The Royal Mile is an extraordinary experience during festival time. Either side of this cobbled street are shops selling kilts (sale - £9.99), fudge ("try before you buy") and pink cashmere blankets, gloves and jumpers. In the middle is a huge crush of tourists, street entertainers, and fringe performers who resort to increasingly desperate measures to get your attention long enough to give you their flyer. Had I accepted every bit of paper being thrust in my direction, I'd have had enough to cover a couple of good-sized fringe performers from head to toe. I stepped over a woman who lay on the cold and slightly damp ground under a cream blanket, sobbing piteously into a pillow. Anyone who slowed a fraction to look was flyered.
The cast of one of three Twelfth Nights were out in force - unsurprisingly. "Shakespeare. With jazz," a polite grey-haired man under a Twelfth Night umbrella wearing a Twelfth Night T-shirt told me. I declined, politely. Three young guys jogged past, wearing only sunglasses and lime-green paisley patterned Y-fronts. Definitely didn't want to see any more of them.
Further up the street, a student (definitely a student) wearing chinos and a beige corset, was tying his companion to a lamppost with spool from several casette tapes. They seemed to be promoting a production of Richard II.
I caught someone's eye. Fatal. "Do you want to come and see a really good show?" she asked. "It's at 10. 10am" - and then, anticipating my next comment - "Yes, it's a really good way to start your day," she said slightly desperately. I took her flyer. Several Japanese tourists watched, bemused, as a young woman who sat under a streetlight knitted.
A talking giraffe tried to engage a terrified-looking four-year-old in conversation, while some flyerers had taken to flyering each other. The Fringe will eat itself...
