But then the heavens opened.

And while most people scurried for the nearest shelter, or huddled under the inadequate one to hand…

Others seemed less worried about getting soaked through, perhaps because they had less to soak.

After not very long, the clouds passed and the sun returned, evaporating the rain and making the city almost painfully hot with the humidity.

But before long the rains returned.

And abated.

And then came back for one last, serious encore.

Not that this stopped people from going about their business.

It’s very telling that the Fringe street team have warm waterproof hoodies as part of their uniform. I also think it’s rather nice of them to think of their poor, bedraggled staff.

After pretty much clearing the streets – not to mention giving them a good clean – the river in the sky moved on and left people to get back to the fun. I know of one photographer who loved the rain because it meant lots of umbrella-backed portrait opportunities.

And of course after a good wash the sky often looks lovely as well.

It just goes to show that nothing can stop the momentum of the festivals, rain, shine or the fall of night. They’ll keep at it, whether it be promoting, performing papping or, er, watching.

Next up: Turned out nice again!

Whether it be the ‘wacky’ ways people think of to promote their shows – which are then copied until they become so ubiquitous as to be neither wacky nor effective and therefore fade for a few years before returning as if new and exciting – or fashions in comedy or theatre (this year seems to be about darkness. Everything is gritty and miserable. Let’s not mention the economy, okay?). Or in clothing and accessories…

Peggy here, mainstay of the Literary world in Edinburgh and St Andrews (watch out for her at the Edinburgh Book Festival) has been ‘rocking’ the retro glasses for a few years now, receiving nothing but approval from her peers.

But now the secret – that as far as glasses are concerned, old is new and sad is hot – is out, it seems.

Up and down the streets and venues of Edinburgh this year, big plastic frames are the thing to wear.

Whether performing…

Flyering (so much yellow!)…

Walking about taking in the atmosphere…

Grinning like a mad northerner (this isn’t racism, he was fron The North)…

Or creating eccentric promotional accessories…

Now that I’ve pointed it out, you’ll see them everywhere. Because they really are everywhere. I don’t think I’ve ever been so aware of people’s glasses as I am at the moment; if I didn’t feel a need to repress any memories (or photographs) of the time when I wore ‘tragic’ specs, I would surely be jumping on this bandwagon. Geek chic? Apparently so.

What next?

Coming soon: A Book at Bedtime (and the rest of the day)

The first, hosted by the Confraternity of Neoflaggelants, started from the Scott Monument at 11pm and wended its way to a secret location (which, to no surprise, was Inspace). Alas, these zombies were considerably faster and less shambling than expected so I thoroughly missed their spate of late-night terror and wasn’t fancy-dressed enough to attend their party. Curses.

The second was more shambolic and of less certain origin. After much online confusion about the starting time and some wrangling of fake blood, a small group of undead left the Zoo Southside (Southside Community Centre to any locals out there) on Sunday afternoon for a bit of a stroll.

However disorganised the start, I have rarely seen a better behaved set of brain-craving monsters. They even waited patiently at the lights.

They eventually shuffled their way into Forbidden Planet where, I gather, there was some sort of zombie-related book reading. Uncertain about how well they might fare surrounded by books and toys, I left them to fester.

Time for a quickie on the High Street then. A surprisingly violent performance promoting what I think may have been a show about boxing…

And the welcome return of Saucy Jack and the Space Vixens. Well, I say welcome but I’ve not seen the show for about eight years and they might not be any good. I’ll try to see it anyway…

I’m not sure if the girl at the end is a Space Vixen, and was afraid to ask.

Last year, while wandering the Festival streets, some American girls foolishly tried to flyer me. About an hour of banter later I realised that I had to go and see their show; anyone who can put up with me in Festival spirits for that long much have something going for them. Skinny Bitch Jesus Meeting were they, and on a triumphant return this year for more absurd fun.

