trendpreneur

I realised a few days ago (but have only just got around to blogging, thanks to a new vow to spend time doing ‘important but not urgent‘ stuff every day) that one of the reasons I love living in Edinburgh at this time of year is to do with Cambridge.

No, really. Even beyond the “it’s-not-Cambridge” aspect!

I adore May Balls. Where else can you happily spend a month’s food budget on a ticket, dress up in a poncy overpriced down with a dapper chap in a tux on your arm, and party for nine glorious hours of decadence? It’s like a kid’s realisation of the ideal grown-up party — even better than the ideal wedding, since there’s none of that legally-binding nonsense, and not that many people end up crying.

(For the uninitiated, a May Ball is a formal end-of-year party, typically held in June; elsewhere in the year they’re called Snow or Spring Balls).

The best thing about the May Ball ‘experience’, for me, was during my second year when I was part of the Ball Committee. We basically spent over a year planning and executing our event — and there are quite a few parallels to startup life to be drawn, but those anecdotes can wait. Things went wrong (the Fun Lovin’ Criminals turned up but refused to play; my role on the committee was publicist. Uh oh.) and things went well.

To get to my somewhat circuitous point, what I loved seeing every year, as I lived in College, was the transformation that happened every May Week. (Again, in June.) The beautiful old buildings featured in so many postcards and tours suddenly got reborn, with lighting and decoration, with sets and furniture, with marquees and fairgrounds and walking performers.

Every year, the set design guys came up with something new, and every year it was amazing to watch the beauty of old, time-worn stone peep out from the dazzling lights. It was like living in a set, especially when I practically lived inside the Ball area in my third year. And yet, on the night — despite having watched everything go up, despite knowing exactly what was going to happen, despite having planned the damn thing for a year — it was like a brand new place. Totally magical.

Living in Edinburgh during July and August is like that, only more so. Venues pop out of nowhere. Inflatable cows appear in a square you usually see full of skateboarders. Parks and courtyards become pubs and stages. The Royal Mile goes from hosting a throng of tourists to… a bigger throng of tourists. Hell, even my street starts sporting some snazzy new flowerboxes!

Yes, the influx of people is annoying to my ‘local’ eyes. Yes, it’s a pain having to elbow through people to get to work, having to queue for five times as long as usual everywhere, having to beat off flyerers with a glare. But for me, only a resident for eighteen months, I can almost let it all go and just focus on the magic. Almost.