Day Two.

I'm Today was probably as good an example of a day in Edinburgh as I can muster. Comedy, music, buzzing energy, that mix of weirdoes and wannabes, grit and gilt - oh and loads of beer. 

Breakfast out started things off. I love eating breakfast out, makes you feel important. Light lunches are boring, tea is usually time better spent "eating a pint." Breakfast just works. Anyway, we then took a walk in the sun (the sun?!!), and took in the assorted vanilla milkshakes at the literary festival, before heading in the direction of Greyfriars (Greyfriars Bobby RIP - a story that still brings the potential of a tear to my eye). We had a beer to toast him and soldiered on. 

The last day of the Fringe meant it was our final chance to catch a few acts, so we decided upon some young upstarts and a seasoned pro. "Sheeps Skewer The News" was the former, based on the solo show "Capitalism" my dad had seen last year. It was basically a very meta, very oddball panel show. Some of it worked, the final round involving vinegar being poured in a chap's mouth having echoes of "Shooting Stars." We enjoyed it, along with the obligatory beers. It would've been rude not to swing by Brewdog on our way back, along with this cheesey family photo opportunity. 

We hurried off to watch Lewis Schaffer, a New York stand-up I've seen with my dad before. He's rude, obnoxious, self-deprecating, sarcastic and very funny (yes, we share some similarities). He always seems to play in some horrendous venues, this time in a fluorescent-lit sweat-box on the edge of a gallery, using a pallet for a stage. To give you a sample, he compared his penis to a Nazi in 1943 - still in love with Hitler, but starting to lose the faith. Yeah. 

He also managed to involve me pretty heavily in his act. When Rach ran out to pop the toilet, during a particularly lewd joke about his lady-boy ex, I told him she was leaving because Rach too had a penis. Long story short, he ended up kissing me on the mouth. Also turned out that, being a bit of a "comedian's comedian," Tom Stade was sat opposite me. The fact he approached me and said I was funny on the way out means I can now retire from my one performance at Edinburgh. 

After this we hurried off to see Sufjan Stevens at the Edinburgh Playhouse. If Schaffer was a "comedian's comedian," the Stevens is a "musician's musician." If that sounds pretentious then it probably is, but he is not particularly well known in the UK. Except he filled out a rapt Playhouse and played some of the most absorbing live music I will ever witness. I'll do it justice with a full review, as Bank Holiday breakfast is calling me. 

Day One.

Well I started writing my blog, then deleted it. Blame Blogger, blame the beers from the night before. Speaking of which, that's what we did as soon as we touched down in Scotland. Some craft beer pub, £4.50+ a pint, everything around 6% and with descriptions like "heavily hopped" - speaking my language. We scuttled off to the hotel, then straight out towards the Royal Mile. Street performers on every corner, from funk bands to casual mermaids. It all beats the usual "man-making-dog-sand-sculpture" (though maybe not quite eclipsing Liverpool's "man-singing-loudly-with-toy-microphone"). 

We headed into a church that doubles up as a music venue for the Fringe and caught a cool folk singer, all trackie bottoms, ironic t-shirt and unkempt facial hair. Nice version of "May You Never" by John Martyn. Nice can of Dead Pony Club to accompany things. This was followed by the more typical pursuits of watching my beloved blues scrape a draw against Spurs, people-watching as various hen parties competed with each other over who had the most overweight friend with the lowest esteem. Top marks to the chunky lad who tried to pull an entire party with a tray of blues shots though (note. said chunky lad wasn't me). Thumbs down to the man with the receding hair-line and three shirt buttons undone though, seen here being awkward by the Pimm's bar (note. said mid-life crisis bloke wasn't my dad). 

For some light and shade we headed for the middle-class mayhem of the BBC tent; craft lager, queues for slam poetry and wireless headphones to enjoy Alt-J. In this mindset we went to watch the rather funny Kate Smurthwaite, a lovely, leftie comedienne I've enjoyed at the Fringe previously. Always a bit bonkers watching a comedy gig in the basement of an Italian restaurant but why not? 

We wandered elsewhere for a pizza and pasta before the real drinking commenced. Even tucked away in the most nondescript boozers you'd find a guitar and fiddle duo playing Radiohead, to a man of a very Scottish kind of drunkeness. It was that level of drunk we were teetering towards when we got back to the hotel. A successful start. 

Och aye!

The Mac is back. I'm bringing back the travel blog for the weekend, as I'm winging my way up to Edinburgh for the Fringe. My last blog was way back in December 2013, on my trip out East to Macau. I've been travelling around since then - mainly screaming at the M1 at 4am after a gig - but nowhere I felt really warranted my writing. But me and the lady friend are heading to Prague and Brussels over the next few months, and gigging takes me some cool places, so I thought it was a blog worth revisiting with my trip to the homeland. 

It wouldn't be an Adam blog without a moan. Trains are the one at the moment. Trundling through the countryside at no speed, full of overweight people carrying overweight suitcases, struggling to locate a numbered seat as though they were searching for the Grail. I wonder what the Japanese tourists sat close to me are thinking as we pass Rotherham at about 5mph, when they could be zooming through Osaka at a nightmarish speed. They're probably also wondering why I'm cracking a can open for breakfast but c'est la vie. 

I love Edinburgh though. It's a proper city, with a skyline, and old buildings, and new buildings, and proper pubs, and some character, and shortbread. It's not Hull. I'm headed there with my dad and sister - three McCullochs going back to our roots and attempting to break our own personal best drinking records. We will be hitting some comedy gigs, possibly destroying some form of deep-fried chocolate bar and definitely making Brewdog count. We are also off to see probably my favourite musician, Sufjan Stevens, at The Playhouse tomorrow evening. 

It should be a great weekend. I'll keep you posted. For now here's my sister getting into the spirit.