I was walking back home after my gig tonight, a little unhappy because although I’d done a good show, it was only two thirds full, which was a bit of a disappointment for a Friday. Hopefully it was a blip – everyone in the venue was down on what they would expect. I walked over the bridge that goes over Waverley station. This is the one that I usually feel like throwing myself off once every festival, with my bad and unfair reviews pinned to my chest. Don’t worry, I am pretty sure I never will actually do that, but it’s nice to imagine getting one over on the critics. OK, so it would be the ultimate Pyrrhic victory, but it might be worth it to shed some grief amongst those evil and wrong journalists. Trouble is they are so evil and wrong they would probably all rather enjoy being indirectly responsible for the death of one of their subjects!
As I stopped to survey the spectacular drop a firework shot off from the castle above me. Was this a sign from someone that I should follow through on my inclination? Somehow I managed to persuade myself that it wasnÂ’t. Which was lucky because I didnÂ’t want to mess up the shirt I was wearing. And who could want to kill themselves in a world where something as beautiful as a firework could exist. I watched the liquid light explode and fall and burn itself out. When most of the firework was dead, a few droplets of fire would still appear and burn out slower than the others.
I stood and observed the aftermath. Huge plumes of smoke hung in the sky, back-lit from the castle lights. In a way the clouds were as fascinating to watch as the firework itself. You donÂ’t get to observe this with most firework displays because another firework comes along to brighten up the sky and you donÂ’t look at the post firework clouds. But whoever was shooting off fireworks from the castle was leaving big gaps between each one (the next was some fifteen minutes later). I liked the dull smoke as much as the glittering tinsel. It kept shifting in the wind and creating new shapes.
So though a firework draws all the attention of the general public, sometimes what follows after is more beautiful and fascinating, even if the majority of the world will not notice it.
Some kind of metaphor for the Fringe itself? Possibly. But if it is I canÂ’t quite work out what it is.
But spending some time watching the post-firework smoke made me feel relaxed and happier and not so much like jumping off a bridge. Because if you jump off a bridge you miss the fireworks and the smoke and pretty much everything except the sight of the roof of Waverley Station approaching very quickly.
