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.

Where I manage to tick more boxes

The overall aim of this fringe-athon (yes, compared to real fringe addicts I'm a mere dilettante) is to get to as many different types of event and varieties of fringes/festivals as I can.  There are far too many to choose from sensibly unless one is willing to spend more time carefully plotting and planning a way through all the bumph than I'd ever have the patience to do. Haphazard, random, swayed by hunger, thirst, sair feet and whether I've got change for the bus seem to have dictated my choices the last three weeks. And when I'm with friends I decided it is easier to let them choose because I might see something I'd otherwise avoid.

The Saturday I spent with K fell into a few of these categories and we began at the parliament in what was almost the final event in the Festival of Politics.

Women at the Top: Where next for Women in Politics? Attempted to frame a discussion about women's representation in local councils and parliaments both national and at Westminster. (Yes, I know Wales has an assembly not a parliament).

There is concern that next May the numbers of women MSPs and AMs will drop after the elections in Wales and Scotland. The discussion ranged from why women are not coming forward to stand, why they are not chosen when they do and the frustrating issue of a confrontational style in parliaments and parties.

It was noted that at times women had tried to form alliances or to be supportive of other elected members across party lines. This had worked for a while in Holyrood, but, according to K who is up on all things Labour, there was no trust between the women from rival parties. Anyone with the slightest awareness of the ludicrous interactions between the 2 largest parties will not be surprised to hear that.

A newly elected (to Westminster) Lib-Dem MP shared her dismal experiences of being barracked during her first speech in the Commons. She was quite clear that this did not happen with the same sexist intensity to male MPs. I could have listened to her for ages as she had such interesting views on women's representation. I didn't manage to catch her name, which was a pity as she came across as very competent. However, by the end of this hour, I was left feeling despondent about the prospects for equal representation in any council or parliament anytime in my lifetime.

A change of scene was called for to raise our spirits. The  Forest Fringe Programme was running its last couple of events. We spent some time in both of these.

Firstly, the day-long project to map where people had come from to get to the fringe. We couldn't help as ideally, they wanted tickets to place on string weaving criss cross around the room or stories about our journey. "I got on a bus and got off again" wasn't exotic enough I felt and K couldn't give up her train ticket since that was needed to get home.  But a great creative idea that it would have been good to spend more time looking at.

But the other event was more exciting. Over 12 hours, Third Angel & mala voadora ran What I Heard About the World (Research Map), an event attempting to map the world and collect a story for each country in it. They were going through the names of countries in alphabetical order to collect stories of fakery and pretense. Audience members came and went sharing stories of places they'd lived or visited and these were recorded in two word summations.

It was one of the most impressive and creative events I've ever seen and 12 hours was not long enough to complete this.

Emerging again into mid-festival Saturday evening crowds we ambled along to the National Library where we had good luck in getting tickets for Alan Bissett's final fringe performance of the Moira Monologues.

I'd read great reviews of this show, but hadn't any high expectations of it. I was so wrong.  Once I recovered from the shock of the appalling language, I joined the rest of the audience in roaring with laughter at the antics of Moira, a well drawn example of her kind - Falkirk Woman with Attitude.

From the first sketch; Moira insisting her hard-man neighbour make his rottweiler apologise to her 'wee Pepe' for eating his food and frightening him, to the final biting observation, that we can always rely on the English football team not to let us down, this was brilliant entertainment.

The language although strong, was rhythmic and authentic to the way large parts of central Scotland speaks, but sadly I suppose it will prevent this show reaching the TV audience it deserves. I hope someone takes the risk of broadcasting it, because it didn't offend K or me who are the most easily offended women anywhere, which is high praise indeed.

The evening ended with a drenching in the downpour as we went on our way home... I'm getting a bit fed up with what passes for summer this year, but I'm sure I'm not alone in that.

Frost

Taken yesterday at midday in Fife, where the frost was as thick on the ground, the trees and on my car as it had been when I first looked out the window at 7.30am. I don't know how low the temperature went, but it felt pretty damn cold all day.

At least the sun was out and afforded great views of the hills to the sides of the A90 as I drove back from an overnight stay after a Thanksgiving dinner with my friends D and M, accompanied by G.

Thanks all, for a lovely time.

There would have been more pics, but my camera is seriously misbehaving. I'm not sure what to do to sort it as I'm not keen on buying a new one, but I suspect that the price of getting it fixed is more than it is worth. I hate this throwaway culture!

A wedding

Yesterday a good friend got married to her ‘forces sweetheart’. I use the old-fashioned term deliberately ‘cos my friend is an old fashioned girl. Her wedding was the most traditional I have been to for as long as I can remember.

She was lead down the aisle of the church by the proudest father possible, to be wed to her soldier boy newly returned from Afghanistan. Family had flown in from various other continents to celebrate her day.

I was one of a group of six friends also attending, and I hope we too did her proud in our finery. Her sister was bridesmaid and looked just as stunning and as happy as the bride. The groom was tall and dignified in his uniform, which as the day and then the evening wore on he kept correctly buttoned up even though that stiff collar must have been tiresome.

The frock! The most beautiful dress I have ever seen. Diamante and pearls and a full veil.

The ceremony over, we were fortunate enough with the weather to be able to take pics outside the pretty old church at the edge of the city, before moving to the reception in a gracious old wood panelled building overlooking panoramic views of the city. The weather stayed clear and dry for more photo opportunities.

Inside my friends and I reunited over the champagne and canapés in an enthusiastic catch up of news old and new as some of us had not met up for some years. Then it was time for the speeches and cake cutting and the meal.

We were treated to wonderful entertainment with what has to be the best wedding band I have ever heard. The bride’s present to the groom: a fireworks display in the grounds. Absolutely terrific!

More food, to warm us up after the fireworks: hot soup and wedding cake to follow. More, much more dancing, then the final Auld Lang Syne finished off with stirring Scottish songs while the band packed up and taxis were ordered.

But the highlight was seeing the angelic little ring bearer in her sticky outy white frock with little furry cape, scooting around being the centre of attention the whole time. Only falling asleep when the bride and groom departed at midnight. All of the children were incredibly well behaved. The little boys in their kilts and the girls in their glamorous party frocks running around in separate tribes until one friend got them together and taught them the Dashing White Sergeant.

As is traditional with me and this particular group of friends, we were last to leave, having been of stalwart assistance in pouring the father of the bride into a taxi, and (failing) to mop up the tears of the overwrought bridesmaid. A wedding would not be a wedding without family fall-outs, and if the father of the bride cannot rely on his daughter’s friends for a tipsy dance or two, then it would not be a normal occasion.

I've played about with the images here as my camera took a naughty turn and produced lots of blurred pics, so these seemed appropriate for the blog.