Poetry for Beginners

On Wednesday I popped along to the Garden Cafe, here in Frome, for another fabulous Crysse Morrison-hosted open-mic poetry evening.  Mr L was out motorcycling so I had to take Little Sprig and Tiny Sprig along too - but I like them to come: they know Mummy writes poetry; they know she performs it in her frilly knickers; rather sweetly they tell their teachers they like Mummy's poems the best.  Lovely, but clearly very important to expose them to the works of lots of other poets too.  

The theme for the evening was 'On the Road Again', and so we listened to the headlining guest poets Mo Robinson and Paul Tobin (please follow the links to find out more about them, they were each an absolute joy in very different ways).  Crysse will blog far more eloquently than I can so I will limit my remarks on the evening; partly because I retired with the Sprigs to the back room in order that the listeners should not be disturbed by small people, so I had to strain to hear the wonderful contributions from Liv Torc; Rosie Eliot; Rose Flint and Dawn Gorman amongst others.  By arriving prepared with dot-to-dot books and crayons, I didn't realise I would only be making it worse - who knew colouring in was such a noisy affair?  

At interval time, we made our excuses and left. The Sprigs were pooped. They'd had an exhausting day being really nice to each other (delightful; almost unprecedented).  I was prepared to agree to anything by then, so we had pyjamas, milk and cookies at ten-thirty p.m. 

The point is this: we sat with our milk and cookies, feeling very naughty because all 5-7 year olds should have been in bed hours ago, and I asked them if hearing all those poems had inspired them.

The responses say it all. The first is by Little, aged 7, and he says 'Mucky Puppy' represents his little sister, and 'Tidy Teddy' represents himself.  The second is by Tiny, aged 5, and I am grateful for both the frog and the plum.

Poem 

The mucky puppy eats ice cream

The tidy teddy eats vegetables

They mesh together

To make vegetably ice cream

And they both share

© Little Sprig, April 2012

Poem

A princess had a princess toy

She said to her King

She will get married in her castle

She will play with her dolly

And she will have her Prince and her King and Queen

This was her King and Queen and her toy frog

Her frog was in a pond and it had a plum

And it was a smiley face frog

The End

© Tiny Sprig, April 2012

The Chest That Launched A Thousand Bricks

On a recent flight to New York, I was delighted when the Captain announced: ‘This is your Captain speaking. In the event of a forced landing on water, all passengers should make their way to the woman in seat 36F, whose magnificent chest-mounted flotation devices will be your best chance of survival.’ He added, cheekily, ‘Phwoarrrr!’

You’re probably thinking ‘what a lovely surprise’. But while it was lovely, it wasn’t a surprise. At least, not for me.

‘Whopping Jugs’: But Muriel says that her floating funbags have been a mixed blessing, with many of her own sex becoming resentful, and have closed as many doors as they have opened

Throughout my adult life, I’ve regularly had men I don’t know leering at me in restaurants. Once, a well-dressed chap bought my train ticket when I was pressing my enormous assets into his back in the queue, while there was another occasion when a charming gentleman fondled my norks as I stepped out of a cab in Paris.

Another time, as I was walking through London’s Portobello Road market, I was tapped on the shoulder and invited to sell ‘the one of those puppies with the pink nose’.  Even bartenders frequently don their horizontal blinkers when I try to settle my bill.

And whenever I’ve asked what I’ve done to deserve such treatment, the gents have always said the same thing: Gor Blimey Missus, You Don’t Get Many Of Them To The Pound, Eh? Eh? Woo-Hoo-Hah-hah!

While I’m no Pamela Anderson, I’m tall, slim, usually pink-haired and so, I’m often asked whether I am definitely a woman. I know how lucky I am. But there are downsides to having massive mammaries — the main one being that other women hate me for no other reason than my lovely jubblies.

If you’re a woman reading this, I’d hazard that you’ve already formed your own opinion about me — and it won’t be very flattering. For while many doors have been opened (literally) as a result of my looks, just as many have been metaphorically slammed in my face — not literally, obviously, on account of my ginormonus gazungas.

