Halfway Mark

Edinburgh seems out-of-sorts today. The people handing out flyers have a grim sense of desperation in their eyes, while we, the viewing public, have made a game out of artful dodging and hanging permanently snide expression that says “Don’t you dare give me another one of those frikken flyers…I DO NOT RECYCLE.” Most people here are now red-eyed from a state of constant exhaustion and they only perk up long enough to trade hard guy stories on who is getting less sleep.

It might have been the steady sheets of grey rain (there is nothing sadder than a wet clown), or the universal effects of a Friday night hangover (what doesn’t kill you…), or perhaps this is the inevitable Fringe Burnout that accompanies the halfway point between start and finish.

I am trying to come up with a diagnostic list of qualifications for the official "Fringe Burnout" condition. So far, my checklist includes the following:

• Your feet have developed calluses that a professional fire-walker would envy


• There is a mountain of paper on your bed of all the Fringe shows you will never seen


• You have forgotten what sleeping feels like, but you think it must be nice and are vaguely sure that it has something to do with all of those flyers on your…what do you call that thing again?


• Nothing comes to mind when people ask for recommendations since all of the shows have now bled into one long, never-ending production entitled “The Red Rampant Rabbit Who Craved Lord Xenu in his Awkward Jihad against Fathers, Daughters and Purple Players: the Musical Cabaret”


• You seem to run into the same 6 people over and over again, unfortunately you cannot remember their names and the nature of your relationship…You are also wearing somebody else’s socks and wonder if these things are related


• Your dreams are in Scottish

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