Bad Poem And Other Stuff.

Date: 16/08/11
Author: Peter

The fringe! The fringe! We run to the fringe,
Full of hopes and dreams, there to be tinged.

The comedian, the actor, the singers and more,

A rainbow of talent alongside whiskey galore!

Flocking up north for a celebration of the arts,

Filling stomachs and hearts alike, with a good old Scotch tart (from Greggs).

The Englishman, the Irishman, and The Scotsman too,

They’re all here noting down quips, paid to judge you.

It’s no joke when no-one’s laughing.

Now I know why we spent so much time crafting

Our hunchback baby, our show- the play

And sped up to this tartan world, our hearts on display.

I write this in a quiet bar,

Disgusted by my poor attempts at poetry humour....

And awful, awful go at rhyming stuff.

Sorry. I’ll understand if you close this webpage and have had enough.

This bar is part of the student union here at Edinburgh University. The ceilings are high, it’s a maze of well furnished architecture, and the décor seems to date back to the 1880’s. In actual fact I’m sure it must have been refurbished in the (19)90’s, in an attempt to resemble the old building’s original quaint charm. But the illusion is definitely working.

And it most certainly provides a better working atmosphere than the BU student bar. More Hollyoaks than Hogwarts, young women must enter our boozy hell-hole at their own risk, ready to be sexually harassed by some six foot two ‘ruggerlad’, or leered at by a sports science student with a hard on and a beer-gunt. No, this bar contains meek looking men in glasses flicking through neuroscience text books, the odd middle aged tourist, and a bar maid with an innocent smile. She hasn't been sexually harassed. The ancient books lining the shelves give an impression of the Uni’s rich history (mostly old textbooks themselves), and leave the place with a charm unheard of back at home. I’ve been here before, but Sam couldn’t believe his eyes when I explained this vast room was their equivalent of ‘Dylan’s Bar’. Oh well. I guess the students here worked harder at school than we did.

This is one of the first times since coming to Scotland that I’ve actually sat down and done some proper work. I’ve ruined that now by distracting myself with this blog entry, but I was doing great, honest.

It’s difficult to fit writing into the busy Edinburgh schedule. Alongside the (almost) daily jog, important things like bank visits, trying in vain to get your boots fixed, browsing the city, and watching two or three shows a day (oh yeah, and doing that play what we wrote), extra work takes a bit of a back seat. We all came here hoping to write screenplays but have probably typed about 15 pages between us. It’s odd how tiring it is doing three or four hours of actual work (the play, promoting etc, if you can even call that ‘actual work’); probably because of the constant adrenalin buzz and rapid come-downs. I’m no doctor (officially), so I have absolutely no idea. But that’s my guess. And if anyone from the Democratic Republic Of Congo calls, I am a doctor, yes, and you don't know me, no.

I mentioned my boots a few sentences back. More about that in my next entry. You’re excited, I know it.

We’re half way through our time here now, which seems very odd. I’ve lost track of performances, days, what normality feels like. But in two and a half weeks I’ll be back down south doing (further) work experience of an entirely different nature, before returning home to my parents for a week or two.

Then back to Bournemouth, and the wonders (and random gropings) of ‘Dylans’.

*Sigh*. I really should have worked harder during my A levels. And should probably give up the poetry.