Well, I was right about the fog. As we ambled back to our flat from Bannerman’s last night, Edinburgh was enveloped in an exciting-looking mist, and it still hasn’t cleared. It’s as if someone’s about to make a dramatic entrance.In common with a lot of other Fringe-goers who live anywhere south of Doncaster, the journey up here yesterday was devoid of fun or comfort for much of its seven-hour duration. Even more annoyingly, my producer had put me in first class, a distinction which then meant nothing as most of the passengers had to stand as we traversed Yorkshire. To be honest, the moment I get into first class – which happens rarely – all my socialist principles evaporate, so in many ways this journey felt like a punishment for having had all that free tea for the first hour.
The delay also meant that my flatmates, who all arrived in vans, reached Edinburgh before me and bagged the best rooms. Our flat looks out in one direction over Clerk St., and in the other over a tranquil garden. Inevitably, tranquillity was not to be mine. I’m looking forward to being woken by traffic at 7am, daily, as I was this morning. Time to invest in some earplugs.
On the plus side, the flat has wireless broadband, is a reasonable size, and my mattress is new. Even better, we’re mere seconds away from: Armstrongs, the best vintage clothes shop in Edinburgh; Greggs, for all my scotch pie needs, of which there are many; and Peckham’s deli, which has recently opened a café. We’re also close to my favourite restaurant, Home Bistro, on West Nicolson St. It’s a tiny place – only 22 covers – that does beautiful, simple, home-cooked food, served in something like someone’s front room.