Ralph Oswick: Bingeing on the fringe is not good for my knees!

Isaid I would report back on my recent visit to Edinburgh Fringe. Well, as usual it was overwhelming (nearly 400 venues and 5,000 performances clamouring for one’s attention), wet (rained every day) and expensive (lager £5.45 per pint). But astonishing, exciting and hilarious in equal measure. My wish list was varied to say the least: from opera in the 2,200 seat Usher Hall to a tiny audience of 10 in an obscure free venue. (I managed about 12 shows, whereas my stalwart companion had upwards of 60 on his list). The first, which was actually part of the International Festival concurrent to the Fringe, was one of the most emotional classical music concerts I have ever attended, though I’m shocked at how many of my so-called educated friends cried ‘Englebert Humperdinck? Is he still alive?’ Not that Humperdinck, you idiot, the original one. The maestro who succeeded Wagner at Bayreuth and composed Hansel and Gretel. Grown men were in tears at the end when the witch was shoved in the oven and the gingerbread children came alive (all 60 of them). ’You mean you went to a panto starring Englebert Humperdinck? In August?’ It was a concert, you ninny. No kitsch scenery, no glittery costumes. And sung in German. But nonetheless… fabulous! The free show was something else. The Singing Psychic. She wasn’t psychic and couldn’t sing, but she gave it her all and the other nine people seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. The standard of the evening can be judged by the fact that in the obligatory audience participation I won the dance contest. With my arthritic knees! On the other hand, Irina Titova, Queen of Sand lived up to every expectation. Dressed in an immaculate ball gown, using just a handful of sand and a lightbox projected onto a large screen, she creates exquisite images, one morphing seamlessly into the next as the recorded narration recounts Jules Verne’s Around the World in 80 Days. With a flick of an elegant wrist here and a touch of a delicate finger there, the Eiffel Tower becomes Big Ben, Indian minarets become Egyptian pyramids. Camels traipse across hazy deserts and a hot air balloon ascends into the clouds over the endless African plains. Even the Titanic featured at one point. Both beautiful and charmingly funny, it was a wonder to behold, an oasis of calm away from the fringe madness outside, and something we might try to bring to Bath for next year’s comedy festival. Whilst worrying about Ms Titova’s cuticles suffering from handling all that sand on a daily basis, it was my aforementioned knees that really concerned me. I’ve never known a city for so many steps, cobbled streets and uneven pavements. And after a week of totally unsuitable seating in assorted ad hoc venues, one stout party was mighty relieved to get home and flop onto his famed purple sofa, exhausted, broke, but still buzzing from his annual dose of culture. Cultural binge on the fringe!