In a small, dark room in the depths of Banshee Labyrinth, a gothic-looking venue just off Cowgate in Edinburgh, 11 people cheer and clap as I thank them profusely for spending the past hour with me. My backdrop is a red and white no-smoking sign and two coffin-shaped blackboards with drinks offers scrawled on them in chalk, and the portcullis-style door offers little soundproofing from inquisitive festivalgoers peering in and wondering aloud whether to take one of the 40 seats – but the setting is perfect for my first ever Edinburgh Fringe show.
As soon as I finish the last song and receive warm applause, I switch almost immediately from an empowered 38-year-old woman who’s just belted out 4 Non Blondes to a timid toddler grinning awkwardly and staring at her feet – an image perhaps compounded by my final outfit choice of flowery dungarees.
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