacket and into my eyes
• It receded to a mere persistent chucking it down as we exited and shuffled down the Mound.

I walked home, stood in a puddle of my own making outside my front door trying to think how not to soak my new hall carpet. I found that my legs were dyed black from my jeans and parts of me which had never been wet before were soaked.  At 2 am I made myself get out of a warm bath sprinkled with soothing aromatherapy oils trying to prevent aches, pains, coughs and colds today. Not sure this was entirely successful.

Morale of this story? Don't go out.

But I still like massed pipes and drums, can't deculturise this girl.

Winterval

it's all very well having celebrations in winter, but it can be downright perishing standing around outside waiting for things to happen. Last night, for instance...

I had a terrific time; I got off the bus and walked up the Mound till I could get a good view standing on the wall overlooking Princes Street Gardens. Radio Forth were playing musak of a vaguely xmassy flavour and some big(ish) wigs were spouting. The Norwegian bigwig mentioned that the 25th November was International Day of Protest Against VAW, so heaps of blessings on him.

Then a troop of drummers wended their way through the throngs. They were dressed how I imagine French soldiers were around at the time of Napoleon, or perhaps they merely looked like a Carry On version of French soldiers. Most likely I'd missed an announcement of who/what they were.

   

They drummed all the way to the top of the Mound and round the corner to were someone had (I assumed) carelessly left a muckle crane lying around.

Mais Non! They got on what turned out to be a death defying and bonemarrow freezing human mobile. Drumming somewhat relentlessly as they were suspended over the hill and swung about the place. The person at the top appeared to shed her hat and clothes, to reveal a trapeze outfit and then gyrate in the sub zero temperature many feet above the tree, the crowd and the sharp pointy railings.

They finished by sprinkling fairy dust over the tree and voila! It was lit. Winterval officially commenced.

Then came a goodly quantity of fireworks.

My feet were nearly numb with cold, but the rest of me was warm, so I hirpled up to que outside St Giles Cathedral for a while, then got trampled in a peculiarly fast moving glacier of christians(?) mobbing the Royal Norwegian Carol concert therein.

It was warm enough inside to thaw my feet but I was too cold to unlock rigid muscles even during the hour and a bit of Norwegian carolling. The concert was excellent, especially the Edinburgh University Chamber Choir. I happily rose to the challenge of trying to sing unfamiliar carols in Norwegian as well as one or two carols I sort of remembered from long ago.

The Norwegian connection needs an explanation.  In thanks for the help and support given to Norway by Scotland during WW2, the Norwegians have gifted the city of Edinburgh a Christmas tree for the past 25 years, hence the Norwegian presence and their Advent Concert.

Just when I thought it was all over ...

Although I'd succeeded fairly well in my aims to see as great a variety as possible over the festival period, the box marked 'official real actual culture' was blank, until I spotted an offer for half price tickets for Bliss, the new opera based on Peter Carey's book of the same name. This was on at the Festival Theatre as part of the International Festival programme, but only for a couple of nights.

I hadn't seen any opera for more years than I can recall, so I made sure I went to this.  And I quite enjoyed it. What really stood out for me was the stunning set of amazing light bulbs used to incredible effect to backdrop scenes and story. I liked the music and the immense cast (compared to all the one person shows I'd seen recently) were excellent, but the story failed to enthrall me.

Narratives based on women exploited in the SexIndustry who have a heart of gold and great wisdom who then selflessly save middle aged privileged males are boring, trite typical male fantasy. Dressing it up with terrific music does not redeem this.

Same old, same old.

Golden Rules

One of the multiple festivals running concurrently is the Festival of Spirituality and Peace.  I went along to St John's church at the west end of Princes St to attend one of the events advertised in that particular festival. But outside the church I saw another of their events. The photo above shows Orange Suits and Golden Rules - a Living Installation.  Volunteers spend a day in an orange boiler suit such as the Guantanamo Bay detainees wear and stand outside the church in view of the traffic and people in Edinburgh's main shopping street. So not really like conditions the detainees suffer, but it's an excellent way to make the point that we should not forget about them.

