by Cameryn Moore
It has taken me a little while to find my Fringe legs at the beginning of my tour, Fringe in the UK being nothing like Fringe in North America. Here in Brighton there are too many venues, too spread out. There are no queues to flyer, no publicly accessible beer gardens to troll, no late-night Fringe cabarets that everyone attends to wind down from the day and/or pick people up. This is not how Fringe happens over here, and I forgot that, or didn’t know it, didn’t know that possibly every other Fringe in the UK feels pretty much like Edinburgh, on a much smaller scale.
Hell, I forgot a whole host of things: half-and-half is non-existent (whole milk has to do, single cream just goes all clotty); people notice my accent over here, and like it; buses are frequent and on time; I will seriously die in front of a car if I don’t look both ways twice before jaywalking; the bacon here is delicious; audiences are much less raucous in their laughter during theatre, even if they are really enjoying it; cabs are expensive, but unfortunately necessary with all my shit.
What a relief: the accents are different, but the connection is all the same.