It's quite easy to assume that anyone who does a comedy show about God is going to be derogatory towards religious people. That it will bully the poor figure and poke holes in sundry paper-thin arguments based on naught but faith and old books.
The problem is this: you have chosen as your outdoor concert space the area immediately below my bedroom window. Therefore I have been awoken for the past several days by bagpipes, commencing with militaristic regularity at 9:00 am.
If you've never been to the Fringe, let me paint a little picture: imagine being an athlete headed for Olympics, except instead of training for the big event with daily exercise and drills, you down BLT triples, sleep weird hours, and drink like a sailor to cope with stress.
I don't want to brag, but I am incredible at packing suitcases. I have some helpful things to share with audience members, or, gulp, reviewers and critics who will be headed to Edinburgh this August for the controlled chaos that is the Festival Fringe.
Sitting up front and watching the pilot fly this Cessna gave me the illusion of co-piloting, but I preferred watching the panorama unfold below: mountains to the west, and lochs and rivers contrasting with green hillsides.