I love Edinburgh. I love the International festival. I love the Science Festival. And most of all I love the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. For more than two decades I’ve raced around the city each August, seeking out the Next Big Thing. Laughing, crying, marvelling, and occasionally searching for an inconspicuous way to leave an excruciatingly bad show before my eyeballs melt, I have rejoiced in every mad second.
And while I can never claim to be as effortlessly cool as the hipsters and artistes, I have generally felt part of the movement, part of the diverse group where all comers are welcome, no matter your colour, creed or taste in orange trousers. This year is different. This year I am not skipping between shows, dashing between basement bars or taking the Scotsman steps two at a time.
This year I find myself moving conspicuously slowly, relying on crutches and praying the boisterous group of Italian students with their faces painted see me before they bowl me over in their slightly self-centred exuberance. This is very different. It seems there is one group that historic and dynamic Edinburgh does not welcome as readily as the others -those with a physical disability. Fortunately, mine is temporary. Bad luck and bad joints have resulted in me needing surgery that was described more as carpentry than surgery. My right leg could be requisitioned in a wartime shortage to provide enough metal to build a warship. My titanium scaffolding and new metal and ceramic hip joint will provide entertainment or bewilderment for every airport security guard with the misfortune to put me through a body scanner. But in time I should be able to negotiate Edinburgh’s closes and cobbles without help, and with luck, next year I will be able to enjoy the festival in the way I have always done: at top speed. This is clearly not the case for everyone. Many people will always have the need to rely on their crutches or wheelchairs or wits. And only now do I realise just how scary and difficult that must be.
I always knew Edinburgh’s cobbled streets and uneven pavements were a bit tricky to negotiate in heels after too many gins, but it is only now that the challenges it causes those with limited mobility really dawns on me.
Many venues do their level best to provide level access. (sorry). Modern venues such as the EICC and the Museum of Scotland have been designed with the needs of those with a physical disability in mind. Ramps, lifts and accessible toilets and auditoriums are joyfully and conspicuously present, meaning we can all enjoy access to the cultural delights and disasters on offer. Temporary venues such as the tented village at Charlotte Square which house the Edinburgh International Book Festival thoughtfully make access easy for all abilities. The drivers on our well-adapted local buses (usually) consider the needs of the wobbly and the wheelchair user with a saintly patience.
But so much of our beautiful, historic city was built when toilet facilities weren’t deemed necessary for women, let alone folks with a disability. The worn steps that have seen the passing of the feet of Robert Louis Stevenson and Burke and Hare aren’t so easy for those whose feet are made of carbon fibre. So many of those dark, sweaty, atmospheric basements where myself and a small audience have been entranced or mystified are now just not accessible to me and many others. Wet stairs and inebriated crowds now fill me with abject terror that no seemingly endless student performance of a Sartre play could muster.
In a previous year I chatted with two young men in sporty wheelchairs leaving the City Art Centre about the delightful art we had all enjoyed. Their joi- de -vivre and rejection of offers of help as they proceeded up Market Street was short-lived. The steep and wonky street proved too much for their nippy but unstable wheelchairs and they both took spectacular tumbles. And while many jolly passers- by stepped up the plate to right them and send them on their merry way, I didn’t realise just how much resilience it takes to even attempt to participate in the Edinburgh Festivals when walking is difficult or just not possible.
So, to those who rely on sticks, crutches, wheelchairs or burly friends to help you negotiate the city, I salute your bravery. And to the hipsters, I urge you to look out for those of us who are not so frisky on our pins as you are. Take a moment to check whether you are helping or hindering those around you as you have fun. Organisers, remember it is your legal responsibility to go the extra mile to make your venue or event as accessable as it possibly can be. And performers, if I previously wished you success in show by urging you to “break a leg”, don’t be offended or superstitious if I stop using what now seems an unfortunate turn of phrase. So, festival people; -have fun and break a leg. Or maybe don’t. It makes things tricky.