I’m not smug and I’m no flirt, yet over the years I’ve been dropped by countless friends who felt threatened if I was merely in the presence of their other halves. If their partners dared to actually look at my baps, a sudden chill would descend on the room.

And most poignantly of all, not one girlfriend has ever asked me to be her bridesmaid.

You’d think we women would applaud each other for taking pride in our appearances.

Unfortunately women find nothing more annoying than someone else having the biggest bazoombas in a room.

Take last week, out ‘walking the dogs’, a neighbour passed by in her car. I waved — she blatantly blanked me. It seems the only crime I’ve committed is not leaving the house wearing a robust hessian undergarment. Incidentally, she has knockers like two aspirins on an ironing board.

Hello Dolly: Muriel laments that not one of her girlfriends has ever asked her to be a bridesmaid - perhaps from fear of being overshadowed by her impressive melons

 Large-breasted women don’t have it easy. If you are well-upholstered, other women think you lead a perfect life — which simply isn’t true.

 They don’t realise you are just as vulnerable as they are. It’s hard when everyone resents you for your hooters. Men think “what’s the point, she’s out of my league” and don’t ask you out. And women don’t want to hang out with someone with bigger charlies than they have.

Take last summer and a birthday party I attended with my husband. At one point the host, who was celebrating his 50th, decided he wanted a photo with all the women guests. Positioning us, the photographer suggested I stand immediately to his right for the shot.

Another woman I barely knew pushed me out of the way, shouting it wasn’t fair on all the other women if my considerable assets were dominating the snap.

Perhaps one day the sisterhood will finally stop judging me so harshly on my unparalleled shirt potatoes, and instead accept me for who I am. Because I’m lovely. Obviously.

Happy Birthday, Douglas Adams

Image: http://lefthemispheres.blogspot.com

Today would have been Douglas Adams' 60th birthday. I will leave it to Terry Jones to reminisce on the BBC website; after all, he knew Douglas and I didn't.  Douglas is a man I admired during his lifetime, but still feel I had barely begun to properly appreciate him before he died.  And now there's no more Douglas. (This gloomy list grows longer: Linda Smith is on it. John Peel is on it. Elizabeth Spriggs is on it. Mo Mowlam is on it. Heath Ledger is on it. Nick Clarke, presenter of The World at One is on it.) I want to remember Douglas today, a man the world is desperately poorer without. Everyone who knew him and his genius knows why, so instead of repeating what others have said more eloquently than I can, I present to you a short exchange of emails which has just concluded this evening and which serves to cement my belief that humanity has been robbed of a great and necessary mind.

FIRST EMAIL: from 'Emma' to Freecycle*

> WARNING FROM POLICE
> NEW WAY TO DO CARJACKINGS (NOT A JOKE)'

> Heads up everyone! Please, keep this circulating.. You walk across the car park, unlock your car

> and get inside. You start the engine put it into Reverse. 
>
> When you look into the rearview mirror to back out of your space, you notice a piece of 

> paper stuck to the middle of the rear window. So, you stop and jump out of your car 

> to remove that paper that is obstructing your view. That is when the 

> carjackers appear out of (blah, blah, blah etc)

SECOND EMAIL: from 'Tim' to Freecycle

From Hoax-Slayer.com - False - Totally unsubstantiated, examples of this email given from America in 2005 and from Australia. Like most of these supposed warnings nothing but urban legends.

THIRD EMAIL: from Muriel to 'Tim'

Thanks for this, Tim. I was going to do the honours, but have moved on from spleen to apathy at these “forward this or your bum will fall off” emails.

Keep the candle of rational thought burning!

FIFTH EMAIL: from 'Tim' to Muriel

By posting that it is an urban legend I am apparently giving criminals ideas on how to commit crime. I see why you gave up.

Keep sane.

... and the FOURTH EMAIL, forwarded to Muriel by 'Tim', which he received from 'Brian' in reply to the third,

Thanks for passing on this great way to rob people. I am sure there are a few people out there who will read this and would never have thought of it on their own. Now they know how to do it.

