Festive frolics

As the Edinburgh festival was kicking off last weekend a small gaggle of us were out taking in the atmosphere (and the beer) and a friend, let's call her Sabriena (because that's her name), decided to 'help' a performer whose flyer-hander-outer had clearly shirked their responsibilities and left the whole pile on one table. Now Sabriena has an impish streak at the best of times, add wine and naughtiness is guaranteed - so out came the eyeliner and said performer, unbeknownst to himself, was soon offering free shows and discounted tickets, not to mention taking on new personalities. Imp-girl then began distributing the flyers to passing punters, forgetting that Edinburgh is a very small place…

It took no less than three flyers before Sabriena was handing one of her special flyers to the performer himself. Caught rotten. He did see the funny side, but there was a definite tone to his good-natured repartee when he realised just how many of his 'very expensive' flyers imp-girl had ‘amended’ (see also: defaced).

So, by way of penance for the sins of the imp, if you are in the vicinity of Edinburgh I encourage you to go and see Trevor Browne – he is, apparently,  'probably the greatest folk-rock musician of all time’, ‘brilliantly funny’, and he's low on flyers - so tell your friends.

As you can tell, you don't have to actually see any shows in the festival to enjoy it, but it’s worth it all the same. Last night we went to see Mark Watson: The Information - the geeky non-welsh, non-Jewish funny guy from Never mind the Buzzcocks, 8 out of 10 Cats and Mock the Week (in his words; a 'non speaking role'). His show features plenty of audience interaction (the mark of a fine comic in my book) and the better half even got kudos and a big laugh for the comic timing of his interaction. This was not heckling, I hasten to add, for heckling rarely comes off well for the heckler - the hecklee generally takes the chuckling glory, and rightly so, because the majority of hecklers are an embarrassment.

Just two statues, shootin' the breeze

We followed Mr Watson with a mime act. Yes – I said a 'mime act'. What’s more, it was bloody brilliant. Words I never thought I would hear, much less write, in connection with mime. Had you said to me a guy could keep an audience totally enthralled and entertained for an hour without uttering a word I would have been skeptical at best, but that is exactly what The boy with tape on his face bloomin' well did. He is a man, but the boy title suits him so much better - and I say that with the nicest possible intentions, because he clearly hasn't lost his childhood imagination. There are lots of positive words to describe the show, but lighthearted does it best. Go and see it - you will come out with a BIG smile on your face.

People watching gold

Its ability to surprise, with the likes of good mime acts, is one of the many reasons I love the festival. I’m also a huge fan of people watching and during the festival it is absolutely golden. Maniacs, midgets and massive cows – its got it all, and more. My 9-year-old nephew put it best when he said 'Edinburgh is weird sometimes'. Yes it is. Weird and wonderful.

This is NOT how gingers should be treated

moooo!

TV to numb the mind and soul

Flicking around the TV in a '537 channels and there's nothing on' style, I began to notice that channel-hopping was entertainment in itself. Yes, as you may have guessed, I too am loving this delightful summer weather we’ve been having. Hard to believe my last weather chat involved the now oh-so-illusive concept of sunshine.

There really is no limit to what they'll make a programme about these days (Million Dollar Otters anyone?) I have previously cited the nation’s unsettling propensity to get their bits out on TV - but there's more!

I’ve always wondered about Four Weddings - why on earth would you want to invite three strangers along on your 'special day' with the sole intention of judging/bitching about it? I don’t get it, free honeymoon or no free honeymoon (and I LOVE holidays!) 

Now I see they've gone one further – go on Battle of the Brides and you get to share ‘the most important day of your life’ (according to the wedding circus mafia) with complete strangers, and their ‘crazy’ theme ideas, in a double wedding. Seriously? Yes they pay for your wedding and weddings are ludicrously expensive, but guess what? You don’t have to succumb to the multi-million pound industry. Move away from the bridal magazine and switch off the TV …preferably before Bridezillas or Bridalplasty. <shudder>

But be sure to switch the TV back on to peruse the truly delightful titles producers have come up with to draw attention in a crowded marketplace. I would love to have been a fly on the wall of the ‘brainstorming session’ (‘scuse the corporate twaddle there) that produced ‘Help! My house is falling down.’ Snappily done people, whoever you are. Perhaps the same creative geniuses (or genii, if you will) that came up with ‘Love Shaft’. Subtle.

