friendly, energetic service

I got myself into a nice festivally mood today by finally getting round to booking up some preliminary stuff to go to when my parents come up in a couple of weeks. Previously it's always been just my dad (and he mostly went to EIF stuff) but this year mother is in tow and they're here when the Fringe, Film and Book festivals are still on the go rather than winding down. I haven't heard much more about the idea that the International festival might perhaps stop being so snobby and shift a couple of weeks backwards so that people here for the Fringe could catch some less frenetic culture; I suppose the blazer-and-panama squad appreciate the slightly emptier streets but in the past the time difference has meant that there's no one week featuring decent EIF stuff and not-sold-out Fringe gigs at the same time. Anyway, pigfather claims there's nothing on at the EIF that he's desperate to see when they're up so the planning was slightly easier with the every-day-at-the-same-time Fringe stuff easily slottable around the one-or-two-showing Films.

I also tried to book a train ticket to Cambridge for next weekend for an associate's thirtieth only to find that all the cheapy deals have sold out whilst I was waiting to see if Nicky was coming too. POO.

I was hoping to get some pictures of the usual massive queue in the alley behind the Fringe office when I went to pick up the tickets (via the bicycle kids opposite the front door) but it was remarkably quiet. It would have been quieter still were it not for the loud-arsed oaf DEMANDING that the ticketofficepeople investigate WHICH SUNDAY there were some TICKETS for RUSSELL HOWARD still AVAILABLE. Despite thinking "bugger" as I'd forgotten about him I was rather pleased when they basically laughed at the gentleman and advised him that he'd be lucky. It was still nice and bright so I took some more pictures of speakpeople, happysmileypeople, preparators working on the Incinerated Balloon site, a
bloke who looked vaguely like Mads Mikkelson pretending to write a novel in the window of Black Medicine or pretending-to-sleep-man whose little eyes were actually open.