No more Douglas. 

But I will keep sane, Tim.  Wonko the Sane.

*All names have been changed. 

International Women's Day: March 8, 2012

I didn't approve of the anodyne Google Doodle today.  It perfectly represented the idea that the only sure way to avoid causing offence is to say nothing at all.  Blow that for a joke, as dear Grandmama L says.

I am hardly a controversial poet. I write about boobies, cake and Radio 4.  I write about things that Ladies like, but that Women understand.  Here's my Google Doodle - or Mu Doodle: I know midnight has passed and it's a bit late for International Women's Day, but I'm a Woman: I work full time, raise children, perform poetry in my spare time and try to run a household. Creative things like Art, Writing, sewing costumes or making birthday cakes have to be done instead of sleeping. 

Sometimes I write about being a bit tired.  But I do hope you like my Doodle.

The Book of LENT, Ch. 5, v1-39

And Jesus went forth into the wilderness and lo, there did He stay for forty days and forty nights. ²And verily the Devil visited Him in His solitude on such a night as the Lord was feeling rather peckish. ³And the Devil spake unto Him, saying, Lord, have some cake. ⁴And the Lord said, No. ⁵And the Devil did yet urge Him most pressingly, saying, ⁶Go on, it’s a nice one from Lidl, 14 per cent butter; ⁷the Germanites, they are gifted with the knowledge of making really good cake. ⁸And the Lord did feel moved to concur, and thus did He agree, ⁹In truth, Satan, they do get some great stuff in around Christmastime. ¹⁰And the Devil said, What? ¹¹And the Lord replied, Never mind.  ¹²And seeing that the Lord could not be swayed from the righteous path with cake, though it be 14 per cent butter marble cake even from the hosts of Lidl, ¹³the Devil did try of another tack. ¹⁴And lo, brought he forth a vessel of glass, sealed to the uttermost with cork and wire. ¹⁵Behold this, said he unto the Lord, For it is nicely chilled. ¹⁶And the Lord saw that it was so, for even as the Devil uttered the words, verily a fog did form the vessel thereupon. ¹⁷And the Lord said, Nay, Foul Tempter, for have I forsaken all such things for Lent. ¹⁸Get thee behind me and try me not. ¹⁹And so saying, the Lord did turn his back upon Satan, ²⁰whereupon the air was rent by a mighty pop, and did the watching seraphim grind of their teeth. ²¹The Lord did turn again, and Satan held out unto Him a glass of fizzy plonk, saying, ²²Go on, knock Thyself out; ²³drink Ye of this, for a nice Cava is most verily the Nectar of the Gods. ²⁴And the Lord asked, O yes? Which ones? ²⁵And the Devil did shrug of his shoulders and reply, ²⁶O, I don’t know, figure of speech, anyway go on, I can’t finish a whole bottle and ’tis a sin to waste it. ²⁷And the Lord did raise of His hand unto the Devil, and He did declare, ²⁸Speak thou unto the Hand, O Evil One, for the Face listeneth not. ²⁹And at this Satan did empty the contents of the glass into his foul maw, whereupon he did at once pour a second glass, saying, ³⁰That one touchèd not the sides. ³¹ Then turned he unto the Lord and said, ³²Thou knowest not what Thou art missing, for this is a fine drop though it be only £4.85 from Asda. ³³And at this the Lord did utter a sharp intake of breath, saying, £4.85? I remember when it was £2.93. ³⁴And the Devil did reply, Indeed O Lord, we know who art the real Source of All Evil. ³⁵And the Lord did righteously agree, adding, ³⁶Dost thou know they’re banging out Easter eggs three for a fiver? ³⁷And the Devil said, That is indeed well disrespectful. ³⁸Sooth, I might pay the hosts of Wal-Mart a visit, for their exploitative trading practices and woeful treatment of the humble farmers have earned them a place in the very foulest pits of Hell.

³⁹And the Lord said, You do that.