My ultimate favourite though? Pawn Stars. Yes people – cash converters just got sexy. You heard it here first.

Come out from behind those clouds sunshine,
and save us from soul-destroying TV!

It's all corporate Greek to me

As I prepare to re-enter corporate land for the next few months I may need to get my brain back in the zone. I’ve managed to avoid brain melt (AKA daytime TV) as a freelancer/lady of leisure, but I am wondering if my grey matter is in for a shock when I have to do a ‘normal’ job again and (god help me) translate the business speak.

I anticipate next week will be awash with dove-tailing, leveraging and piggy-backing, and I wonder what new gems will have been created since I last rubbed shoulders with the suits. As I transition back into the office life I better take ownership of my core competencies and make sure my skillset is primed to on-board my key stakeholders and get their buy-in. Ouf! There I was thinking I was terrible at languages when apparently I speak fluent corporate twaddle.

Who needs plain English when you can touch base rather then meet, have dialogue rather than talk and operationalise rather than just feckin’ do it? Not to mention the Mystic Meg style future-proofing that goes on - impressive. Maybe talking gibberish and making up words means you’re less likely to get pushback from the gatekeepers (methinks a dungeons and dragons fan came up with that one…)

And then there are the TLAs. Which, my friends, are Three Letter Acronyms. Yes - an acronym for an acronym. I must prepare myself for cryptic sentences like; ‘I can give you an ETA if they fix my VPN within their SLA – should be by COP.’ Close of Play. One of my favourites …appears to suggest a day of fun? (maybe it's all the piggy-backing?)

There’s only one thing for it – make up some nonsense of my own. They do say If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, so I shall have to apply some blue-sky thinking and dream up a ridiculous addition to the office dictionary. Maybe I can multi-task and have a thought shower whilst I take a comfort break (or maybe not – taking a comfort break in the shower is most unsanitary). I will, of course, run it up the flagpole and socialise the idea first thought, god forbid I should re-invent the wheel!

Trust me - I'm an expert...

No, not me - I have no discernable expertise to speak of (I don’t think my active interest in all things alcoholic counts). The experts I refer to are those frustrated individuals you see on TV trying to help some hapless eejit who ignores their every word.

Working my way to expertise - one cocktail at a time.

Granted, I can understand why the ‘restaurateurs’ on Ramsay’s kitchen nightmares may have trouble accepting advice when it’s screamed into their faces and peppered with expletives (but I also fully understand Gordon’s affinity for effing and jeffing). My main point of confusion lies in the fact that they call him in in the first place – and then refuse to listen to him. Eh?

Same thing happens to Messrs Beeny and McCloud in the property field. OK, so Kevin McCloud does tend more towards mocking the grand designers behind their backs and having a little cackle when things go wrong; ‘and she’s decided to take on the role of project manager herself …he he he’. But how many times have we seen virginal property developers blatantly ignore Sarah Beeny’s advice, only to come a cropper further down the line? Learning from your mistakes is all very well – but learning from other people’s mistakes has got to be the better option, especially when it comes to D-I-WHYYYYYY.

And then there’s our lovely Apprentice friends. Britain’s brightest young business minds apparently. Really? I despair. They’re all so busy trying to impress Lawd Suuugahh (I preferred Surrralan to be honest – had more of a ring to it) they ignore EVERYONE. Focus groups, field experts, each other – they don’t discriminate and their single-minded determination to listen only to themselves does not falter. I suppose it’s not really surprising from people who come out with gems like ‘don't tell me the sky's the limit when there are footprints on the moon’ and describe themselves as ‘the reflection of perfection’ <retch>.

Self-belief is a wonderful thing, and anyone who’s got anywhere knows you can’t let the critics, haters and nay-sayers get to you, but for god’s sake, when someone who knows what they’re talking about is giving advice – listen!

