Oh, hello! It's been a while...

However... instead of the 4000 word apology/procrastination explanation post I have in fact written about why I haven’t updated this in… er... 17 months (oh geez), I’m going to just breezily put this post up instead and see if the crushing guilt of 'should-have' goes away if I ignore it entirely instead of feeding it with attention and making it bigger. That always works, right?

Also, doing otherwise would mean I need to re-edit my 4000 word apology/procrastination post again which somehow for me always makes things longer instead of shorter, and no one needs to read a 6000 word apology/procrastination post. So you're welcome.

Right! Without further almost-apology, I have tried my hand at reviewing some Fringe shows this year, which I have never done before, at least in writing. If you saw any of these and have other thoughts, or saw things you think I should have seen too, please comment below and let me know!
 
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EDINBURGH FRINGE 2024

August in Edinburgh is the best kind of insanity.

I love the Fringe festival. Of course, like all locals, I reserve the right to complain about the packed buses and the £12 pints and all the rest, but the complaints are as much a love language as anything. Edinburgh turns mad for a month, and I like mad. When else can you walk down the street and see a woman in a sequined cocktail dress carrying a fake corpse with no head blithely running for a bus, as you pass someone in a potato costume handing out flyers while spouting endless vegetable puns while on your way to have a drink with pals where one of their pals comes by and tells you how he’s been eating a kilogram of cheese on stage every night except twice a week now when he has to disappoint the audience and eat lettuce instead, on new (and may I say very understandable) doctor’s orders?

Some years I Fringe intensely and see loads of shows and other years I might only catch one pal’s performance and that’s it, just soaking up the atmosphere instead. This year was in-between but closer to the former, despite working full time, and I did most of my show-seeing in one glorious heck of a week. Naturally, I made it worse by booking the wrong date for something the first weekend, which had a knock-on effect of making three already bought tickets very difficult to rearrange, which I solved by running for a tram after one show like I was in Trainspotting, then leaping on my bike, pre-parked by the tram stop, to absolutely fly to the next show starting a few minutes later on the other side of town. That was almost a show in itself. But I made it!

Anyway, I thought I might try, for the first time, reviewing what I’d seen. I always like to dissect things afterwards with whoever I’ve seen it with, but I’ve never written it up before, so here goes… I’ll start with the bottom and work up, so stick around (or scroll down to the end) for the best!
 
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9) 10 Party Games – Jollybox! – PBH Free Fringe, Liquid Rooms - 2 stars

This was a late-night quiz type interactive show, where the audience logs in to a site on their phones and puts funny answers to questions like ‘What would make you panic at a disco?’ and then votes on the funniest answer, read aloud by the host, whose main job seemed to be ignoring drunken hecklers. Unfortunately, the entire show depended on both the technology working smoothly and the audience being funny, and neither one remotely happened the night I was there. The hosts did soldier admirably through regardless, but I hope on average they had better nights. But, hey, it was free, so that’s Fringe!
 
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8) Sam Hurst – Magic Mayhem and Memes – PBH Free Fringe, Liquid Rooms – 2 stars

To be fair, my friend and I were not the intended audience for this show, but on the other hand, I couldn’t figure out who was. We went because the show we’d meant to see had ended the day before so we thought, heck, why not, we’ll play the Fringe lottery and see whatever’s on instead. It was a one-man magic show, and his sleight of hand was very impressive. Everything else was… well, seemingly not sure if it was for kids or adults. The adult jokes that were meant to go over the kid’s heads weren’t over enough, and the kids’ jokes fell pretty flat on the few children that were there. The screen of memes wasn’t cued well and kept misfiring, and the show would have been as good or better without that altogether. (And I *like* memes). But the effort he put in to keep it going regardless was admirable.

Overall, the magic itself was good, but the surrounding show felt like it needed some firmer direction.
 