© Muriel Lavender

Easter 2009

After giving up everything for Lent

If Chocolate Be The Food Of Love...

If over a thousand people spend a day in Chocolate Heaven, the resulting ripples of happiness must surely travel an incalculable distance.

Once again, Frome did what it does best: take a small and quirky idea, nurture and cuddle it, keep it warm and feed it, until it’s a fully-grown eccentric marvel, capable of growing itself, multiplying and strengthening the bonds of community that built it.   

A Fromeagotchi, you might say.  The annual Cobble Wobble is one such; Lipsmacking is another: building on a successful first year, the Cheese and Grain hosted the second Lipsmacking Chocolate Festival on 20 November. 

Here is a small example of what makes Frome so special.  I met Jo Harrington at the Artisan Market on Catherine Hill.  These are held on the first Sunday of every month from about April to October, and all of the town’s finest and shiniest can be found promenading up and down nodding to their acquaintance and exclaiming, “Isn’t this nice?”  It’s practically the Royal Crescent 200 years ago, except with knack-knacks rather than husbands.  On that particular Sunday I was dressed, coincidentally, as a Jane Austen character, to promote the Frome Festival World Record Attempt (in which almost 150 storybook characters gathered for – oh wait, just read the blog entry here).  We got chatting… business cards and chocolate exchanged hands… chocolate quickly scoffed by Little and Tiny Lavender… and before long Jo kindly invited me to judge the Limerick competition for the Lipsmacking Chocolate Festival.  Frome begets more Fromeyness.

Limericks are really hard.  I hadn’t written any since my teens, and suddenly I felt I had to turn out a handful and make it look easy.  I required the assistance of another Frome favourite, the Archangel – for a couple of hours sans Lavender sprigs so I could think.  Oddly, for the third time I found myself writing about Kate Moss.  Why does she keep coming up in my work?  Answers here please, because I really do not know.  On this occasion, the inspiration came from the time Kate outraged the listeners of Woman’s Hour, and a great many more besides, when she apparently declared that “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels” (or did I dream that? Now I’m not sure).  Anyway, if she did, she has clearly never been to a Lipsmacking Chocolate Festival.  I could have said, if she’s right, I’ll eat my hat – but that’s no feat, because my hat for the occasion was entirely made from chocolate by the exceptionally creative and talented Diana from Lick The Spoon.  What a pleasure to wear, and to look at! Almost too good, perhaps, as Diana’s craftsmanship is so extraordinary that few people realised it was actually chocolate.  I can’t wait to wear it again… any celebrity weddings coming up?

 

Back to the Limericks. I write a lot about the simple pleasures of life, the ones that are available to us normal everyday folk (women especially I suppose, after all, I am one), because I do believe that if we can all find happiness in the small things, we will be far happier than if we can only sigh after the big, unattainable things.  Chocolate is a small pleasure – but a pleasure indeed, whatever Miss Moss may or may not have said. And although you’ll be really glad to know that I have not tried to rhyme ‘Kate’ with ‘Chocolate’, I have written a little something about both of them:

Nothing about you is curvy

Your fangs are a little unnerving

Men like boobs, hips and thighs

Of an adequate size

The blokes who like you are just pervy

This is a ‘Lipsmacking’ high

For the nose and the tongue and the eyes

So jog on, Miss Moss

Our gain is your loss

I’ll keep to my curves and a chocolate pie –

(My technique for which is a dream):

Melt dark chocolate; mix with thick cream;

Let it fill every space

Of a rich pastry case

It’s indulgent in the extreme

I’m a sucker for chocolate éclairs

I’d do things other girls wouldn’t dare

I’d sit on your knee

For a praline or three

For a truffle I’d sit anywhere

I adore a ganache to excess

I’m simply hooked, I must confess

When deprived of my fondant

I grow quite despondent

I’d show you my ankles for less

© Muriel Lavender

November 2011

They were filthier when I wrote them.  I rinsed their mouths out with soap and water though, before performing them in public. Dotted through this blog is a selection of the entries, which I loved, including the Honourable Mentions.  

