All roads lead to central Edinburgh at this time of the year, I suppose, but mine was paved with considerable apprehension. This is not an easy city to drive a car into, even able-bodied, even on a cold Monday night in November when tourists have fled and students have retreated to their books. But to do so in August, when it hosts the teeming madness of the festival . . . well, you must be joking.
Even with a blue badge, the task of finding somewhere to park among medieval wynds, steep hills, cobbles and over-crowded pavements was not for the faint-hearted.
We eventually found a stretch of empty single yellow line near the bottom of Blackfriars Street. The spot would be normally okay with a blue badge, but could we risk it? Might the council have imposed special restrictions in August, meaning the car could be uplifted?
Time was short. We dithered. My friend saw an approaching traffic warden and went to meet him, her palms out, throwing us at his mercy. I know Edinburgh wardens; I waited behind the wheel with thin hope.
“No problem. You are safe to leave it there,” he said. He even smiled. It felt like winning the lottery — or at least what I imagine that feels like.
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Nudge, nudge
All this was pertinent to the task in hand. I was a judge for the inaugural Euan’s Guide Awards for Accessibility at the Edinburgh Fringe. The charity, which exists to review and disseminate disabled access across the UK, wants to start rewarding those who try hardest.
As the fringe features more than 3,000 shows, crammed into every available third-storey back room, up spiral stairs or down ancient basements, nobody expects things to be perfect. To be honest, Edinburgh would have to be razed, its hills flattened and its cobbles removed to make it a fully accessible festival city. Euan’s Guide is just indulging in some clever nudging; and indeed it’s a good year to launch awards, for there are a plethora of shows about disability, inclusion and isolation.
The £1,000 top prize — which took in the accessibility of a venue and the way a performance reached out to the disabled — went to The Solid Life of Sugar Water at the Pleasance Dome in Bristo Square. The hit show features disabled actors, though their performance were so electrifying that audiences hardly noticed.
The award for best accessible venue went to the dance performance Give Me Reason to Live at Dance Base, in Grassmarket, although it should also perhaps have won Most Depressing Title Ever. More happily, there was plenty of pay-what-you-want-comedy such as Abnormally Funny People, Romina Puma’s Not Disabled . . . Enough! and Actual Size, by restricted growth performer Tanyalee Davis.
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Crystal clear
My favourite signage belonged to Lou Conran, a woman with a crystal ball in a (sadly non-accessible) gypsy caravan. “Small medium at large”, it said.
Kindness itself
That evening, after the judging, and partial death by cobbles, I completed my ultimate kindness-to-bewildered-cripples test of the city. Inadvertently, I drove the wrong way down a tight one-way system — and met a taxi. Ah, Edinburgh’s taxi drivers — never difficult to distinguish from a ray of sunshine, but especially so during late August.
We inched past. Lowered our windows. He opened his mouth, fury and exasperation writ large. My palms, were they able to leave the hand controls, would have been extended in grovelling submission. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise,” I ululated. “Please forgive me.”
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He rearranged his face, took a deep breath. Possibly saw the wheelchair symbol. “Just be more careful,” he said through clenched teeth.
That, I reflected, was the Edinburgh equivalent of: “Don’t worry. Done it myself. Have a nice day.”