Queues, queues, queues

Rebecca and Heather clocked up nearly half a day of queuing between them today. In fact if they were girl guides they would now have a neat triangular badge with a picture of stick people standing in a line to sew onto their starched blue uniform. If queuing was an act of war, they would have won some sort of decorative cross complete with something suitably Latin about standing patiently together.

Yes, they went to the pitch our show to THE PRESS. This is where two company members spend hours in a queue, pitching their show to potential reviewers, because, let’s face it, that’s what it’s all about. We all want that 5 star review that catapults us from the debt that we start Edinburgh with to the riches of a tour or an agent or packed houses where punters sell their children in order to get tickets.

The most coveted reviews are those one must stand in the queue longest for so there they stand in an echo-y room, surrounded by students in elaborate fancy dress, desperate producers clutching press releases, oh, and two men in fly costumes. 

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