For a small show in a smallish venue (Whistle Binkie’s) they managed a pretty full house, probably due to their irrepressable colonial, er, charm? They’re a part of one of the Free Fringes – which I can’t help but love in principle, as they’re making the Fringe fringe again: go to a show, and if you don’t like it – or are poor – you don’t pay! There should be more of this sort of thing and fewer big names using Edinburgh’s crowds as easy tour fodder…

Seeing them again led to meeting further New Yorkers, all of whom were in some way involved in shows and generally lovely. Where other than Edinburgh in August can you meet someone whose job is a Sex in the City tour guide? Oh, New York I expect. Anyway, it amazes me that people can come across the Atlantic and perform for ‘free’ (with donations) without bankrupting themselves. I’m glad they do, though.

Coming up: Nice to see you, to see you…

The High Street (aka the Royal Mile) is not a useful thoroughfare for the duration of the Fringe as it is overwhelmed by the casts of various shows doing turns, street performers with the associated crowds and a multitude of tourists – with the occasional busker or irate local thrown in.

I was pleased to see that the Belt Up Theatre crowd are back and out on the street. They always manage to have a slightly better class of absurd makeup.

The High Street is filled with people trying to look eyecatching; in recent years this is not just to entice potential audiences but also to attract the attention of the many photographers prowling the festivals presumably in the hope that this will attract media attention.

The challenge I see here is to take the pictures that most of the photographers aren’t taking. There are two overused gimmicks for groups these days; people walking slowly up and down the street are probably the most eyecatching; I spent about an hour shadowing a couple of these groups, watching the cycle of movements and trying to spot the shot I wanted amidst the flurry of other people snapping away. This one came pretty close to what I was aiming for…

The other group cliche is people in leotards/catsuits and facepaint writhing and cavorting like some sort of elemental spirits. I have to say, when I see a dozen people all taking pictures of the same deliberate pose it makes me a little bit sad; this bunch were far more interesting from afar.

By far my favourite bunch to look at so far, though, are the group doing A Clockwork Orange. Men with eyemakeup, well made yet grungey outfits and the occasional shock of coloured hair is totally in my idiom.

And nothing satisfies more than a cute cardboard robot puppet. At least not if, like me, you’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve watched WALL-E.

After a hard day (ahem) of wandering the streets I discovered that I was going to the List Magazine Festival Party. It’s not the most exclusive event in the world, but in the past I’ve enjoyed myself and it seemed sure to be a good photo op.

This year the party was in the giant Assembly Spiegeltent by the Ross Banstand in Princes Street Gardens. Mercifully it was a lovely warm, dry night for it, as much of the proceedings went on outside the tent.

There was a limited free bar, further limited by the fact that the only bar to be found was about 40ft long with little space around it to queue. Average wait seemed to be 20 minutes.

The whole event is more about seeing and being seen than anything Fringe-ey. For me, it was lovely to bump into unexpected people, some of whom I hadn’t seen since working the Fringe eight years ago and barely recognised!

Since the Tattoo was on just upstairs, we were treated to some small fireworks overhead, prompting much cooing from those who’d managed to get to the bar a few times.

Eventually they gave in and let some perfomers on stage. After a teutonic group of tightly-clad high energy dancers who made us all think we were at Eurovision (girls in plasticky outtfits out front) and some remarkably well built dancers from Brazil (buff topless men out front) – both of which I eschewed taking pictures of out of principle, being all a bit too much like tittilation – the inevitable ukuleles came out.

And after the unavoidable burlesque girls with feathers and fans we came to an interesting cabaret show with a very charismatic MC.

Here we had some further, albeit more imaginative, striptease, a dandy with a remarkable ‘tache and specs rapping like a true gentleman, a lady with wayyy too many hula hoops:

And eventually some sexercise, which required a couple of volunteers from the, by now very tipsy, audience.

And after this it all started to wind down. Understandable, since it was fast approaching 2am. Most of the remaining punters retreated into the Spiegeltent, leaving the unusual furniture visible for the first time.

We arrived at the door of the tent just as the last song finished. Apparently we missed the campest tunes and queeniest dancing of the festival, so I’m not too upset. Gradually we were turfed out of here, leaving a stream of exhausted revellers slowly making their way out of the gardens.

Next time: Zombies and Americans (no, they’re not the same thing)