Before we move on to the winners, here’s a little about some of the gorgeous stalls which caught my eye:

Purky Products

© Purky Products

Specially for the occasion, Purky Products had created the most delicious items of jewellery: highly realistic truffles and caramels to adorn one’s already-scrumptious bosom. Or earlobes. Nom Nom! My favourite was this strawberry fondant with a little nibble out of it. Reminded me of me. Visit Purky’s blog for an honest and touching insight into the life of a talented young craftsman.  

Kernow Chocolate

The Lipsmacking Chocolate Festival served me up all manner of new ways to be naughty, and one of the most fascinating was sea salt chocolate from Kernow Chocolate.  It’s all the rage, I understand, and now I know why: it’s a delicacy truly for the connoisseur – that is, one whose taste buds will be satisfied with a dainty quantity of something special.  If one is, on the other hand, gripped by an urge to scoff down a Mars bar, one would be more satisfied at the Texaco garage, where one may also fulfil one’s need for a Ginster’s slice and a can of Fanta.  And probably a gentlemen’s art pamphlet.  

 

Crumpet Cupcakes

© Crumpet! Cakes

I honestly did not know whether to eat them or wear them on my head. I would gladly do both.  At the same time.  Hello, Mummy!  

 Great Cake Company

I confess I’m not accustomed to gourmet chocolate – after all, nothing floats my boat quite like a Tunnock’s Tea Cake – but the caramel truffles made by these talented people are, quite simply, gift-wrapped happiness.  A box of them for Christmas would absolutely be all I need. Provided the box was diamond-encrusted, obvs, Darling. 

Chocolates For The Soul

© Chocolates For The Soul

Caroline blessed the Lipsmacking Festival with the launch of her Chakra range of chocolates. I couldn’t say I’d recognise a truly spiritual moment if it marched in playing a trombone, BUT I did experience a noticeable feeling of wellbeing when I sampled Caroline’s ‘visionary violet’ chocolates (pictured). One little taste, and I suddenly felt that ‘…Aaah. Everything’s going to be all right, then.’  Can chocolate heal the world? It’s doubtful, but when it comes to these violet lovelies, I shall Keep Calm And Carry On.

If you have read this far – Congratulations!  Here for you are the winners of the Lipsmacking Limerick competiton, and the proud owners of a Lipsmacking goodie bag each:

"There once was a woman so girlie

Whose hair was lovely and curly

She said 'I want chocs

That look like my locks'

So she now only eats Curly-Wurly"

A blatant attempt to sway the Judge.  Successful, too: well done Matt Sims!

"There was a young fella from Frome

Who didn't think much of perfume

He preferred girls to use

A chocolatey ooze

That he baked every day in his room"

A darkly disturbing tale, the many layers of which reveal too much or too little. A masterful effort by Ed Coate!

"A chocoholic young woman from Frome

Said to her boyfriend, 'Don't give me perfume

Or bouquets or champagne

For chocs, milk, white or plain

Are sure to jump-start this girl's Va-Va-Voom!"

Va-Va-Voom? Don’t ask me, darling, I invented it. Brava to Janet Smith for a verse close to my heart!

I found myself winding up the day sitting on the stage steps, drinking coffee and musing with my new friend Jammer Jamski on how fortunate we are.  Life, we agreed, doesn’t hand out cookies, but that’s okay – because here in Frome, we make our own. Then we invite you in for a nibble, because we’re nice like that.

Let Me Show You Round My (Fringed) Bloomers

I've just returned from Edinburgh, Darlings. Read about it, oh do...

Probably a willy drawn on it by now

Day 1: Wednesday 3 August, 2011

Ms Bee (my manager) and I arrived late in the afternoon at our palatial residence in Joppa.  Joppa is a terribly posh bit – we lived in style during our Edinburgh visit, at the home of some friends of Ms Bee.  Of course, when one resides with well-to-do friends, one can only marvel at the décor… because one is afraid to touch anything.  Being likewise unable to work any of the appliances, we dined off such provisions as we’d brought with us: Snackajacks, tomatoes and champagne.  We’re well classy, us.

