In a small, hot room on the second floor of a sprawling nightclub in central Edinburgh, a long-haired man in his underpants is gyrating in an unfortunate woman’s face. Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy” is playing over the PA. The man is also halfway through a heartfelt monologue about how much he misses his estranged son, whose onesie hangs on the stage.

It’s the kind of scene you’ll find in countless back rooms across Edinburgh during August, as the city falls into full festival mode and every available space is filled with entertainment of every kind.

In the space of 48 hours I’ve seen a vision of Nigel Farage having sex with Margaret Thatcher, a woman singing Edith Piaf singing Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” and a euthanasia doctor performing a mock assisted suicide. I’ve seen mind-bending MC Escher lithographs and the city’s Usher Hall lit up by the team that visualised the opening of the London Olympics. The only thing I’ve barely seen is my bed. Read more…

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