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7) Dan Leith - Moonshine in Leith – PBH Free Fringe, Brewdog DogHouse – 3 stars

A songwriter comedian. A fairly smooth set peppered with songs on such various topics as wanting to have sex with ghosts, wanting to have sex with cartoons, and wanting to have sex in general. Unfortunately, the first song was all about what a promiscuous <insult of choice> his ex was for having sex with other people, which for me set the tone as ‘ugh’ and seriously undermined the ‘no, but really, consent is important cause I’m a feminist’ type sidebar lines in later songs that might have otherwise made him out as, y’know, actually a feminist.

Some of the lines were clever, the audience interaction was well handled, and the songs were catchy enough. If all you think about is sex with exes and various other unattainable beings, you might relate, but I must admit it didn’t do much for me.
 
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6) The Thermos Museum – PBH Free Fringe, Satyr Bar – 3 stars

Despite the title, there was nary a Thermos in sight unless you went past the pub early to catch the performer out flyering on the pavement with a suitcase of them. This show was absurd, in a nice way. It was extremely hard to tell where the show ended and the dry wit of the man performing it began, but that made it work. My pal and I were first to arrive, welcomed in by the man, then ushered out after all, then told an off-the-wall story about an uncle just outside the venue room, which could have been part of the show but wasn’t (I think), then when we were welcomed back in, the show felt like just a continuation of chatting to him in the pub, but with more hilarious drawings.

The audience was picked on in terms of being asked to help lift things and so on, in an enjoyably weird way. The stories were absurd but engaging, about things like a man charging too much to fix a door. (Bizarrely relatable in Edinburgh.) It felt, afterwards, like we had Fringed and Fringed properly. Would go see another Thermos Museum show, but would definitely need to be in that dry, absurd mood.
 
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5) OH OH – Compagnia Baccalà, Underbelly – 4 stars

This was adorable. Really adorable. I had seen the duo’s last show many years ago, Pss Pss, and had been blown away. Pss Pss was a perfect half-and-half mix of ostensibly simple but very polished clowning and death-defying acrobatic stunts randomly thrown in as if they were equally simple. OH OH was in the same tradition, though weighted more towards clowning than acrobatics. But still darn impressive. There were several seriously skilful stunts on a rope ladder as well as a concertina-trumpet duet happening whilst one performer maintained a headstand balanced only on the top of other performer’s head.

If I was a kid, I would have immediately gone home and begged my sisters to try imitating the whole show with me. The clowning was brilliant. Very reminiscent of old silent movies with Buster Keaton (who I love). I’ve never smiled so much watching someone put on and take off a coat for ten minutes. As a whole, the show took away the real world for an hour and made it sweet, no small feat in these times.
 
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4) Queer Bait Cabaret – PBH Free Fringe, Banshee Labyrinth/Leith Arches – 4 stars

One of my favourite events, this cabaret runs occasionally year round, and I always love it. The Fringe version was no exception. Curated and hosted by the formidable Suky Goodfellow (a good friend, full disclosure, but an objectively impressive one), every performance had a different lineup. I’m certain though that all were as eclectic and entertaining as the one I caught, which included hilarious comedian/rapper/poet Queen Queerlysh, poet Beth Macdonald (one of whose beautiful poems made my accompanying friend cry, which you’ll have to trust me is a feat), comedian Richard Duffy (who managed to entertain us solely by sleeping on stage), and two high-contrast drag performances by Grimin Evil (a sexy, dark, goth whip demon) and VUJO (a Legally Blonde-inspired bit of light, feathery joy).

 Even just being in the audience was a delight, as it was full of queer folk reveling in the creativity of their own, and the atmosphere Suky always manages to create at her shows is that of an inclusive, supportive, joyful community. It was a great hour. Highly recommended, especially for any LGBTQ+ folk out there looking to feel fully at home.

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3) Cash Out of Hand: A Convict’s Tale – The Hár, Leith Depot – 4 stars

The only thing wrong with this show was that it was criminally undersold. The audience was tiny in number at the one I went to, and I can only desperately hope the numbers were better for the subsequent performances because it was an absolutely wonderful hour of music. Brilliant four-piece band The Hár from Australia played all the Irish trad tune hits between snatches of a real historical convict’s journal from the 1800s compellingly narrated by local pub music hero Dominic Blaikie.

