I was an awful 'normal'. I have a far too over-inflated sense of self to ever let myself sink to that level. Never fear all of you - I am still wearing lipstick that is poorly applied and far too red and reading a book that I nod and agree with on every other page.
In the true spirit of being a 'creative' I am now sitting in a flat that smells of sage that has been boiled up to cure sore throats. I'm not going to drink any. I've decided I'd just rather have a raspy throat and a gammy voice and not how to chow down on this grimbles saucepan of yuck that is currently stewing on the hob. I'm fairly certain I'd choose death over most cures for things - cures are always just a little bit too funky and out there until they've turned it into a hospital cure that sterilised and covered in technology.
I got involved in the floral equivalent of a chain letter yesterday - but one that had less threats of eternal bad luck if it wasn't passed on. I was flyering merrily (dourly) away down near our venue (What? Oh! The Dragonfly at 4:20pm since you ask...) when some waiters started up a conversation. I say conversation, what I mean is they inquired if they could come to the quiz, and the snorted for half an hour about this actually meaning "can I get in your pants?" HILARITY! But once they'd calmed down we made friends and they decided they actually wouldn't mind coming to the show.
But THEN, then...yes, then...they gave me a flower garland to wear in my hair. They placed it on my head with a fragility that suggested this really meant something. But I looked like a massive twat in it so I took it off as soon as I got to the venue (What? Oh! No, we've already done this) and had it in my bag. The day then progressed as per normal with far too much alcohol and far too little sensical (opposite on nonsensical) conversation.
But THEN, then...yes, at about 1.15am as my housemates and I were walking home...I say walking, I mean one was chowing down on some falafel and the other two were chasing each other down the highstreet with various shoes flying everywhere...a man offered me a ride in his little cycle buggy rickshaw thing. I definitely didn't want a ride but I did stop for a little chat with him as he was friendly and bored and probably a bit cold. By this point I had my flower garland back on my head, and he said he quite liked it. So, in the spirit of the fringe, and giving things away that make you look like a hippy knobhead, I said he could have it. He declined initially but I insisted (as any good present giver does) and he agreed to take it.
But THEN, then...yes, because things usually happy in a continuous motion when time is involved, he said he was going to give it away to someone else. Someone with long hair. Someone who would also pass it on so that our little flower garland could travel the world making people happy. I imagine it won't go overly far but I'm happy to be involved in something quite so meaningless and twee that, with a little bit of thought and effort, could be interpreted as something beautiful and lacking in today's modern society.
I am a little bit worried that when I see the original waiters today they will not be so understanding - I'm slightly concerned they might just see it as 'the miserable cow gave away our present to her'. Which is true, it was floral, I am not, I did not want it therefore. But it was about more than that at the time and that's the important thing. If anybody asks. It actually wan't important at all in any way.
So, what I'm actually doing right now is sitting on the floor waiting for some film people to come by and turn me into the next Lindsay Lohan. Lindsay and I have a lot in common - erm, we're both slightly nuts on a good day and have terrible hair if left to our own devices. We differ where I obey the law and don't flash my lady garden at unsuspecting people. Well, not very often anyway.
These people are from Cambridge University and are making a documentary on the lives of people at the fringe. What they are about to discover is that the lives of people at the fringe are necessarily very boring in the mornings. If they were making a documentary on the lives of fringe people after 11pm it would be fairly interesting and anecdotal. But really all we do in the morning is go and bother people with wet flyers and worry that we are not dramatic enough to catch the attention of the fickle masses on the mile.
Unless that's just what it's like when you're a lowly free fringe performer that no one knows about? Maybe when you're super famous and important and have people to flyer for you it's all about sitting in an entirely leather room snorting cocaine and laughing at your own jokes. It's ok to laugh at your own jokes when you're famous because the chances are you haven't written them yourself. When I'm super famous and hilarious I'm going to get my Edinburgh accommodation at the zoo. Just get right in there with the creatures and then my documentary would be wild!
The crew would turn up and I'd be squatting amongst the penguins, I'd turn (probably over my left shoulder) and just call out;
"Be with you in a minute guys, I'm just hanging with Rocko - he's this big one on the left."
Then the film crew would know they were onto some absolute gold and I would just smile to myself and think "Ah, I'm so cool."
Then Rocko and I would come over, in our own time, and offer them tea and sardines. Rocko would get a bit sniffy about the sardines because he's always pretty hungry in the mornings and he loathes giving them away, but I'm like 'Come on Rocko, we need these guys to paint us in a good light' and he'd agree eventually.
So, we're all sat around and the lead film guy says to me 'So, Laura, is it ok if I call you Laura?' For a second I'm confused as to what else he would call me, so I decide to test it out. "Don't push your luck, punk, of course you can't" He scrabbles around for an alternative to my given name and Rocko pipes up - "What about James?" and we all agree I can be called James for the purposes of the conversation.
They ask me all kinds of questions like "Why do you live in a zoo when you come to Edinburgh?" And I say "Because people can be fickle, but animals are true. As long as you feed them." And to prove my point I give Rocko a fish and he tries to mate with my arm.
The documentary is so rock and roll that it never gets aired, because the camera man gets eaten when we go and visit Spider and Steve the tigers. But for those of us that were there we know it happened, and we know it was good.
But today's filming is probably not going to be terribly interesting. But if you ever want the second one to happen we're going to have to start finding reasons for people to love me and someone to tell everyone about it...