The Fringe Has Landed And So Has The Rain

He made eye contact once, at the top of the street. That was the mistake. By the bottom he was carrying invitations to a one-woman show about grief, an improvised musical, and something described only as 'immersive'.

The review called the show 'ninety minutes I will be discussing with a professional'. He printed it in forty-point type across the poster. Ticket sales tripled overnight, which everyone agrees is the funniest possible outcome and also the review's fault.

It began in sunshine. By the interval a wind had come off the Forth carrying rain sideways. The audience, to its enormous credit, did not move. A man in the third row was in shorts throughout and appeared, if anything, comfortable.

The going rate has gone somewhere absurd. He has moved in with his mum in Falkirk, is sleeping in a room with a Motherwell poster from 2004, and describes himself, without irony, as a landlord.