Woh-oh, we’re halfway there, woh-oh, living on a prayer… As yet, this song hasn’t been one of the ones on near-permanent loop in my head. Although we are halfway through the festival. Ish. I’ll be honest, I feel like I’m on a bit of a mental safari, wandering around Edinburgh, swinging between Tiggerish glee and Eeyoreish torpor, all accompanied with a jaunty mental soundtrack courtesy of a show I’ve directed, Polite Club. This morning I serenaded my flatmates with Little Old Sexy Me over my Alpen. It was, I am afraid, far from appropriate.
The fatigue is really beginning to kick in now, but luckily it’s time for most shows to have a day off. This is a good thing, in a way, but rarely works as well as you’d hope. The day before the day off, performers tend to cut loose, staying out until all hours on massive benders, which does little to help the long-term exhaustion. Alternatively, performers go to bed early, screw up their body clock, and end up just as tired as before and with a gloopy and inflamed respiratory system, as their bodies assume that it’s all over and time for the immune system to kick back.
I spent half an hour this morning finally compiling a list of what shows I want to see, and ticked one off straight away by going to the very silly and very funny Zimbani at the Pleasance. However, my plan to catch up with a few others was banjaxed by the fact that most people’s days off happen on the Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday of week two, meaning that half of the things I wanted to see weren’t on anyway. Still, I caught Joel Horwood’s ultimately rather touching piece, I Caught Crabs In Walberswick, and plan to hit the ground running tomorrow.