Launch Party. Photo: Ian Fox

A quick change into scorching wig and DitF dress, and we were heading for town – in the wrong direction, but on such a cute little train… we adopted Mrs Smiling’s approach and simply stayed on it until it went the other way.  We got to the Laughing Horse launch party at the Counting House very late: all the food was gone and the show was well under way, packed to the rafters and boiling hot.  We were too late to collect my show flyers from the Renroc Café, so I felt rather foolish trying to explain what I do. ‘I read poems in my pants’ – it sounded like a boarding school nightmare.  However, the evening was still a pleasure: I met, among others, Tricity Vogue, Orowa from the theatre production ‘Counting Syllables’ and the delicious Desiree Burch. I was captivated by Tricity’s shockingly saucy act, but then, people who wear ukeleles on their heads are 87% more likely to live life on the edge. I seriously developed the hots for Desiree Burch and her magnificent bosom, so I hoped very much to reconnect with her before my Edinburgh adventure was over.  I wonder if my act would go down well in New York?  Ms Bee needed sustenance so she headed out while I mingled, pointlessly distributing Lady Philadelphia postcards (who knows where they’ll end up?  Who realised that Lady Philadelphia is me?) and enjoyed more performances including Abigoliah Schamaun (pictured), a comedienne who, thanks to Yoga, can do the most unusual things with her legs.

Photo: Ian Fox

Outside, I breathed cool night air and headed for the Pear Tree next door, with its inviting courtyard full of people enjoying themselves.  Time for a glass of wine and possibly my first encounter with an actual Scottish person. His opening gambit was friendly, if unremarkable: ‘nice dress’ and ‘is that yer real hair’. However his follow-up was unmatched: ‘wid ye like tae meet ma friend, he’s anely got one leg’. I immediately accepted, curious to discover which I would be introduced to first: the friend, or the space where his leg should be. It was apparent that my new friend considered he’d acquired quite an interesting companion for the evening, as if Ryan with his one leg were not sufficient, because he introduced me loudly enough for everyone to hear. This turned out to be fortuitous: the next thing I heard was ‘Muriel Lavender? Is that Muriel Lavender?’ Who, I thought, could possibly know me here? It was a tiny glimpse of what actual fame must feel like. There at the next table were Lisa and James of the Renroc Café, my venue for the Fringe Festival.  Another of those ‘it’s all going to be fine’coincidences, just like the Cheap Street moment when the strange old man solemnly presented me with a Steeleye Span CD. Did I not mention that? It’s a good story.

Well, Ms Bee and I spent a charming evening with Bobby, Ryan and Alan.  I seem to recall looking at pictures of each other’s children on our phones. We must have managed to catch the last train home to Joppa, and to alight from it at just the right moment. A great start: Thursday beckoned.

Day 2: Thursday 4 August, 2011

Grassmarket

Being completely uninitiated, I decided to do my first day’s flyering in heels. Not massive heels, I reasoned, so I thought I should be fine.  We were underway by about midday, and we’d heard the weather in Edinburgh changes every five minutes, so we equipped ourselves for rain, which it did.  I did not equip myself for shopping: a good thing, as the shoes were irresistible – in a looks-great-in-the-shop-but-kinda-slutty-when-you-get-them-home sort of a way.  So we flyered until about 5pm, by which time we were wide-eyed from hunger and lack of wine.  After almost being refused entry to the Beehive on Grassmarket, another Laughing Horse venue like Renroc – and I admit I was ready to get very indignant indeed – we were finally allowed in (on the basis that I was in performance dress, not fancy dress, one of these absurd hide-behind rules of which I have fallen foul before). We ordered food, a bottle of fizzy plonk and the finest show available. The Beehive delivered on all three. John Scott was our first Fringe show: he was very funny, the usual observational humour but with brutal honesty and pickled onion Monster Munch. John Scott belongs on panel shows: he made Frankie Boyle look like a schoolboy trying to shout ‘c**t’ behind a TV reporter (this just in: Frankie Boyle makes Frankie Boyle look like a schoolboy trying to shout ‘c**t’ behind a TV reporter).

