Not a Good Idea

What on earth was this lady thinking, as in what looked like full wedding gear, she attempted to climb over a locked gate from Princes Street Gardens into the Mound.

There was a collective gasp from passers by as she slipped from the top rail just missing a nasty incident with a spike which only caught her dress and lifted it heavenward to reveal rather natty bright pink underwear.

I reckon she was old enough to have known better.

The rest of my meandering through the town revealed nothing else of interest to me. One becomes inured to ridiculous sights after 10days of Fringe madness and what might strike outsiders as bizarre is taken for granted by us the natives, and in any case has been blipped many times before.

Even Liberace striding through the streets in a white sparkly suit and white fur cape raises no eyebrows.
We angels in the audience last night let him into heaven rather than have him descend to hell, although I was mightily tempted to raise my card with 'Hell' on it when we were asked to vote by St Peter at the end of the performance.

It's always a relief to come home to peace and quiet after the frenetic crowds just up the road, but at the back of my mind there is the the temptation to go out later to George Square to sample a French crêpe at the mobile crepêrie there.