The musicians were highly skilled, and more importantly, just clearly love playing together which was utterly infectious. The set had dynamic ups and downs to match the story’s arc, with each musician being featured here and there, and the hour went very fast, and I was sad when it ended. I wish the band lived in town, because their pub sessions must be an absolute blast. I very much hope they’ll return and perform again.
 
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2) The Bookbinder – Trick of the Light, Till’s Bookshop – 5 stars

A friend asked me to see this with her, and had she not raved about their last show, I might have been sceptical. A one-man shadow puppet, art, music and storytelling show about bookbinding and fairy tales suitable for both children and adults sounded like it might be trying to do too much at once. Friends, it wasn’t. It was amazing. It was transporting. It was magical.

The venue was absolutely perfect. Floor to ceiling books behind a desk with a man behind it in an apron. A huge pop-up book of the most fantastically intricate line art drawings and paper mache figures and shadow plays inside the light fixtures of the shop were combined with a masterful storyteller and actor and suddenly books became buildings and paper figures became alive and we all became children again, genuinely drawn deep into the magic of a good story, as cliché as that sounds.

It worked SO well, and almost the best part was afterwards being invited to come and see the props up close in detail. They deserve their own art exhibit, honestly. It was incredible. It was what storytelling aspires to be. Go see it next time it’s here.
 
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1) 22 Mirrors: A Musical Journey Through the Tarot – Giulia Drummond, The Speakeasy at The Royal Scots Club – 5 stars

My favourite show this year. Billed as a musical journey through the tarot deck, this was so much more affecting than I was expecting. Giulia is a local songwriter with an incredible voice and amazing percussive skills, so I thought it would be a handful of her original songs on a theme, with some backup musicians added in here and there. It was so much more than that. It was, as promised, a full-on journey.

The costumes and set were beautiful, and set the tone well. They were almost reminiscent of a school pageant (a highly polished one), but that suited the show perfectly, making it accessible instead of intimidating, and allowing the audience to be drawn in without effort. Before we knew it, we were utterly enchanted.

22 songs in an hour, and all distinct. That is seriously impressive. Giulia managed to embody every single character/card in a different way, by cleverly changing one costume piece, or one instrument, or inviting a new collaborator onstage. The tone or accoutrements or music or artistry of every song was different enough that it never once felt repetitive, and the journey really felt like a journey; it started simply with just Giulia, and ended with five characters on stage, all playing parts that wove themselves together into a veritable tapestry of musical enchantment.

Emma Capponi’s strong stage presence and ethereal harmonies and Eddy Hanson’s soaring, emotional fiddle both lifted Giulia’s music to new heights. The further addition of the two dancers brought it up to yet another level; the bright joy of Gaby Albornoz and solemn grace of Thara Wicramasinghe worked perfectly together to seamlessly encompass what felt like every emotion at once, allowing everyone in the audience to be drawn in, whatever their mood or feeling of the moment. Combine the considerable skills of these four with Giulia’s astonishing vocal talent and brilliant performance charisma and the result is an entrancing, all-encompassing magical world that everyone’s soul has a place in. (And for the record, knowing nothing about tarot cards didn’t matter at all.)
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Honestly, this show filled a bit of my heart I didn’t even know existed. Go see it if it ever shows again! I certainly will.

Okay, so I know I said episode 1 would be a look at names and pseudonyms, and an explanation of why I've chosen Asta Greenwood to be mine, BUT... Easter was two days ago, and I tried to roll an egg down a hill but accidentally had a religious experience instead, so I've decided to heck with plans, and I'm going to write about that. Might be a long one! [Edit to add: it is, indeed, a long one. Settle in!]

But first, happy slightly belated recent holiday-of-choice to those of you who like that sort of thing! I hope it was full of your favourite thing, whatever makes you happy, be it chocolate, flowers, family dinners, friend hangouts, religious traditions, or having (hopefully) an extra day off.

Right. So. EGG ROLLING.
 