I should have listened to Phil 'The Power' when I had the chance...

You know you're getting older when...

...the random topics of drunken conversations start to include knitting, dry rot and the bridges of the Firth of Forth. And this, my friends, was amongst a bunch of ‘ladies’ (I use the term loosely…) Of course our conversation was not devoid of the standard girl-chat - shoes, shopping, weddings, proposals and babies all made an appearance alongside these fascinating new subjects. Heading home before midnight was another sign but, in defence of our street-cred, we had been out since lunchtime and we'd discussed former drunken escapades, and hangovers we've known and loved, at length, so perhaps that helped spark a sense of self-preservation.

As I stare down the barrel of another birthday (I like diamonds and ponies by the way - just saying...), it's only natural to take stock and do a little mental MOT. What's changed? Am I growing old (dis)gracefully as I've always intended? I'm not the type to mourn the passing of another year. I've taken each phase of my life as it's come - they all have their pros and cons after all. I like being in my thirties, for instance, because I'm more comfortable in my own skin - even if it is starting to wrinkle (and sag) a little - but obviously, on the flip-side, I do have to be more careful to avoid throwing a hip. 

There are various indications that I've gained a little more sense recently. I've started drinking decaf tea in the evening (rock n' roll!) and have been keeping a much better handle on my finances (note the ‘better’ - there's still room for improvement). But, just as I'm starting to bore myself, there are encouraging signs that a fun-loving eejit is still alive and well in me, like;

• drinking canned cocktails in the park on a Tuesday afternoon (I blame the unseasonal sunshine that has now abandoned us once more – was it a mojito-induced mirage?),
•  watching far too much mind-numbing TV (curse you Tyra!), and
• impulse-buying on eBay (but a Mulberry is an investment – see earlier note re finances).

I'm getting older much faster than I'm getting any wiser, but it's generally heading in the right direction (ish) and I don't see the point in putting too much pressure on myself to get overly sensible - it's dull and life's too short.

Shame, shame …we appear to have forgotten your name.

Is it just me, or do people seem overly eager to get their bits out on national telly lately? From One Born Every Minute to Embarrassing Bodies, the opportunity to get extremely intimate with complete strangers abounds - generally while screaming in horror and trying, unsuccessfully, to tear your eyes away from the screen. Anything befitting the title ‘car-crash TV’ is likely to have media executives salivating, but what’s the incentive for the randoms who get involved with these programmes? 15 minutes of fame for their fanjita?

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not known for my shy and retiring nature, quite the opposite, but I have my limits, and getting my ‘jardin du femme’ out on telly would certainly be one of them. Maybe it’s growing up in *ahem* holy catholic Ireland, but I just can’t fathom what would posses a person to think ‘my penis appears to be shrinking, I think I’ll go on TV…’ (that particular affliction was a ‘buried penis’ by the way – just so you know). On that note, I can see how Embarrassing Bodies does share important information and could prove invaluable for anyone watching who’s been ignoring ailments and hoping they’ll go away, but is altruism the motive for the people inviting the cameras in for a ring-side view of their rectal exam?

Given fresh (and no-so-fresh…) hoards may now be hot-footing it to the nearest doctor’s surgery, having seen a mirror image of their stricken bum on TV, maybe the government are trying to reduce NHS bills or prevent a population boom by scaring the bejesus out of anyone that might consider having a baby? There won’t be one born every minute for much longer if this continues. You can almost hear the sound of chastity belts clicking into place as women watch, wide-eyed and cross-legged, while grapefruit-sized heads are squeezed through sausage-sized holes (and that’s what got them in the trouble in the first place!)

It used to be that birth programmes were confined to the daytime, when the women most likely to be watching were already headed to the maternity ward and needed to see what was in store, now it’s prime-time and it leaves no stirrup (or stomach) unturned. And what really strikes me (once the initial horror has passed) is the midwives talking about the intimate moment a baby is born and how special it is for the parents. All the more baffling as to why they’d want a nation of strangers along for the ride.

Hiding my shame ...also know as a bikini.