Scurrying off to Scotland

Perhaps it escaped my notice, or perhaps I have grown too casual to care, but it is still the middle of term here, and I do still have a mountain of work to plough through. And yet, here I am, taking the 5 and a half hour journey up to Edinburgh for the day. Yes, that’s right. The day. I got the 12:30 from Cambridge station Tuesday and will be getting the 11:30am from Edinburgh Waverley on Wednesday morning. I will spent not long over 12 hours in Scotland. I am, indeed, a fool. But I am a friendly fool - this is the point of the tale. It began as a tale that cried ‘pity me’ but fast developed into one yelling ‘love me, I’m adorable’! Because this lethargic road has been all worth the travel, because I am going to see my Barney. Not the purple dinosaur, no, although I do wonder what he is up to these days. I am off to see Miss Hannah Rachel Barnetson in Edinburgh Footlights production of ‘Fame: The Musical’.

Now my opinion of musicals is wide, variable and unreliable. I am by no means an expert, and yet I feel perfectly within my right to assert ludicrously strong opinions about everything from set design to sopranos. Fame is not a musical I know well, except for the classic “I’m gonna live forever” etc. But it is one that is highly focussed around dancing, which is ideal for my National Dance Champion buddy. So I knew, if all else failed, she would be a wonder to watch -as ever. So I pulled into the station, was met by an onslaught of smiles and cuddles, before being whisked to a bus stop and trotted off to the venue. I had already made her hideously late for the warm up. I was introduced to another girl who had made the trip to see Hannah, and we bonded over how simply marvellous we were for coming to support our friend, and what genuinely good people we must be.

The show itself was of course a riot of colour and laughter, and some of the singing was truly exceptional. There were some technical hitches, but what is an opening night without a few microphone mishaps? We of course took ourselves off for celebratory drinks, and that is where the real evening began. We found ourselves in a very pretty bar with only ourselves and a group of fairly drunken Geordie’s who soon found us fascinating. It turns out one of them was a huge Miss Saigon fan - no, I didn’t see that coming either - so he soon had Hannah and other Hannah (I forgot to mention the strange coincidence of their names) - filling the bar with song.

It was definitely closing time by this point, but their fascination had by no means abated, and thus we continued our journey and our strange new troupe trotted off to a Wetherspoons - that most musical of establishments. I wasn’t complaining though, as they were buying the G&Ts (and one of them assured me he had daughters my age and therefore ‘wasn’t coming on to me’. I believed him, not only because I feel I am a fairly good judge of character and thought him rather sweet, but also because he was far too drunk to be coming onto anything). So we chatted for a while, managed to refrain from singing, and found ourselves desperately searching for somewhere to boogie. For middle-aged men - and I do not think they would deny this title - they were incredibly keen for a boogie. And so we pottered around sub-zero Edinburgh, Barney fuelled on pure adrenaline, new Hannah lapping up the hilarity of the situation, and myself delirious and disorientated after half a day on a train. We found somewhere suitably weird and out of the way, and proceeded to dance the night away.

It was about 3:30am when we left. What had begun as a slightly tame but enjoyable evening had fast developed into a slightly discombobulating night. But it was all rather fun. And they were entirely harmless. They kept on flashing their wedding rings and mentioning their wives, I suppose to assure us that they were not too weird to be married. I am not quite sure why this was any assurance, but either way it didn’t matter, and we continued to party with our new found friends from Newcastle.

The morning after was perhaps less fun. After 4 hours sleep or thereabouts we fell out of bed and into the shower, before I fell gracefully into seat 59 on the 11:30 to York. The long list of tasks and assignments I was due to complete had only lengthened somehow. My eyes were struggling to focus on even the lid of my water bottle, making for a hilarious spillage that I pray no one witnessed. But I made it, despite the hysteria, and I found myself pulling back into Cambridge station at 17:03, 7 minutes later than scheduled. Typical.

Thus concluded by brief affair with Virgin Trains East Coast. So long, farewell, it certainly was a whirlwind.