A few years ago, I discovered Starbank Park, my now-favourite park in Edinburgh (don't tell my other almost-favourite parks). Firstly in its favour, the name. What a glorious, magical name. Secondly, the park is half a giant grassy hill right beside the ocean, and half a hidden walled fairytale garden at the top that you can't really see is there until you're in it. When I say fairytale garden, I mean literally a fairytale garden, by the way - there's tiny doors in the trees and a fairytale trail and a plaque about how it was visited by Hans Christian Andersen once. There is also a free library impressively carved and painted into a TARDIS, because magic comes in many guises.

I was visiting last week when I spied a sign. Traditional Egg Rolling and a service in the garden would take place Easter Sunday morning.

Traditional Egg Rolling sounded hilarious to me, having never heard of it. I said this to a British friend who seemed the tiniest bit defensive, despite my explaining it was a nice, adorable kind of hilarious. That comment (unsurprisingly, looking back) did not seem to help. But I'm sure many Canadian traditions I take for granted would seem equally adorably hilarious to Brits. It's the Honkwich Effect.

​The non-competitive element was surprisingly disappointing. I consider myself a very non-competitive person, but I really think someone missed a trick here. You don't have to care who has the best-rolling egg, but surely, surely, there's some small part of you that wants to know who has the best-rolling egg? Just so you can not care about it on purpose. I mean, it totally doesn't matter who has the best-rolling egg. At all. But it’s still nice to know if it’s you or not, isn’t it? Maybe I'm not as non-competitive as I think.

I would say, though, that only about 60% of the children were technically rolling their eggs. The rest were chucking them overhand as hard as possible and then giggling maniacally as they soared through the air to their demise. Fair enough, because this is almost definitely the only hour of the year they get that involves adult-sanctioned egg-throwing at totally the empty patch of grass and definitely not my sibling who coincidentally happened to be slightly downhill from me when I let go oh oops I didn't see you there dear sibling sorry about that but I'm sure you'll be fine, probably.

Anyhow, after watching children and boiled eggs co-exist in beautiful anarchy for a few minutes, I started feeling weirdly aware that I was very much the only adult in that whole half of the park without a smaller human in tow. I also realised I wouldn't get to try egg-rolling myself without asking a random child to borrow their egg, which seemed like a particularly terrible idea. There were a few mostly-intact ones halfway up the hill that seemed abandoned though, so I surreptitiously nudged one with my foot and watched it tumble a few feet downhill, just to feel like I'd taken part. It was... well, anti-climactic, to say the most. But still, ta-da! Purpose of trip officially fulfilled.

​I wandered up into the secret garden to see what was going on there. It was an outdoor church service. They'd moved all the benches over for people to sit in the centre of the garden. There was a band off to the side, and a few people at the front, preaching and acting out the Easter story from various characters' viewpoints in almost-costumes: a colourful scarf here, a striped bathrobe there. It had an old-fashioned church pageant feel, in a nice, homely way. All round the edges of the garden there were crowds of people not listening, but chatting and walking and doing crafts at tables with kids, and it was such a beautiful atmosphere. It really felt like a true spring festival, outside in the gentle sea-scented breeze with flowers and laughter and birdsong surrounding a colourful, musical, optional ceremony with sunshine beaming down. If church was always like that, I think more people would go.

I stood near the back, expecting to watch for a few minutes, maybe listen to a hymn and then head off. I had an intense church phase in university about twenty years ago, and I worked as music director for a church later on for a couple years. I'm not really religious anymore, but I feel a bit nostalgic sometimes for the sense of community I found in a couple places. I also still love the music, and the stained glass and the architecture. I absolutely acknowledge the harm many aspects (and certain branches) of organised religions can and have caused, and I know why it's not for everyone.  I also know there are some modern church communities out there made up of amazing, goldenhearted, true-intentioned people, who really do prize kindness over judgment, and who put their useful, real-life action where their faith is, and genuinely help to make the world more inclusive and loving for everyone, not just themselves or any other chosen few. So I miss that kind of community sometimes. (It's almost like religion, like everything else in the world, has both good and bad to it...)