Photo: Lynne Morris

So we made complete asses of ourselves by insisting that poor John come out after the show and say hello to the audience, then we continued our flyering. For the rest of the day, though, we made it no further than Underbelly, where we were flirted into seeing three more shows, before heading for the Gilded Balloon, where we were flirted into seeing yet another show. I’ve heard it said that you should always go to a hairdresser of the opposite sex, because if they don’t want to go to bed with you afterwards, then it’s not a very good haircut.  It seems all my show-seeing decisions were based on either a) how cute the flyerer was, or b) how cute they thought I was, or c) in the case of the girls, how forward they were.  I love the sisterhood: the more I got fondled, the more likely I was to go to their show.  I’m sort of joking.  The key to their persuasive powers was enthusiasm, and it was strongest when the performers themselves were handing out the flyers: a good lesson for me. 

With the hectic pace of it all, I soon found myself in an awkward situation: aside from being unable to keep track of anything we were given – like, free tickets (no sooner did they pass into our hands than we lost them by putting them somewhere safe) – I also needed to keep in touch with the little Lavenders between shows. They weren’t always easy to track down. When they were available, I was often somewhere very noisy. Eventually I headed for the street which was quieter than the cavernous mass that is Underbelly, but I was stopped by a burly steward. You can’t go out onto the road with a drink, he warned. Drinks don’t leave the venue. But I have to – I thought, and realised my situation. Right, I said, you’ve forced me into this, I now have to become the ultimate in slutty mothers, thanks to you. I took a deep breath. “Would you mind holding my glass of wine? I have to go and phone my kids.”

A run-down of the day’s choices:

Bluebeard, a Fairytale for Adults – we met them in the street, they were young and cute and enthusiastic, and they gave us free tickets.  Quirky and somewhat disturbing drama, it lingers in the mind… however the tickets were £9.50 and I would have wanted to see a lot of really excellent free shows to make up for it if I’d paid full price.   
Underbelly, Cowgate. 4th - 28th August @ 6.55pm
Sammy J, ‘Potentially’ – the flyerer was cute, he said the show was really good and he gave us free tickets.  He wasn’t lying, this could actually be my most favouritest show that I saw. We spoke to Sammy J afterwards and he said he’d written it very quickly; if that is the case I would have to conclude the man is a genius. The whole show was wound together seamlessly, raising laughs by connecting the seemingly unconnected and surprising the audience with it at every turn.  I loved it. Sammy is my top pick. 
Underbelly, Cowgate. 14th - 28th August @ 8.30pm
When Women Wee – the girls were outrageous, hyper-enthusiastic, they wanted to come to my show, and they said nice things about my bosom.  I immediately felt as though I wanted to go and get pissed with them. By the end of the show I really did want to go and get pissed with them.  By then, though, we already had tickets for Briefs… ‘When Women Wee’ is a Dirty Stop-Out production performed by five girls and set in a nightclub toilet: a disturbingly accurate portayal of different women with their guard (and their pants) down.  Another highly recommended show.   

Briefs. In briefs

Underbelly, Cowgate. 14th - 28th August @ 11.00pm
Briefs – the flyer girl was pretty and enthusiastic. She liked my corset, so she knew I’d like the show. I did. A lot.  ‘Briefs’ are a Boylesque troupe from Queensland: we caught a preview show so although there were occasional moments where they needed a little polish, the twin spectacles of gorgeous male bodies and breathtaking feats of physical strength and skill more than made up for any minor technical mishaps.  Beautiful and talented, but also touching and human – so that’s all my boxes ticked. 
Gilded Balloon, Teviot. 14th - 29th August @ 12.30am.

We got back to Lavender HQ at 3am.  Fifteen hours in heels. That’s enough.

Day 3: Friday 5 August, 2011

Room for two more on top?

