The more I make myself go to the foot of the mound or onto the High Street and at least carry a camera if not actually take it out the bag, point it at the attention-seekers and press the shutter, the more I understand how deep-rooted is my loathing of the Fringe as an institution and the "performers" as performers (I'm sure they're lovely people the rest of the time).

Some of it stems from a past proximity to the Thatcher-era cutting of spending on fripperies and indulgences like supported employment for people with learning difficulties or social work childcare centres or respite care for the elderly at a time when the Festival and the Fringe were untouchable. Not because of any commitment to the "arts" (in as much as the Fringe contains any arts) or even commitment to the alleged economic benefits but just blind terror at the Scotsman's response. Such was the ideological commitment in the Cooncil of the day.

Some of it stems from a more general contempt for attention-seeking, and that mainly because the attention seeker inevitably feels the need to manipulate to gain attention and in the process cheapens themselves. As people respond, whether it's by joining in the whooping or clicking the shutter, by reflecting back the hyperbole in the comments or reciprocally subscribing, the 'audience' inevitably joins the game, expanding in exponential series, the manipulation. You see it theatrically on the High Street. If you watch closely and follow the links, you see it quietly all around.

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This photo was inspired by this one by Magpie.