Festival Frenzy
I arrived in Edinburgh late last night and walked down to the Spiegelgarden at George Square. The place was mobbed with boozing fanatics but I don't think I spotted anyone over the age of thirty. There comes a point when you have to ask yourself if you are getting too old for this Festival lark. In the garden there was a girl juggling illuminated balls. One of them escaped from her clutches and rolled toward my feet. As I stooped to pick it up I could see she was amazed that a man of my years could still manage to bend that far. I considered showing off a little by doing a few press-ups or telling her that I still had half a dozen of my own teeth, but I thought better off it and sauntered back to my hotel for some cocoa.
Up bright and early this morning and back to the to say hello to Fred MacAulay and Sue Perkins. Fred greeted me with the words, "hey, tell the producer we've now got someone who can wear the chicken suit."
As the audience filed in there was not a seat left in the house and Sue got a loud cheer when she congratulated Scots tennis star Andy Murray on his yesterday. She also congratulated the England football team on their four-nil win over Greece. I'm glad she did this because a small pin had just slipped out of my hand and I was able to hear where it fell.
I had to leave early and make my way across to the Queen's Hall where our music department are recording a series of performances for Ö÷²¥´óÐã Radio 3.
This morning the young French pianist Cedric Tiberghien was perfoming works by Schumann. I squeezed myself into a seat at the back row of the upper gallery where I had a great view of the stage and the rest of the audience. The latter proved to be a bit of a distraction, especially when the woman along the row started rustling a small piece of paper from her handbag, causing several heads to swivel round in disapproval. Then my eye was caught by a very thin woman in the stallls wearing a bright yellow top who was obviously trying to supress a coughing fit. At first she covered her mouth with a tissue, but when I looked again a few minutes later she was stuffing an entire cardigan down her throat. By the end of the first movement she was just about doubled in two and her face was turning purple. Who says classical music isn't challenging?
Anway, I write this from a strange little electrical shop/internet cafe and I'm just about to head back to the Spiegeltent for the Radio Cafe and then, later this afternoon, All The Milkman's Children.
I think it's going to be a long day in Edinburgh. I'll update this entry tomorrow and may even have some photographs too.
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