Random Festival memories

The Edinburgh Festival season comes to an end with an impressive fireworks display over the castle. Last year I joined Peter on Princes St where we provided a running commentary and were asked (politely) to shut up by the man standing next to us, who found us entertaining but very distracting.

Paul and I had spent most of Sunday at Kris' birthday party over in Paisley and despite being a bit on the tired side, headed out to Inverleith Park to join a small party of friends (including a, shall we say, very tipsy Rob) for this year's festivities. It was much less crowded than Princes St had been last year and had the benefit of a large screen relaying the SCO's performance of Beethoven's Symphony no. 7. The orchestra managed to get ahead in all four movements but it was still great fun, complete with fatuous commentary between the movements on how well co-ordinated music and fireworks were.

So, time to reflect on things with didn't make it into my entries of the last month. Pride of place has to go to Eric's text message re:the barbershop concert. This, you may recall, was the mystery event I'd chosen for Peter, Rob and myself, only for Peter's ticket to end up spare as he was in London at the time. On the morning of the concert, I sent off a text message to three friends, telling them the first to respond would get the last ticket. Eric told us later that my message had woken him up, which only made his reply all the more delicious. Within two minutes, I received the following: "Me me me!"

The campness of Carissimi's Lament of Mary Queen of Scots had Paul and me in stitches. The opening section was full of pretentious twaddle such as "take my love, the one gift I can give you, and share it out amongst yourselves", all making the Queen out to be incredibly noble and poised. Trouble was, towards the end she turned into a raging fury: the sentiments of the concluding part could be summed up as "ooh, that Elizabeth is such a bitch!"

Let's not forget meeting Paul on the evening of the Monteverdi concert. The meal itself was a delight, but I had the added benefit of having him directly in my eyeline later in the Usher Hall.

Seeing Isabelle again after three years was a definite highlight of the month. She was up for a wedding and had had all sorts of things go wrong on the trip, which made giving her a memorable time all the more pleasant. The text message I received from the director of music at the church when I went to collect Isabelle, thus missing out of leading the responses in mattins, is equally worthy of mention: "Dear Tony, you'd find it a lot easier singing the Rose responses from INSIDE the church!"

Work getting in the way of my taking part in Dido - let's not go there. At least it means I've woken up to the deficiencies of a career in retail.

Lastly, to end on a high note, the joy of hearing the very rude French lyrics to Monty Python's Sit on my face. All together now: Come in my mouth and tell me that you love me ...