Ralph Oswick: Not feeling very bubbly

Ithought I’d report back on my recent trip to Edinburgh Fringe. Sadly, the city was dead with none of the all-enveloping festival buzz we are used to.

If you think Bath is suffering from a blight of empty shops, you’ve not seen Scotland’s capital.

Prince’s Street seemed to be a never-ending string of boarded up properties, with an awful number of drunken/drugged citizens staggering about.

Maybe they blend in with the crowds in a normal year, but there did seem to be more unfortunates than usual.

I was feeling very tired as the result of a mild dose of Covid the previous week. Despite having a clean sheet test-wise, everything seemed a stupendous effort.

Normally my Fringe days are interspersed with almighty hangovers but having wangled our way into a very exclusive stars only bar on the first night, all I could manage was a small glass of wine before my comfy hotel room beckoned.

Both the Fringe (average price if not free around £8.50) and the International Festival (prices from £35) were trying their best with a string of semi-outdoor virus-free venues which ranged from the spectacular to the dire.

We unfortunately booked for two shows in the latter: a draughty multi-storey car park decorated with a few strands of coloured plastic which flapped sadly in the chilly breeze.

Our ‘double bubble’ consisted of two spindly folding chairs lashed together and barely providing enough room for my generously proportioned posterior, let alone that of my sizeable companion!

My heart went out to the performers, for though the venue was well equipped technically, trying to judge an audience all hiding behind surgical masks and struggling with the near-impossible online bar service must have been daunting.

And I did find my gaze wandering to the stupendous view of the castle rising behind the stage.

Then I got stung on the toe by a wasp. Theatre Royal it was not!

I decided to treat my pals to afternoon tea at Edinburgh’s poshest hotel. Like posh in that they slice the tops off the champagne bottles with sabres.

We stuck to English breakfast tea. Can’t do much to a teapot with a cavalry sword.

Now, I can munch my way through a whole cake stand given the opportunity, but most of the sweet little treats went home in a doggie box. Covid is a very weird illness if it stops me tucking into a mini meringue filled with lavender cream and topped with a chocolate fan! Our second visit to the car park was a little more pleasant. In the warm sunshine (what, sunshine in Edinburgh?), tickets included a free pint of lager and a macaroni pie.

And the play we saw was very well performed.

This time we ignored the somewhat pushy ushers and claimed a four-person bubble for our big bums.

On the way to the airport, I started throwing up. Macaroni pie or just the remnants of my postcovid exhaustion?

I’ll never know, but boy, was I glad to see my own bed that night.

Ralph Oswick was artistic director of Natural Theatre for 45 years and is now an active patron of Bath Comedy Festival