Halfway through the bin strike this is how the city looks.  The refuse workers are amongst the most valuable and least valued of the city's employees and in my opinion should be given what they asked for if not more.  The well-heeled burghers of Edinburgh can afford it.  But am I wrong in believing that the Council said they had a contingency plan that would keep the streets clean?  No matter.  The mess is not self-generated nor the fault of the council nor of aliens from outer space.  It's made by the city's residents and visitors.  Don't the residents have the wit to take litter home with them and keep it there till the strike is over?  Don't they care what the place looks like?  Obviously not.  Harder for visitors but even they could take litter back to their hotels, B&Bs or rented flats.

I don't know how they are doing it but the Book Festival are keeping the Art College grounds litter free.  There's a lesson there.  Swayed by the enthusiastic advocacy of Katherine Rundell I bought her biography of the poet John Donne and have swiftly read it. Not quite so carried away by the book itself though if I ever look at his poetry again I may find it has cast some light.

Thomas Harding and Kojo Koram did a double act discussing their books White Debt and Uncommon Wealth.  Both could be called exposés of British colonial history.  Even though we have increasing knowledge of our past there is still a lot to learn especially of its relationship to the present which is what Koram's book in particular aims to do.

Away from the festivals I went to see the streamed to cinemas play Prima Facie.  In it Jodie Comer gives a brilliant performance as an ace defence barrister specialising in sexual assault cases for whom the tables are turned.

I also went to the dentist for my twice yearly check-up.  My teeth are ok but it's costing more to learn that.

Back at the Book Festival I found myself in a position that I had occupied four years ago when I went to an event featuring an author I'd never heard of talking about books I'd never read and realised that everyone else was an adoring fan with an intimate knowledge of the oeuvre.  Then it was Lindsey Davis and her detective stories set in ancient Rome.  Now it was Abir Mukherjee and his detective stories set in the later years of the British Raj in India.  Then I bought the first book in the series, enjoyed it well enough but didn't proceed to the second.  Now I've bought the first book in the series, A Rising Man, and we'll see how it goes.  The event was fun though.  Mukherjee, a west coast Scot, and Denise Mina, one of our queens of crime fiction and another west coaster, kept us entertained with wit and humour.

Not so entertaining was as british as a watermelon.  I struggled to think of what to say about it, then I read Mark Fisher's review and he says it all.

The programme for When You Walk Over My Grave tells you that the text was written in blood.  This turns out to be an untruth as is much of Sergio Blanco's play.  It is said to be a work of autofiction in which I think the fiction much outweighs the autobiograpy.  I certainly hope so.  It was funny, more chuckle than belly laugh, and intriguing in the way it dipped in and out of the action of the story and a discussion of the writing of the story.  The story itself is that Sergio has decided to commit suicide in one of those discreet Swiss clinics and have his body sent to London to give pleasure to a young necrophiliac.  Wikipedia doesn't seem to have caught up with him but you can learn a little bit about the man and his works here.     

After that show I went off to meet Claire for Night Dances.  The Irish Times declared on some occasion, perhaps after a pint or two of Guiness, ‘Raucous, loud, sweaty… a thrilling hour of relentless dancing and music’  It was certainly loud, so loud that we were given earplugs as we went in. Could they not just have turned the volume down?  It was relentless and I'm sure the dancers were sweaty but I didn't find it thrilling. It lacked anything in the way of narrative or development of ideas and had no emotional content that I could discern.  The dancing had very little grace or precision.  Turning to the Guardian review I see that I have missed the point.

In talking about his book Born in Blackness, Howard W French makes a very powerful case for the Atlantic slave trade having been the fount and source of our modern world.  The wealth generated in countries (the white ones that is) that carried on the trade he argues facilitated the development of industry and the pursuit of knowledge that led us to where we are today.  I look forward to reading the book once it comes out in paperback when it won't be quite so pricey.

French contributed with Dipo Faloyin and Tsitsi Dangarembga to a Book Festival session called "Africa's Rich Diversity" that went well beyond discussion of slavery.  The starting point of their conversation was the need to get beyond the stereotypical views of Africa that tend to be prevalent in European and American minds. It's not all poverty or safaris.  They reminded us that the national boundaries within Africa are a colonial invention that paid no heed to the coherence of the pre-existing communities.  They rejected the "white saviour" attitude that colours some peope's idea and the view that westerners know what's best for the inhabitants of "the dark continent".  Perhaps most interestingly they pointed out that China has crept in where westerners couldn't be bothered to tread.  We're bothered about that situation now though. Dipo's book Africa is not a Country will be out in paperback next year if like me you don't want to stump up for a hardback.  No room on the bookcase anyway.  Tsitsi's book of essays Black and Female is a hardback that won't take up too much room and is correspondingly inexpensive.

You Know We Belong Together is a warm, poignant and touching play that celebrates the everyday lives of people with Down's syndrome.  The writer and main actor, Julia Hales, has Down's syndrome and has long held an ambition to perform in the Australian soap Home and Away. The play is performed in a mock-up of the soap's Summer Bay diner and Julia performs with people on stage though a number of the cast had to cry off because of Covid.  She introduces filmed interviews with friends who also have Down's and who delight us with their humour and determination to be themselves and be independent and to live and most especially love.

My one and only black tied orchestral concert was given by the Helsinki Philharmonic.   They started with Vista by a living Finn, Kajia Saariaho.  It was loud, fast, shrill, cold and slightly terrifying.  Looking her up on Wikipedia I'm not surprised to see her connection to IRCAM.   The second piece was Tapiola by Sibelius. This wasn't terrifying but it's a pretty dark piece and not likely to be one of my desert island discs.  Finally we heard the Piano Concerto 'Gran Toccata' by the Swiss composer Dieter Ammann.  This is very lively. Wild might be a better adjective.  I enjoyed it.  It's on Youtube if you've half an hour to give it a shot.  Or you can listen here to the same soloist and forces as played it in the Usher Hall and if you like buy a recording.