Pie and Ale: d'ye want it? Aye, Blossom

My first show day.  Screw the heels: I headed for the Royal Mile in corset, frilly pants and commuter boots.  I quickly gave up feeling stupid sitting on buses in knickers and purple wigs.  We flyered all day, and a fine one it was too – the elements smiled on us for a change. I met a Highlander and a lifelong fantasy got the better of me, this isn’t him but a girl can dream, can’t she?; a crowd of Zombies who provided a unique photo opportunity; and I managed to see ‘Counting Syllables’, which was an outstanding piece of free theatre, neatly presented, with almost as much social discomfort as Abigail’s Party.  Superb.  They kindly came to my show, too, so naturally I love them.  The Highlander also attended, armed to the teeth, and to him I am most grateful for his hearty approval of my Scottish accent in ‘Thane Glorious’.  The venue was completely full – what could be better? – with the audience spilling all the way up the stairs. Maybe it was the poetry, or maybe just the pants.

Day 4: Saturday 6 August, 2011

Despite our underpinning knowledge to the contrary, the previous day’s fine weather caught us out.  Lulled into good faith by the sunshine, we were ill-equipped for the downpour. The half-dozen brollies I had brought with me, to ensure I was sartorially co-ordinated at all times, remained in my suitcase with my fetching anorak.  While Ms Bee sought wet-weather solutions, I bravely continued to persuade the soggy masses of tourists that an evening of frisky poetry for ladies was exactly what they needed.  I didn’t do too badly: once again I met a great many wonderful people.  In August, one could fall in love a hundred times in a day on the Royal Mile.  

Here’s the dear little tiny girl I met, who threw her arms round my legs in a huge hug until I cried. Here too is the uniquely talented Nob Stewart: I was unnerved by his crazy specs, initially, but his humour and warmth won me over.  He even offered to film my show, and I was sorry not to have the chance to thank him for it.  Thank goodness for social media.  One of my favourite EdFringe moments came as I was about to walk into Deacon Brodie’s tavern, out of the freezing cold and pissing rain: I was at a bit of a low ebb when a Frenchman, sheltering likewise from the rain, caught sight of me in my knicks and said, ‘Now, I love Scotland.’

Having caught the Pick of the Fringe earlier in the day (top picks Marcel Lucont – mais oui, monsieur – and ‘The Table’ by Blind Summit Theatre company), we just made it back to the Gilded Balloon for Sweet FA – Fascinating Aida, with their ‘Cheap Flights’ show.  These ladies should be on the GCSE syllabus, if only to remind young people that they didn’t invent the word ‘f**k’, and that women don’t cease to exist after the age of thirty.  Damn it, I should be on the GCSE syllabus for the same reason. 

© Miramax

Photo: Hannah Lucy Stone

The show finished at 7.45pm, and the ensuing mad dash through Tattoo traffic gave me my Velma Kelly moment: jumping out of a cab in the rain and running in for a quick change before taking to the stage (the similarity ended abruptly there, since I had neither murdered my sister nor married my grandpa).  Once again the show was fantastically well attended – this time with even more audience members standing outside listening at the door because the Renroc basement was crammed!  Ms Bee and I stayed once again to see ‘Anything to Declare?’ by the Gramophones (pictured). They did another marvellous performance, competing against the noise and bustle of some lively, some might say rowdy, guests. Beautiful, lovely girls, with a hilarious show which was all rather sweet and hockey-sticks – like the Mitfords but without the disturbing political ideas.

Day 5: Sunday 7 August, 2011

I missed you in the whole world

That’s it – my Edinburgh Fringe debut is over.  Brunch and a walk on the sea front (who knew Edinburgh had a sea front?) watching the happiest spaniel in Scotland dig a hole to be proud of, furiously-wagging tail poking up out of the sand.  Final sweep of immaculate residence. Licked bathroom floor clean, having first washed mouth out with baby wet ones.  Felt very dull, dressed in normal Mummy clothes. I admit it, I enjoyed the attention, Darling. 

Home to my babies.