Thursday 14th August 2008

I decided today to flyer outside the Book Festival in Charlotte Square; bookish types are bound to love Burns I thought. You know the kind; glasses, grey hair, wear flat shoes and ride bikes-well as far as I could tell with all the bikes chained to the railings outside Charlotte Square Gardens. I know that description of a book festival attendee is just as sweeping a generalisation as saying, for example, that all Scots drink Irn Bru’…but it’ll do for now.

I got all dressed up in my period underwear..stays and chemise and a long black skirt, my hair tucked up into the cap I wear for Agnes Broun( it has lush lace framing the face..I thought the lush lace would draw the crowds if the cleavage didn’t). So I took my place at the gate of the Book Festival, and starting pitching my show to all who entered. At one point I stepped on to the cobbles just beyond the entrance and a nasal, cracked voice barked, ‘Yer no allowed in ‘er! And while yer at it, dinna walk in front o’ me, yiv done it ‘hree times already!’The dulcit tones of the ‘Big Issue’ seller blasted my ears.

Though there was no square meter mapped out on the pavement indicating his patch, I was obviously tresspassing and that ‘Wis just no on’. Despite pleasantly replying that I was unaware of a) not being allowed beyond the railings of the gates to the book festival while flyering and b) that this was his patch for selling his magazine, he unpleasantly refused to be understanding. I thought it best to desist and ignore him.

On I went plugging my show. I engaged people with first, a smile then a pleasant hello and then hit them with my unique selling point: THE ONLY SHOW ABOUT BURNS IN THE FESTIVAL. People are so intruiging. Some actively avoided any eye contact so that they could be spared the blurb and the piece of paper, but others, stopped and chatted. I met a lovely American woman. She wore a beret on her head and a shawl around her shoulders, she had metallic grey hair, lovely eyes: an attractive woman in her fifties. She said she loved Burns, and so did her husband. She took my flyer with grace. Another lady from Alloway, just up from where the Bard was born, took my flyer and said she’d been looking for something to fill an hour before the tatoo that night. Then there were the two Scottish Asian women, munching on their lunch, bedecked in their bright sari’s and gold jewellery. I said they were just the kind of women whom I’d love to see going to my show, though I did warn them about the sweary words, ‘Och,’ said the younger one, ‘You should hear the language o’ oor husbands!’

Anyway, tonight the American lady and the woman from Alloway were both in the audience along with another couple who had taken the flyer this afternoon. The wee Asian women didn’t show, but still I was pleased I’d done my bit to boost the bums on seats . We had a total of about 24; when I had checked earlier the total had been seven. Result I think!