The installation reminded me that I should be grateful to live in a country which does not have the death penalty even though the behaviour of some (almost always violent male criminals) sometimes seems to deserve it.  But also that I live in a country where convicted criminals can be given release on compassionate grounds irrespective of their guilt, in order to spend their last days out of prison/with their family.

Akvani are a trio who sing Georgian songs, in this case ancient healing harmonies to 'sweeten the soul'. It was billed as a 'soundbath of harmony' and certainly lived up to that description.

These songs were originally sung, some as early as pre-Christian times, to appease the Batonebi Spirits and to heal sick children. I'd liked to have heard more about this, and if I can manage it I'll go to another of Akvani's events running this week or next.

In the evening I went to a talk on Women and the Built Environment at Engender.  A real circuitous meander round the need for women's input into living space, in particular places like refuges or social housing. And the way that outdoor space is prioritised for male activities for example five aside football instead of dance or yoga or whatever women want. Of course we don't know what women want as no one asks or listens when we speak up anyway. I can claim this from my own experience of taking part in planning consultations where what I or other women say, never makes it into recommendations, or frequently is not even recorded.

The conclusion from this discussion is that we need more women in architecture, planning, engineering and for those professions to actually speak to each other so we get joined up plans.  The Golden Rule as applied to planning as well as to politics.

What thou avoidest suffering thyself seek not to impose on others. – Epictetus

Weekend wandering

Saturday was far too warm and sunny to spend much time indoors, particularly not some of the truly steamy, even drippy venues in the bowels of the old town.

So it was a trip to the most tempting venue in Edinburgh - the book tent at the book festival. Miraculously, I resisted on this occasion, but I'll probably end up going back and buying at least some of the titles I noted. Sitting in the sun outside the book tent, I reflected that if I had to choose only one natural habitat, this would be it. Even the sense of frantic busyness couldn't detract from the sense of rightness I feel in the presence of great numbers of enticing books and fellow book lovers present each year at the book festival.

Once darkness approached we did decide on a show. Sig Other and I wanted to have another go at the free festival, having experienced good and bad earlier in the week.

We saw Yianni Agisilaou in 'The Universe: A User's Guide' at Cabaret Voltaire. This was another dank dungeon, this time filled to capacity with the kind of mixed audience only the free fringe can throw up.

The act was sort of ok but difficult to judge as a loud section of the audience had come into the wrong room and were really wanting to be at the (noisy) Bee Gee's tribute show next door. Physics and the universe was a novelty for them and some settled down and laughed while others were made uncomfortable possibly by a lingering memory of being made to feel thick at school. For that reason I will excuse some of their behaviour because it probably was not their fault they were not encouraged to take up science or to take an interest in things extraterrestrial at an earlier age. And for another reason; I will not condone any form of "Scottish cringe" which would all too frequently cause inappropriate embarrassment by some behaviour of some local folk. This is our city and any inhabitants should be able to go to events and express themselves however they want to. I don't want to feel that the various festivals exclude anyone, as they inevitably do when you look at the ticket prices. But where there are free/low cost shows and exhibitions then everyone should be equally welcome.

Sunday was again a lovely day.  No more indoors suffering heatstroke, instead a brief spot the Gormley walk to Water of Leith.  Here are two of these statues from Powderhall and Bonnington.

 Gormley with a swan at Powderhall.

Scary Gormley at Bonnington!

Tented city

An early sign of impending Edinburgh festivals is the emergence of assorted marquees in odd parts of the city.  Few would categorise Charlotte Square as a shanty town despite the tents sprouting all over it in preparation for the Bookfestival. I suspect the august class of August squatters in that area would dispute these terms if applied to them.

By far the best temporary structure is the Famous Spiegeltent back again in George Square with a great programme all this month.

At the other end of the gorgeousness spectrum is the off white structure at Shrub Place.  Nofitstatecircus is described as an amazing spaceship. Nope, not how I'd describe it, but I'm not a fan of circuses whatever their state having been traumatised very early on at Blackpool Circus by someone dropping their melting ice cream over me while not paying attention to the clowns.  I've made no effort to get over this, so far down the trauma list is it. But obviously, as the therapists say, "there's a wee live issue there, hen."