Anyhow, to my surprise, I stayed for the whole service, which lasted probably an hour and a half. I started out half-listening, a million thoughts running through my head about egg aerodynamics for throwing vs. rolling, and whether seagulls eating smashed chicken eggs would count as cannibalism, and how if I squinted enough, I could make all the heads of the colourfully dressed congregation look a bit like enormous Easter eggs sitting in fancy decorated pew-cartons... but after a while, I stopped thinking and just listened. Actually listened, without my mind's usual cacophony of swirling thoughts, and surfacing flashes of random memories or dreams, and snatches of melodies, and several layers of inner monologue. I was just there. In a garden, watching people tell a story through two hilariously malfunctioning microphones while around me, children blew bubbles and flowers grew and the sun made me feel perfectly warm for the first time in months.

This kind of brain calm is very, very rare for me. It happens once in a while on forest walks. Occasionally while playing music. Very often in dance class. Every time I'm acting on stage. Rarely anywhere else. (You know, I think I just realised why I was so set on doing musical theatre for so long.)

So I was there. And then, at the end of the service, which was comfortingly familiar from my church days, there was the exchanging of the peace. This is a part where everyone in the congregation turns to the people sitting near them and shakes hands, or smiles and nods, and says "Peace" or "Peace be with you". Some intrepid extroverts will go so far as to visit neighbouring pews, but most people just turn in place to greet those around them. It's very friendly, and a nice way to make sure everyone feels included and welcome. It was always my favourite part, but I had completely forgotten it was coming.

I was standing at the back with a little flower patch between me and the bench in front of me, and the family standing beside me had left, so there was a good six feet between me and the next bunch of standing people. I didn't feel quite present enough yet to move my feet and go over to them, although I really wanted to. A teenage boy glanced over at me and smiled, so I did an awkward little wave and smile and muttered "Peace" at him, and that was nice.

But as I watched everyone around me shaking hands and hugging and smiling at each other, the last of my meditative reverie dissipated and all the layers of my brain came crashing back. It seemed everyone was there with family or neighbours, and I felt, like on the egg-rolling hill, suddenly awkwardly and conspicuously alone. However, one of my superpowers is blending in and not being noticed, so I settled comfortably into doing that, while pondering the people all around.

Then, in my peripheral vision, I saw an older man, maybe 75, striding purposefully towards me​. I looked up and met his eyes, and I'm probably biased because he was so nice, but I swear they were the kindest, crinkliest eyes ever, exactly like you imagine Santa Claus having. All he did was shake my hand and say "Peace to you", in a way that felt like he really meant it, and I smiled back and said "Peace", but as he turned away... I burst into tears. In the middle of a garden, with a hundred other people around. Maybe ‘burst’ is too dramatic. I think only one tear actually escaped, but it took more than a few minutes to get the welling-up to stop. Not a normal reaction for me! I say hi to strangers all the time and don't cry, I swear! At bus stops, in shops, on the street, at events. I spent years in my shop greeting people and being greeted with genuine interest, and never once did I burst into tears!

He was just too nice. I felt too welcome. I am very comfortable being invisible in crowds, and I am also very good at being invisible in crowds. Usually people respect my highly refined powers of invisibility. But this man was having none of that. He walked six feet out of his way to make sure I felt seen and welcomed, just for a second, in case I needed that. And I guess, given my reaction, I did.

I’ve been trying to figure out why, and I have a theory. Sometimes when I’m by myself in crowds, it’s almost like I’m watching myself watching the event. It can still be fascinating, but it’s distant, intellectual, removed. Not by any means a bad experience, still enjoyable and in fact sometimes preferable, but always very different than when I’m somewhere with other people, connecting and sharing the experience with them. Looking around at all the families at that service, I think I missed mine, and it wasn’t conscious, but I think right then I was wishing I had someone with me so I could change my camera angle from that distant removed view to a close-up human one, like everyone around me had, and that was exactly what that man’s handshake gave me.

