Apologies for the long overdue (and rather cheekily backdated) update from Man Writes Blog. The primary reason (excuse) for the woeful lack of activity over the last few weeks was the Edinburgh Festival, or more specifically, my attendance and participation in said festival.

Although I visited Scotland's proud capital for a few days during the festival last year, this was the first time I'd had an active role in the proceedings in over ten years, which was a pretty scary thought (age rather than performance anxiety).

This year I was involved with a couple of different improvised comedy shows and both went pretty well and thankfully due to some very smart manoeuvring we managed to avoid the rave reviews and television offers which have plagued some other shows.

Anyway, in the absence of a more original angle, I thought I'd present the highlights and lowlights of my two weeks up at the World's Biggest Open Arts Festival^(TM).

Highlight #1: Charlie Victor Bravo

This was a weirdly brilliant piece of theatre which recreated the final minutes of doomed aircraft based on transcripts taken from the recovered black box flight recorders. While one could certainly make an argument that this should never have been staged at all, it was very well done and certainly compelling to watch.

A simple projected slide would introduce each catastrophic episode, such as "October 2, 1996. Aeroperu Flight 603 out of Lima, 11 crew, 462 passengers" and then the lights would come up on a cockpit set with the flight crew facing out into the audience. Then five to ten gruelling minutes of controlled airborne panic, ending in a loud bang, a blackout and a few seconds of considered silence until the original slide reappeared updated with the actual outcome (usually "No survivors").

I must confess it was all a little traumatic but by the time the hour was up, I was hooked and eager for more. However, my slow foot-stamping and chant of "One more crash! One more crash!" fell on deaf ears, accusing eyes and tutting mouths.

Lowlight #1: The Weather

The weather was proper rubbish. I spent the first three days with soaking wet feet and on one day it rained from morning until night without any respite. I heard about one unfortunate young woman with a particularly tough flyering regimen who had actually been diagnosed with trench foot.

Like the normally well-behaved friend from Essex who chooses your birthday barbecue to suddenly conform to the worst possible stereotype of a chav, Edinburgh chose the three weeks of the festival to deliver the kind of appalling weather that people who've never been to Edinburgh imagine the locals suffer every day.

Highlight #2: Curry In A Hurry

Surviving for the first few days on tuna and sweetcorn paninis and lager, the discovery of this temporary takeaway curry house in the middle of the Pleasance Dome was a minor revelation.

Like many worthwhile relationships, things started out a little rocky. After sampling the slightly dodgy-looking chicken option — immediately after which I started to worry that "...In A Hurry" referred to the curry's attitude once inside you, rather than an allusion to its speedy preparation — I switched to the vegetable version and never looked back.

Just writing about it makes me want another one. In a hurry. But not with chicken.

Lowlight #2: The Weather (Again)

Sorry, but it really was that miserable. I'd brought a tatty umbrella up from London with me and although it was at least a week before I lost it, I obviously did lose it eventually. I couldn't bring myself to buy another one because I strongly believe that the newer and nicer an umbrella is, the quicker I will lose it.

So I got rather damp on a number of different occasions and very wet indeed at least twice.

Highlight #3: No Bread In Subway

I popped into a conspicuously empty branch of Subway on the Royal Mile only to be told that they didn't have any bread. "What, none at all?" I asked. "No, none at all." they replied.

After several days on my (pre-curry) junk diet I decided that something vaguely healthy wasn't at all a bad idea and so opted for a Subway Salad, otherwise known as a Foot Long Sub No Bread.

As I sat on a stool by the window, eating a plastic bowl full of sandwich filling, I was able to watch the steady flow of people venture inside, consider the menu for a few moments, then go up to the counter to order, only to be told there was no bread, then look sceptical and ask: "What, none at all?".

Every single person entering that Subway asked exactly the same follow-up question. As though, regardless of sex, age, race or nationality the one thing we truly all have in common, the single thing that binds all humanity together, is a deep-set suspicion that someone, somewhere is withholding bread from us.

Since anyone stepping through the door had to walk past me to get to the counter, I started saying: "They haven't got any bread.", hoping to save them time and disappointment. To which they usually replied (yes, you've guessed it): "What, none at all?" and I was then forced to respond "No, none at all".

Far from simplifying matters, the whole process just became more drawn out, because most people, perhaps suspecting me of trying to keep all the Subway rolls for myself (see above), went up to the counter anyway to be told: "Sorry, we don't have any bread". To which they responded: "What, none at all?", only to inevitably be told "No, none at all".

It was very tempting to ask, as they left empty-handed, "Did they have any bread?", just so that when they replied no, I could follow up with "What, none at all?"

Instead I had to be content with waiting until they had stepped just outside the door, turning towards the counter and yelling: "It's okay. They've gone. You can get the bread out again."

Lowlight #3: Flyering

However much I try to find a way to enjoy it, or at least to make the best of it, like most rational people I simply hate flyering. The constant rejection and sense of participation out of pure necessity, make the whole thing feel like being the world's most unappealing prostitute; wearily touting your wares to a long stream of people who either don't have to pay for sex, or if they do, certainly wouldn't pay to have it with you.

The Royal Mile is particularly tough to flyer because of the sheer number and variety of acts vying for people's attention. This year there were unicyclists, jugglers, people lying "dead" in chalk outlines on the pavement, scantily-clad groups of drama school jailbait, various grotesques jumping out of doorways and clowns on stilts all trying to get you to come to their show.

It's very difficult to compete. You could ride naked down the Royal Mile on a giant unicorn, pulling live peacocks out of your arse with your teeth, before stopping to levitate, spontaneously combust, then spin round and round like a huge human Catharine wheel, all the while shedding a cascade of sparks spelling out the name, time and venue of your show, while the unicorn and the peacocks stood by singing "Life Is A Cabaret", and you'd still be hard-pushed to get more than a ripple of attention.