The Fringe has finished. The Festival is coming to a close. Some will celebrate, some will commiserate, so to ease the transition from madness to tranquillity, here are some Broughton-related end of summer semi-digested musings to help you get through it.
They will remind you that as the summer is passing and our world starts to returns to normal, we are allowed to be grumpy once again, well almost.
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Lamesley Bridal at the bottom of Broughton Street has come up with an excellent use for all those wasted and unwanted flyers. Surely the best way to end the Festival would be for us to get together and ceremonially set fire to them?
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You can put lipstick of a telegraph pole, but it’s still a telegraph pole.
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Green Street must be one of the least green streets in Edinburgh. Yes, there are some trees at one end but it doesn’t justify its green name. Can readers think of any other unsuitably named streets in Broughton?
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Like the many puzzled tourists searching for 44 Scotland Street, I was left equally puzzled searching for 17A Dublin Street.
I walked around the corner to Dublin Street Lane South as instructed, but it was nowhere to be found. Does anyone know where it’s gone? I did manage to find this peculiar door, though, so perhaps the answers lie within.
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You may remember reading about my recent woes with rogue mail. The plot did indeed thicken when a letter was delivered to my building with the correct number but with a C after it. According to the postman the C stands for central flat. I declined the letter and nailed up the letterbox. If you want to get in touch, best to send me an e-mail, better yet, I’ll get I touch with you.
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How on earth does the postal worker of today cope with delivering letters to Scotland Street? Isn’t it time that they got with the times and replaced the roman numerals? The same goes for Bellevue Terrace. If I was them, I'd have had a breakdown by now. Alright, another breakdown.
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August has been a month of fear for me, fear that the fireworks at the end of the Tattoo would wake up the Little Left-Handed Tea Drinker. That fear’s increased on a Saturday when there are two showings, and I’ve been beside myself when there’s a Red Arrow flyover. I watch the baby monitors peak and think to myself, I should have got myself a cat; they love to sleep and they especially love fireworks, right?
Thankfully for the rest of the year this city doesn’t care much for fireworks, apart from Bonfire Night, Christmas, Hogmanay, Beltane and the end of the Festival to name but a few.
A note for the Yes, No, Maybe campaign: There have been enough fireworks already during the campaign so whatever the result of the referendum let’s have some calm and peace and NO FIREWORKS for a change.
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In a rare moment of positivity, I found Ingleby Gallery’s billboard for Edinburgh a good reminder that although our city is turned upside down each year we still look forward to the carnage at the same time the following year. We locals stay here because we like it.
