Edinburgh’s other fringe
Just in case my boyfriend was under the impression that Edinburgh was populated solely by English students spending their evenings performing the Caucasian Chalk Circle in the nude (if your only visit to Edinburgh happens to fall during the Festival you could be forgiven for thinking such a thing), when he wanted to buy a pair of football boots I took him to a side of the city generally off the tourist path and as far from the typical chocolate box image of Edinburgh as is possible.
At the bus stop, his beard and long hair elicited a rousing rendition of ‘Jesus Friend of Little Children’ from a group of friendly local neds. Politely declining their requests for salvation, we jumped on the first bus that came and set off on our adventure. Halfway through our journey we were treated to a performance of ‘bus chicken’. For the uninitiated (where have you been? It’s Scotland’s newest extreme sport), bus chicken entails jumping from the top of a bus shelter onto the roof of a stationery bus and miming surfing moves with the objective being to jump back onto the shelter before the bus moves off again. Spectators beware; words of caution or indignation are likely to be met by a torrent of abuse (if you’re lucky) or a kicking (if you’re not). Once the show was over, and fortunately with no casualties – either spectators or participants – we headed deeper into Apache country. Finally, the Gala Bingo Hall came into view, indicating we had reached the Retail Park. Jostling our way through a rather fearsome group of grannies sucking on their Craven As with every last bit of energy left in them, we eventually made it to the sports store.
After a few minutes spent browsing, we heard some almighty shrieking and shouting followed by a clattering of various display stands and looked up to see a group of young guys beating the crap out of each other. One of them literally had the shirt pulled off his back and was running towards a display of scooters but was cornered by two adversaries, one of whom picked up a scooter and attempted to batter him with it but ended up bringing down a shelf of stock instead, while the other threw punches and kicks in his general direction. Next thing, a banshee wail preceded the arrival of the most psychotic woman I’ve ever seen. She lunged towards the scooter-wielder, who quite understandably legged it towards the exit but not before she had a chance to throw herself upon his back and land a few punches. While all this was taking place I noticed a) the staff barely batted an eyelid and b) my boyfriend was rolling up his sleeves and looking as if he was going to join them. ‘She’s on her own, I can’t stand back while a woman fights two men,’ he said. Clearly he had not spotted the fact that she had only one front tooth, an assortment of welts and bruises running up her arms and a look in her eye that suggested this was not the first fight she had got herself involved in.
Eventually managing to persuade him to stand back and not get involved, we watched as she chased the two guys out of the shop and then stood at the entrance beckoning them to ‘come back for more’. One of them decided to take her up on her offer, but before he could get very far she kicked the door so hard that all the glass in it shattered. That was the final straw and he beat a hasty retreat.
And after all this commotion? Do you think she buggered off in case the police came? Don’t be silly. She went back into the store to continue shopping for trainers. While the shop lay in tatters and shoppers had to negotiate shards of broken glass to enter and exit the place, she was asking a totally nonplussed assistant if they did a particular style of Nikes in a size 7. We continued to look for football boots, stepping over the scooters, golf clubs, basketballs and tennis racquets in our wake until deciding it was time to go. As we left, Psycho Woman was outside having a fag and clutching her recent purchases. We could overhear her recounting her adventure, ‘..so I just gae’ the boot tae the ****ing ****. Ye should have seen him totally bottle it…’ etc etc. The avid listener hanging on to her every word appeared to be her daughter and must have been all of seven years old.
Why pay fifteen pounds for a Fringe ticket when the truly brave can take in a concert, a circus act and a theatrical show all for the price of a bus ticket?
