In case it wasn’t obvious, I’m one of those bourgeois prats who heads to the Edinburgh Fringe every year. I rush about between improv and worthy plays, telling everyone I pass that they haven’t had a complete Fringe experience until they’ve sat inescapable inches away from a 6th form drama class gurning out an inept diatribe against the woes of social media.
This year I lay down in a pitch-black converted cargo container while binaural headphones convinced me I was in a coma, watched Gamergate get explained to a room full of middle-aged people, and learnt just how fucked the oceans are. Apart from that, I had a very good time.
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