An Edinburgh Festival Diary (with apologies to Pepys)

577735_396656340379960_182273187_nUp early from my fine apartments in the Ramsey Gardens and a brisk morning walk, passing of Boswell’s close, upon the Royal Mile and to the Presbyterian Church of St. Augustine wherein a pretty Polish wench served unto me a freshly baked bread roll of bacon and the eggs whereupon I dallied in the pleasant gardens of the noble church and took of my breakfast and checketh upon my emails.
Then unto the underbelly by way of the terrace that graces the curve of the fine street that descendeth to the grassmarket to see of the players performing of a tale of dark revenge against a noble family that hath by poor judgement caused to a poor and desperate girl, played prettily by a handsome young wench, a great grief. They talk of an evil place wherein the grief was caused, by name of Beeston and I would greatly fear to go unto that place.   After to the University to see of a comik piece upon the political parties that do vex the publick so. The player there, one Forde by name, claimeth knowledge of the politicks of the world by virtue of having tarried in Nottingham. Know I well the politicks of that miserable city and know I well that it never was so noted for its humour nor yet for the quality of its civic principles. And Forde doth well reflect this aspect of the most unfortunate place. Me thinks it may of sounded with wit upon the tavern table, with sack and claret there partaken off, but it transfereth not well to the comik stage. Even doth Forde mock the great Galloway, saying of him that he sayeth of Forde that he be a supporter of great wars and haveth gore upon his hands. But this not be wit, for tis true TIS THEIR FUCKINGETH FAULT. Yet say I this, I do yet concede that he maketh one or two quips of the Miliband that were of quality: yet may the mob not yet get to the thinking that time for jesting of this most despairing fellow is long past the hour. It sufficed me for a lazy hour but left me believingeth this Forde to be but a provincial player seeking his greater fortune withouteth those witty skills to so doeth. And then to the Ushers hall to hear sweet music of the choirs praising to our Lorde I being mightily pleased and it lifteth my heart and thought I that amongst those noble singers of such sweet harmonies there be but not one single soul that would have supporteth the wars of the player Forde.
And so to bed.

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