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With a little bit of extra effort and organisation this morning I managed to get to work a good forty minutes before the last two week's average arrival time. Even with the city not far off as busy as it gets it was still nicer and quieter for the walk in and the sun not quite as burny; A little bit later and even the shadier sides of the road are still far too warm, especially when carrying the large amount of crap I usually needlessly carry to and fro and which I discovered to weigh 1½st (US: 21lb; EU: 9.5kg) when I happened to wander past the scales on my way out the other week. The flask of coffee is necessary, as is my camera. I would usually be able to fill a litre bottle of water at work but at this time of year the coldness of the water from the machines is very unreliable and water from the home-tap is pleasantly chilled just by being fresh from beneath the ground. I could buy food at lunchtime but can't always guarantee enough time to do so; more frequently I eat what I bring before popping out for a lunchwalk, buying something else during it to eat during the afternoon, so should really be carrying more food in the morning rather than less. Three or four work photo club magazines are perhaps unnecessary, but I take them in in the hope that I find a few spare minutes to flick through them and pass them on. There are often a couple of New Scientists waiting in the bag to be read and (though only for the last week) half of last Saturday's newspaper, stuffed in my rucksack to prevent it being lost somewhere in Nicky's parents' house. Then again, I've always generally carried an overstuffed bag ever since school. Perhaps walking around lightly-packed would weaken me dangerously, though might perhaps result in shoes' soles wearing down much less rapidly.

Further slight organisational improvements compared to previous years mean that this evening featured two more Fringe gigs at preview prices (similar to normal prices ten years ago but only for the first two days), starting with Hitler Moustache by Richard Herring, always very reliable and good value as he talks almost constantly for the full hour with no bits which don't work and some bits which still work a second time after having already read or heard them on his blog or podcast. As usual he's in the nasty, sweaty semi-cylindrical White Belly on Victoria Street but at least the strange damp smell in the corridor outside doesn't also affect the room itself. At the back behind the stage are what were once a couple of windows which it would surely be deeply sensible to de-brick and open back up to allow a little bit of air into a room in which 160 people are sitting for several hours a day during the summer.

Not sure what's happening but two completely different couples have just chosen the exact same patch of pavement opposite my window to start snogging heavily five minutes apart. There's a small vent in the wall which is perhaps emitting some sort of aphrodisiac vapour.

An hour later in a slightly cooler, lower-down and much smaller venue within the Underbelly was Geraldine Quinn, vaguely heard-of before but chosen entirely on the basis of a recommendational tweet by Tim Minchin. Okay, warmable-to stuff with very capable singing but it would possibly benefit slightly from tighter-written songs, though the same could be said of some of Tim Minchin's longer-between-payoff-line works.