It was such a small thing, and honestly, I think if this had happened three years ago, when I had loads of human contact, and went to loads of events with loads of pals, and had loads of adventures, I’d have smiled and thought ‘Oh, that’s so nice of him!’ and gone on with my day. But these days I hermit more and human-contact less, and I'm out of practice at connecting with strangers, which I've always loved doing. That’s part of the whole reason I started this goal of trying things, to counteract the temptingly easy self-imposed isolation habits I’ve let myself fall into the last few years. I mean, I’m getting there, I’m in a perfectly fine state in general (I promise, don’t worry, Mom!) but somehow, that handshake still felt like a huge, soul-healing lift bringing me out of isolation and back to that community-included feeling right when I needed it.

I still felt bizarrely overwhelmed afterwards, so strangers were all nodding and saying Happy Easter to each other as they left but I hurried over to the side of the garden and took this picture below instead of interacting with anyone else. I almost wanted to go say thanks to the man but thought that would be weird. I think I was probably right. It was a nice moment that didn't need to be anything more. But thanks, mister with the white hair and blue shirt and kind, crinkly eyes, whoever you were!

In conclusion, I really thought ridiculously chasing an egg down a hill was going to be what nudged me out of my comfort zone on Sunday, but instead it was a man saying, ‘Hello! I see you there existing, and hope you have a nice day!’

I could think of it as a little Easter miracle, but I actually think it’s even better as something just very, very human: the small kindness of a stranger that means the world. My favourite thing.

Greetings, salutations, and all other manner of welcome! Come in, kick your boots off (unless you're surreptitiously reading this at work or a very dull dinner date or some other less interesting place where they might notice you kicking your boots off and start asking awkward questions), and get ready to join me on an ADVENTURE. 

My name is Asta. (Well, that's one of my names anyhow; I'll cover that next time.) I'm a writer, though you won't have heard of me (yet!) as most of my writing has been fairly anonymous thus far. But no more! Here I am, internet! Gaze upon my words and, er... well, that's really all I'm after, is the gaze in the first place. You can react however you want after that.

This particular adventure is, in essence, me trying things and then writing about them. Everyone loves a vicarious bit o' bravery and/or personal growth and/or hilarious failure that makes a good story, right? I aim to provide all of these in probably equal measure. I also desperately hope to encourage all of you to try more new things yourselves. You can do the scary thing! Go for it! (That's what I tell myself before I try things, and unbelievably, sometimes it actually works.)

This blog idea in particular was born of a goal I've had for a couple years now to become less stagnant and more adventurous again. When I was a young spry thing, I used to do all sorts of mad things, and have all sorts of mad adventures, and meet all sorts of mad people, and I loved it. But then I got older and tireder and burnt out and far too used to hermiting. My main exercise began to consist of bending over to pick up my cross-stitch needle when I dropped it, and my cat began to account for the majority of my conversation with other living creatures. I was bored and miserable but also lazy and hopeless and unwilling to do anything about it. Also, there was that whole plague thing going on.

But then, one fateful day way back in the interminable plague days of early 2021, I was visiting an old friend on the community farm where she lived near Airdrie, helping her make a garden, and she mentioned one of their caravans was for rent for the summer, and jokingly asked if I wanted to rent it. Delirious with the momentum of having Done Something With My Day for once and awash in the heady novelty of being literally anywhere other than my flat, I said yes as if possessed before I thought it through whatsoever.

It was exactly what I needed to remember how much I loved being alive.

Within a few months, I began to adventure again. Slower than before, but still, I started to feel more human, more like myself. Since then, I've re-embraced new experiences. Last year, I learned to play the drum kit and joined a punk band at 40. This year, I started learning how to cook by inviting a dozen people over at short notice and promising to feed them food from New Zealand without having any idea what New Zealanders eat (pavlova and cheese rolls, apparently). Last week, I cut my long, curly hair into a pixie cut, just to see what it felt like (final level of regret is yet to be solidified on that one).

Best of all the new adventures though, I enrolled in a full-time writing degree. Now in my second year, they've told me I need to start a blog, and have a website, and actually put my writing online with my name attached. So here we are. Another first. 

Onward to adventure!

Next post: What's in a Name? (New Thing: writing publicly)

Following post: Panic at the Hob! (New Thing: learning to cook by hosting an outrageously unrealistically ambitious feast)