15/8 The longest day

Saturday saw my earliest start of the Festival,
commissioned to awaken a most surprised gentleman
with orange juice, toast and a Fringe programme at
an ungodly hour. Then it was directly from this
apartment to another nearby, where I tidied, swept
and washed for a delightful theatre company, before
rushing to meet a scientist who wished to interview
Mr. Newsam and myself about surveying and Science
Butlers. The Hub proved most unhelpful in this regard,
but the staff at the Quaker Meeting House could not
have been more accommodating, for which I thank them
profusely. By this time, the steady morning drizzle
had eased and, having completed a delivery on behalf
of the Fringe Society, we made full use of the sunshine
to measure a further five venues with an alacrity that
stemmed from our developed confidence in using this
previously alien apparatus. I then took the opportunity
to see a couple of shows. The first was a moving
biographical piece at Augustine's which left me
emotional to the extent that I felt compelled to buy a
gentleman's cider and cigarettes for him on the street
outside the venue. Later, after serving cocoa for one
last time, I met up with Mr. Hopkins, who had barged
his way through the tattoo crowds with his date, and
we went to see a late-night offering which we agreed
was perhaps the worst show that we had ever seen. Mr.
Hopkins was most angry as we returned to our palatial
accommodation, threatening in his wrath to pen a
stiff missive of disgust - a sobering end to a long
and varied day. Fletcher the Butler