Sunday Herald - First Timer's Diary (4)
A grateful survivor decides there's no business like Fringe business, after all.
James Grieve
25 August 2002

"Never again", I swore, as the Fringe loomed large in late July. Last November's first naïve bubbles of excitement became bloated with logistics, paperwork and financial impediment. Late nights and crack-of-dawn mornings around a full time job dragged their feet. In the frenetic final weeks, Fun was ousted in a coup orchestrated by the evil Fuhrer Stress.

Yet once it all began, with a maelstrom of activity enveloping the Royal Mile and posters draping the city like bunting, the preparations were forgotten and the main event held us all in its aura. The workload reaped tangible rewards in the form of bums on seats. Each morning offered expectation, and each evening innumerable bars to host the day's dissection and our quest for drunkenness extraordinaire.

I've just noticed there are other shows on in Edinburgh as well as ours. Quite a few, actually. The Fringe Programme is like a box of chocolates, untouched and enticing, but stamped with a health warning that reads: "If you're running a show, you'll never taste the exotic delicacies of the Festival menu, but be stuck in a Groundhog Day of publicity, press releases, troubleshooting and angst."

Still, I have developed a catholicity of taste by virtue of exposure to such diversity. Exorbitant ticket prices enforce careful risk assessment before any visit to the theatre in London, yet here, in the odd spare hour, I've been frivolously indiscriminate and unearthed the celestial and catastrophic in equal measures. At times I've sat in awe, choked, inspired, re-invented. At others I've considered the onset of the apocalypse instantly preferable to the prospect of remaining in my seat a moment longer.

The Fringe comes drenched in inspiration. Your own mistakes are of course the most didactic, but seeing everyone else soar or stumble, and immersing yourself in the crucibles of debate that fuel the atmosphere of the city, is surely more instructive than any course. Trial and error is one hell of an education.

I've learnt to overestimate the time it takes to do anything, from hauling a hungover body from the comfy confines of bed, to finding props and repairing broken set pieces, to making a gourmet dinner from four discoloured potatoes and half a tin of oxtail soup. I've learnt not to count your chickens before you've learnt to count, that success breeds complacency and failure is always relative.

I've been lucky to have the support of a tremendous company and a theatre where the staff have become friends. I've been lucky to have an incredible play to produce.

I'd do a lot of things differently, looking back. But at least I'll know for next time. Next time? Did I really say that? Ok, I admit there's a little part of my frazzled mind devoted to grand designs for 2003. I think the Fringe is like a tube of Pringles. Once you pop, you can't stop.

So thank you Edinburgh. I've had the time of my life. This first timer is sure it won't be his last.