Week 9

The Week 9 tour diary is up!

But...no way. That would be too much of a coincidence, especially considering I had been reading a book on coincidences at the time. The feeling boiled up inside until I couldn't hold it down anymore and it burst out with a "Nyaaaaaah!" and I ran across the road, Frogger-ing around various vehicles on the way...

find out what ryan is talking about here

Week Nine

The following background material will be required in order for this week's entry to make any sense whatsoever:

In our past two years' visits to the Edinburgh Fringe, we have often visited a Moroccan restaurant called "Taste of Casablanca".
"Taste of Casablanca" is run by a quirky Moroccan man, who is happy if we call him "Mohammed". This is not actually his name.
Whenever we ate at "Taste of Casablanca" it was clear that Mohammed was the only person working there. He would greet you at the door, show to you your table, take your orders for drinks and food, cook everything, serve it to you, and then clean up afterwards. The food was bloody amazing.
It is general knowledge that Mohammed also runs a junk shop somewhere else in the city. He worked there until 5pm every day, and then worked at the restaurant all night.
Last year Mohammed told us that, sadly, he would have to close down the restaurant before the 2004 Fringe came around. His partner in crime at the restaurant had to leave to pursue other job opportunities. This, in conjunction with slow business, meant it was hard to keep both shops running.
Okay, the background's out of the way now. Here's the story.

When we arrived in Edinburgh we dropped our bags at our accomodation, and then met everyone outside to head down to the Spiegeltent. While waiting for everyone to get their collective shit together, I noticed a shop across the street called "Le Chariot Express". We have a song called "The Chariot". I said to the others, "Wouldn't it be cool if the Casablanca guy worked there?" This was greeted with expressions of doubt, queries as to how I could leap to such a wild conclusion, and maybe even a little derision on the side. We continued waiting.

But it was killing me. I had to know.

But...no way. That would be too much of a coincidence, especially considering I had been reading a book on coincidences at the time. The feeling boiled up inside until I couldn't hold it down anymore and it burst out with a "Nyaaaaaah!" and I ran across the road, Frogger-ing around various vehicles on the way.

I stepped in, past the old shoes and statues of snakes, and made my way up the stairs to the counter. Guess who was sitting there.

YEEEEAAAAHHH!! This actually came out loud. Mohammed must have wondered why I felt so victorious in finding his shop. But he didn't flinch. I managed to put together, amid the excitment, the words, "We're the band from Australia...?" A huge smile suddenly broke out across his face, and straight away he asked, "Is the girl with you?" He was talking about our manager, Correne. She was always the favourite. I nodded, ran outside, nearly tripping on a fifteen-quid plastic Foosball table, and returned, agape, to the rest of the band.

Their initial annoyance that I was holding up the procession quickly subsided. Ollie bought an old Selmer speaker box, and Harry was tempted by a singing lobster.

Next week: our most fringe experience at the Fringe.