21/05/05 Greasepaint (smell of), Crowd (roar of) etc

I'd rejoined the human race sufficiently to make Greg Mitchell's play last night. He was making his acting debut in a show called "Deception". It comprised nine separate playlets written by the performers themselves exploring different themes of deception, (as you might expect).
Having subjected all my friends to the anxiety of watching me do my comedy schtick, it was an interesting change to be in the audience observing someone else risk public humiliation. I did feel quite nervous for him, but am pleased to say that he was very much at ease treading the boards and put in a good couple of performances.
He was involved in a play where a housewive was conducting "phone sex" with an unseen caller, who in the end turned out to be her husband (Greg). Whether, this was a secret, or whether they both knew what was going on, and were treating it as some kind of erotic game, was left open to interpretation.
I complimented Greg on his convincing "phone sex" technique. He gave the impression he's been doing it all of his life. This is a ringing endorsement of his acting ability I'd say.
In his other play he played a non-aggressive gamekeeper who didn't like shooting things, in a wacky re-working of Little Red Riding Hood. He ended up going off to live with the vegetarian wolf at the end.
It was good to see him really buzzing about it at the end. I hope he does more. He looks really good on stage. A really enjoyable show overall.
There were some performance poets on afterwards. It was in the "Roxy" a converted church. Unfortunately, there was so much echo, it was impossible to work out what anyone was saying. I have to say I did find this aspect of the show highly amusing.
Walking back home afterwards kept reminding me of James Stewart encountering "Pottersville" where "Bedford Falls" should have been. Saturday night on the streets of Edinburgh city centre is a grim experience. For a start a large section of Nicolson Street had been cordoned off as there seemed to have been a serious road accident. A lot of ambulances and police cars in attendance. There was a tidal wave of vomit all around. Walking along Princes St you have to walk past large posses of aggressive looking individuals swaying about all over the pavement. It's like a video game where you have to anticipate the oncoming staggers and find a gap to pass through without a collision.
I got the feeling that an accidental collision would possibly involve getting kicked to death. And of course there are no cops around.
And yes I know, you always run the risk here of over-romanticising the good old days. Possibly. I just recall that there were more happy drunks around and that there wasn't quite so much of an air of malevolence. But maybe that's just the viewpoint of an involved drunk. Who knows. I just remember that I never hesitated to put my jacket on a puddle if a lady had to cross it, and that I'd always take my hat off to a passing police officer. You just don't see that anymore.