How my teenage niece renewed my enthusiasm for the Edinburgh Festival Fringe

That’s me. I haven’t really been feeling it this year. 

Usually, I’m the festivall-iest of festival-tastic festival-goers. 

This time round, it’s a combination of the bad weather, a tight money situation, work and other commitments that have prevented me from getting into the right mode. 

I keep flicking through the programmes, and just going, meh.

Everything is too late, or at an awkward time for my schedule, which is tighter than a Japanese train timetable. 

I haven’t hitched myself up to the wagon, and I’m in danger of letting the whole event slide past me. We’re already more than halfway through August, which fills me with panic.

Thankfully, last weekend meant temporary redemption.

I was energised by the fact that my sister-in-law and my 17-year-old niece were coming to stay, as part of junior’s birthday celebrations and to mark the fact that she aced her exams. 

She did much better than her auntie, who didn’t get any As, partially on account of having minus four vision in each eye and refusing to wear specs. 

My niece has brains, beauty, AND 20:20 vision.

It’s been a while since she stayed, and, since she’s from a tiny town in the countryside, she was stoked about a rare visit to Auld Reekie. There was already a whole list of places she’d seen on TikTok, and wanted to visit. (I vetoed the food options, since they were rubbish). Also, on the list was trying an iced coffee, Deliveroo, noodles, cool cafes and seeing Victoria Street. 

She’d decided on suitable outfits, to suit every eventuality. 

It’s been a minute. The last time she was here, she was tiny and got really upset at seeing her first homeless person on Middle Meadow Walk.

“What’s on at the Festival?” she asked, a few days before her trip.

Ha ha, we thought, she really doesn't know what’s in store. 

After their five-hour car drive, things got off on a high, as she told us about school. Apparently, one of her favourite teachers had been hospitalised with syphilis.

“Are you sure?”, I asked. “That’s a Victorian sexually transmitted disease”.

It turns out it was probably another illness, also starting with s.  And that was the first weekend theme. The teacher with syphilis.

I was working on their first day in the city, so my husband took them out. Except, in the evening, we all went to see Jason Byrne’s No Show, at Assembly.

He’s a reliable laugh. My niece wanted to sit right at the front, so we might get picked on. All the grown-ups said no, and we sat in the Gods, to enjoy blissful invisibility.

The jokes are very much aimed at Generation X, but my Zoomer niece thought it was hilarious. 

Also, it was so rude. I was black affrontit. She didn’t care.

At one point, Jason was talking about caravans, and asked an American audience member what they were called in the US. 

“Station wagons”,” she said.

“Are you sure?” he replied.

“Absolutely not,” was her answer.

And, there was another leitmotif. Now we had a teacher with syphilis, and, “absolutely not” as a catchphrase.

Day two, we’d arranged an itinerary of stuff.

We went to Darkfield’s Arcade, which was creepy and fun. Nobody wanted to go to their other show, Flight, since it seems that our entire family is scared of aeroplanes.

Then there was the Edinburgh International Festival’s The Outrun, up at Church Hill Theatre.

We walked up there, via a place that served cookie dough and soft serve. 

I’d chosen this production, since it’s based on Amy Liptrot’s memoir, of an 18-year-old leaving her farm in Orkney for Edinburgh, then London. It’s a bit edgy, with the tale of addiction, but I thought a teenager would like the darker themes.

Anyway, it was in the stalls where we met our nemesis. 

Sitting right behind me, was an incredibly noisy woman.

This happens to me all the time. I always get the wobbly table in restaurants, and I’m always sitting near the rowdy outliers. Here we go again, I thought.

She zipped and unzipped her bag, unwrapped sweeties and snored all the way through. 

There were strange gulping sounds, and I thought she was going to vomit. I hoped it wasn’t going to be on the back of my head. While running through that worst-case-scenario, I missed a huge chunk of the exposition.

At one point, she left for about 15 minutes, before returning and clunking our heads with her gold tote on the way back in.

When the lights went up, I couldn’t wait to see what she looked like, but she tanked it up the aisle at high speeds.

Blonde bob, strangely long arms, like one of the characters in Monsters Inc.

I was raging, but my niece thought it was brilliant and hysterical. Every time there had been a particularly loud snorkel, or chunter, she tucked her chin and just silently laughed, with tears rolling down her face.

I tried not to look at her, so she could keep it together. I remember the teenage lols. There is a point of no return.

It made me feel less uptight about the whole situation. 

We talked about it all the way home. The play was decent, but THAT woman was so funny.

This is what she’ll remember about the weekend. Am I right?

“Absolutely not”.

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