The Words Agency

What's new

Act one, Seen two, Laugh three

In Edinburgh at festival time some of the best theatre is in the streets.

As the 'mummy and daddy' student flats empty and the Fringistas move in, forlorn piles of unwanted furniture often appear on the pavements.

In Drummond Street, beside the university, one brightly-coloured but decrepit settee had become the Fringe

rlsRLS was a devotee of the
Drummond Street demi-monde
venue for two passing knights of the pavement who had taken up residence to enjoy the intermittent sunshine and regale the passing tourist traffic with the benefit of their wisdom.

As the white cider bottle shuttles jovially back and forth, a young man with the cultivated minimalist style of the struggling aesthete wanders past carrying a shiny photographer's case to convince himself of his art.

He's greeted with a happy: 'O'rite, pal, want a wee swally?' and a wry grin.

The artist's head turns and if he looked any further down his nose, he would fall off. He walks on.

The cider swigger's pal looks at a young woman toting an Edinburgh guide.

'Ay, this is some interestin' place, ken.'

She smiles and walks on and the cider drinker looks across the road at what was once Rutherford's bar, Robert Louis Stevenson's favourite drinking hole when a student at the university.

He'd probably have understood the scene.