It's very likely that NFSC do a very good show very appreciated by their audiences and if given a free ticket I'd go - for my own good you understand ...

However, apart from scouting about the place as I get on and off the buses across this town, I've made no significant progress towards festivaling in the last several days.  Things get going by the end of this week, so high hopes for taking a run and jump into the deep end.

Festivalising begins

Last night I attended the opening of the Edinburgh Printmakers exhibition Prints of Darkness.  The exhibition explores record cover art and original prints by 12 artists.

While I was not moved to great delight by the prints, I liked them and would go again to look in more depth and in less crowded circumstances. I'd also need to return to listen to Vicki Bennett's LP, People Like Us as it was too warm and too busy to do that adequately yesterday.

The LP cover art installation was fascinating. Two opposite walls of LP covers almost none of which I've ever owned, with the trite exception of Led Zepplin IV.

The exhibition describes this installation thus:

...the project recalls the golden age of the record cover in the thick of post-psychedelia's goth-surrealistic art-nouveau apocalyptic landscape explosion...

The art is often viewed for at least as long as the duration of the record - for much longer than most gallery-based work. The record cover synaesthetically maps the sonic journey inscribed on the record.

Yeah, that's what I thought about it too. But as I go everywhere with my archetypal radfem head on, I also could not fail to see the explicit torture motif underpinning a sizable minority of the covers on display. The torture was almost without exception of women, women's bodies and where not explicit was merely the banal encouragement of the male gaze so precious in art.

The question posed in Norman Shaw's essay in the exhibition is "Why does the devil have all the good tunes?" (Echoing plaintive cries of 70's evangelical Christians faced with keeping their young folk on the straight and narrow when tempted by good music, but off-message lyrics.)

The radfem question is more likely, "why does such great rock music have to be at the expense of the bodily integrity of women?"  But that wasn't answered either at the height of the rock age or now when we are steeped in misogynist music video.  The arguments would involve more and better crafted writing than I'm up for today when I want merely to feed back my instant observations on an exhibition that is thoughtful and thought provoking.

In amongst the 'apocalyptic' stuff were curious insertions. LP's by Jimmy Shand, surely the least goth-surrealistic of all musicians, while the Black and White Minstrel cover displayed a long discarded version of unthinking racism to which we are (mostly) no longer exposed. And the Tubular Bells artwork cannot be accused of transgressing any diversity issues.

It's certainly an exhibition to return to and spend more time viewing and thinking about the messages conveyed in the LP covers.  It was also an opportunity to wallow briefly in memories from a time where I had to endure my brother's taste in prog rock while fielding his scorn of my enjoyment of glam rock.

Edinburgh Art Festival Programme has more details of the exhibition.

Evening sun shining on the castle esplanade which is built up with seats ready for the annual Military Tattoo which proclaims its triumphal conclusion each night with a volley of fireworks resounding off the tenements in old and new towns. Iirritating!

Thursday talks

It is the Radical Book Fair in Edinburgh this week. The RBF is free and run by the famous independent Edinburgh bookshop, Wordpower and this is the 13th year of fabulous speakers and varied topics that I wouldn’t come across anywhere else.

I trundled off to view a documentary about the Angry Brigade this afternoon. What follows is apologetically ignorant comments I’m afraid. I know virtually nothing about this part of radical history, mostly because I was too young to know about it in the 60’s and early 70’s. I’ve heard of some of the groups involved, but could not have named anyone in particular.

From the programme:

This BBC film by Gordon Carr, first released in 1973, documents the events surrounding Britain’s longest ever conspiracy trial, in which eight young anarchists were charged as members of the Angry Brigade. Carr did extensive research amongst police and anarchists and the interviews are intriguing. Also fascinating is the film’s historical footage. It records inside communes, massive demonstrations and other revolutionary events of the time.

