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Midnight, and a busker on Edinburgh’s Cowgate cannot believe his luck. Two drunk young ladies with belts for skirts decide to whip up some loose change from the punters, by performing an erotic dance for passers-by. While the guitarist strums rock classics, badly, they rub their arses on each others breasts, and (with practiced ease) bite each others buttocks. The crowd is three deep. The minge of the fringe.
We walk on to the Smirnoff Underbelly, and into the popular late night comedy review ‘Spank’. They have a popular feature called ‘The Naked Promo’ where one plucky Fringe performer can promote their show, on stage… but only if they are naked. An actor from the much trailed Bloggers takes the challenge, and we get to hear all about the show, while looking at his cock.
I think I’ve seen enough pubic hair for one night.
Author: Robert (Page 290 of 328)
I’ve been pottering about quietly in my flat, with the windows open. It is a still kind of day here in in Edinburgh, and the sound from Tynecastle wafts over the tenements. In this manner I deduce that Hearts are beating whoever it is they are playing.
I’m reminded of my time in Rio de Janeiro, living near the Parque Guinle, in the shadow of the Corcovado. If Fluminese or Botafogo happened to score, the city would erupt in a joyous cacaophony, like a jungle awakening.
Sometimes I find it is nice to live in a noisy town. The disturbances, like the roar of Tynecastle, or the One O’Clock Gun, are a kind of language of the city, one that you can pick out and understand above the hum of the traffic. It is a communication (of sorts) with your neighbours, who are elsewhere and enjoying themselves. “We are here,” they say. “You are not alone.”
Watching the Spanish Harlem Orchestra at the Open Air Stage, WOMAD 2006.
I was on a 06:40am flight from Heathrow to Edinburgh this morning, run by BMI. It was half full. Also waiting in the departure lounge were passengers for the 06:50am British Airways flight… to Edinburgh.
What a waste of everyone’s resources in the name of consumer choice. I have travelled on British Airways flights before, and the service provided is exactly the fucking same as that provided by BMI, and for the same cost. If only we could pool them into a single service at, say, 06:45am or something.
Perhaps this is something that The State could organise?
As per Clive’s recommendation, I’m off to WOMAD this weekend. Unfortunately, its started with a disappointment. I was supposed to be interviewing the Zimbabwean virtuoso Thomas Mapfumo, but I’ve just discovered that has had to cancel his performance… because he couldn’t get a visa!
Nothing positive can come of this decision. This is the flip-side of the immigration debate. No porus borders here. By keeping people out, we risk isolating ourselves from outside influence, and our culture is all the poorer for it.
Update
The visa problems were not an admin error. According to WOMAD and Mapfumo’s label, Real World Records, the British Embassy have said that they are “not satisfied that he intends to leave the UK” after the festival. This is strange, since the notoriously paranoid US Department of Homeland Security have issued Mapfumo with documents allowing him to leave, and re-enter the United States, where he is seeking political asylum.
Other WOMAD acts have had similar problems. Nine members of the Mozambique mariba outfit Djaaka were refused entry into the UK earlier this week. They were actually in transit through Gatwick airport, en route to a gig in Italy, but ended up being deported back to Mozambique. Mauritainian diva Dimi Mint Abba has asked her family and manager to support her act, afer her band were denied travel visas on the basis that they could not prove they earned a sufficent income in Mauritania.
Let us hope these artists pen a song or two about these experiences. It would be great if all this red tape inspired, rather than stifled creativity.