The film began very well with a reasonably coherent outline of the history of anarchy in the UK, and Europe, tracing the movement back to Spanish anarchists who sacrificed much in their fight against Franco. However, I really needed to have more background for me to have properly followed the subsequent history of who did what and where. The links between the San Francisco hippies, the French student revolutionaries and the London anarchist movement was gone over too fast for me to really comprehend and I suppose if I was interested enough I’d read up on it all.

So I’m left analysing the film through the radical feminist lens. No women were interviewed in the film. Women who were involved in these movements and who went to jail were shockingly still referred to as ‘girls’. The only references to the women’s movement were spoken of sneeringly. In its defence, I believe the film was not an homage to the anarchist movement as it ended up praising the police for getting to grips with these types of movements.

Anyway, I remain aloof from ‘mainstream’ anarchy, particularly the extreme libertarian versions as they are dangerous to women rights and largely anathema to radical feminists. If you are feeling strong enough sometime just search for these types of websites and see how bloody-minded they are about radical feminism and their beliefs in censorship of women’s right to bodily autonomy.

On the other hand, I do respect people who have political convictions and who do try to make the world a better place and the section of the documentary where communes were discussed was good. The film makers obviously comprehended the aims of the communes in the way the children were treated and in the efforts to free women to become more actively involved and to break down the oppressive nuclear family structure. Of course, this didn’t work and the comment that the police on raiding the communes were horrified at the standard of hygiene in the communes raised a titter amongst the audience.
Here’s some boy writing about it all in the Observer.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/theobserver/2002/feb/03/features.magazine27

I then spent time and money at the vast bookstalls, before joining with some old pals at a talk on Irish women’s abortion rights. Hint – they have none!

From the programme:

What happens when women are denied the right to choose? Irish law on abortion is the most restrictive in Europe and every year, around 6,500 Irish women travel to the UK to have an abortion. In this oral history, the writer and feminist Ann Rossiter tells the story of the London-Irish women involved during the 1980s and 1990s in the Irish Women’s Abortion Support Group and the Irish Abortion Solidarity Campaign and presents a vivid and timely contribution to debates about the Irish feminist movement in Britain in the late twentieth century.

Ireland's Hidden Diaspora - The 'Abortion Trail' and the Making of a London-Irish Underground, 1980-2000, by Ann Rossiter

ISBN: 9780956178503

Moving, inspirational and enraging. Politicians of all stripes in London, Belfast and Dublin sell women’s humanity down the river decade after decade and we are almost powerless to change this.

Women always are forced to give of their energy, time, and resources to help each other and over the desperate right to control our own fertility this is endless.

We were given a timely reminder that what was won in 1967 can all be swept away if we are not vigilant. For me, the only benefit of not being independent is that the forces of womb-hatred in this country would pounce pretty quickly to remove our human rights over our fertility-control. This is one serious flaw in the SNP and which will always cost them the feminist vote unless they ruthlessly weed out their reactionary and usually religious (of all flavours) influencers. Obviously the SNP are not alone in being infiltrated by the anti-choice medievalists, as these creatures infest all parties.

Ann Rossiter and her ilk should be awarded Nobel prizes for services to womankind and for peace and economics and all other relevant categories rather than overpriviledged American males (admittedly BO has done a little to correct the damage done by his predecessor.)

I think it is safe to say bodily autonomy is one thing that gets me riled every time.

Festival fireworks

On Sunday I trundled up Calton Hill, as I am wont to do anytime there is a chance of standing with a crowd and watching some kind of spectacle or other. This time was in order to see the end of the festival fireworks. Radio Forth were kindly broadcasting the concert from Princes Street Gardens onto the hill so the assembled multitudes could listen as well as gasp in amazement at the bangs and sparks.

"The Scottish Chamber Orchestra Chorus joins the Scottish Chamber orchestra for a rousing night of some of Handel’s most famous works. The technical and artistic wizards of Pyrovision once again choreograph a stunning display to match Handel’s triumphant, exuberant music composed for royal occasions or in praise of God. "

Programme:

Zadok the Priest
Music for the Royal Fireworks
Arrival of the Queen of Sheba (Solomon)

Hallelujah Chorus (Messiah

It lasted about 50 minutes and as ever, the timing of the pyrotechnics and music was fabulous.
I forgot to take my camera, so I made do with my Blackberry which is really not all that great as you can see! I mucked about with some of the pics to bring up more of the detail, but this is as good as it got.

The best thing about it all, was the friendly crowd and that the rain stayed off until everyone was slowly making their way down the hill. And it was really quite warm. I'd dressed for the usual conditions up there - howling gale and extreme windchill factor, so I was rather overheated. Better that than shivering, although even then, I couldn't keep my hand steady to take more than a few pics that were not completely wobbly.

I suspect the photographs of fireworks at this link are better than mine.

http://www.eif.co.uk/files/editor/documents/BoSFireworksConcertprogramme.pdf

Women and politics 4

One of the less remarked Edinburgh festivals is the Festival of Politics. As usual, I never get around to attending, even though I have great intentions when I see the festival programme.

Regret is deeper than ever this year as I missed Clare Short talking about her life in politics. A more principled Labour MP than most, including many of the determined, but not always impressive line-up of women climbing to near the top at Westminster (keep trying Harriet). I have a measure of respect for Clare Short and her work in development that was, to further strain an over-used word, compassionate and grounded in a people-centred approach. She recognised the need to incorporate trade as well as aid, but was scathing of other members of her government also arming idiots in developing countries simply to prop up the immoral UK arms manufacturers.

But all is not lost! Holyrood TV recorded her hour long talk at the link below. Be quick if you want to watch is as it will only be there for a short time.
http://www.holyrood.tv/popup.asp?stream=http://vr-sp-archive.lbwa.verio.net/archive/200809_FOP_clare_short.wmv

She also has an informative website with links to many of her speeches.
http://www.epolitix.com/mpwebsites/mpwebsitepage/mpsite/clare-short/mppage/home-1/

Festival round-up

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.

Walking the Labyrinth

The medieval labyrinth in Chartres Cathedral.

The Leith Festival has just passed. Yet another Edinburgh festival, but at least this time I managed to go to a couple of events. I firstly went to an arts and crafts afternoon and ogled some very nice handmade handbags. But I resisted.
http://www.leithfestival.com/

I also managed to tick another wee box on the ‘things I really want to do sometime list’, by walking a labyrinth.

This free event was in a church hall and was a meditative chunk of time at the end of a busy weekend, and is much to be recommended.

I decided to look a bit more into the history of the labyrinth and of course found really useful information online. This site has comprehensive information about labyrinths throughout history and across the globe. It also links the ideas of sacred geometry and the golden ratio with other spiritual concepts such as chakras and dowsing.

http://www.crystalinks.com/labyrinths.html

Approaching festival time

Edinburgh prides itself on being the Festival City and indeed we are about to enter into another series of festivals from Easter to autumn. First up is the Science Festival. Daughter served as a useful reason for me to go to the interesting kids things when she was young enough to be enticed along to hands-on fun experiments. That period in our lives was all too short and as soon as she could protest sufficiently loudly it was over. But this year as most years there are a few things aimed at adults that I'd like to attend.

The Science Festival this year has an astronomical theme and takes more than a passing look at Darwin. However, there is a smattering of evol psyche/biology which I will naturally shun if only for the preservation of my highly evolved and sensitive BS detector.

http://www.sciencefestival.co.uk/

Yesterday I picked up the programme for the International Festival. It's theme is the Enlightenment. Too much choice for a limited financial and time budget. I'll definitely aim for the exhibitions at Dean Gallery and some of the talks at the Hub. Perhaps I'll try to go to the Fireworks having missed them for some years. Usually the Fringe or the Book Festival claim my attention more than the EIF, so maybe it is fortunate I have got my hands on the programme so early and can seek out other interested folks and choose some options to buy tickets far in advance.

http://www.eif.co.uk/

The Film Festival is also on the horizon but I've not looked into that yet. I'll post it when I get hold of the programme.

The image at the top is of the Last Witch By Rona Munro from the EIF programme.