The Royal family

It’s 9.50am. At the end of one of the Royal Mile’s snaking little side streets a crowd of 100-odd people chatting, smoking, drinking coffee, stretching and eyeing up the ominous black clouds overhead has gathered.

Most people seem to know each other, though a few newcomers hover at the periphery clutching speakers, whips, juggling batons, hoops, unicycles, ukuleles. One man starts serenading another. It’s his birthday.

In ten minutes’ time, Andy Meldrum, the Fringe’s street events manager, will commence the draw to select the lucky circus and street artists who’ll bag a 45-minute slot performing to a potentially lucrative, four-figure audience on Edinburgh’s Royal Mile.

“In terms of audience numbers, we had over one million walk the High Street last year,” says Andy later on. “We have over 250 shows a day, more than 5,000 over the three weeks. We get the biggest and best audiences in the world. We have the best street performers in the world too. Edinburgh audiences get street performance, they know when to clap, they understand they need to put money in the hat, they know the rules.”

Since RBS hit tough times, Virgin Money, as you probably won’t have failed to notice, has taken over as title sponsor and oversee the various mini-stages and performance ports while Andy and his team work with them, the council and the emergency services to ensure the performers are looked after and the audiences get a safe, enjoyable experience too.

“There are five circus spots, four busker points, three stages as well as a bunch of balloon, statue and other performing areas. Anybody can perform. They’re all treated the same. It’s the spirit of the Fringe and that’s what makes it so cool. All we ask is that people pick a spot that’s suitable for their act.”

A few years ago, the Fringe also began asking street performers to pay for the privilege. It didn’t go down well. Vince, a performer whose act involves “unicycles, machetes, fire whips and a lot of talking” is philosophical about any potential conflict,

however: “In Covent Garden we organise it without the guys in red jackets. They tried to change it and start charging here, but we argued against it. All you need is insurance, and a show. It’s the most honest job going. If you’re good, you get paid. If you’re not, you don’t.”

Understandably, the performers, many of whom don’t pay more than a £30 admin fee for their pitch, are sensitive about their Edinburgh income, though Andy claims that on a good day, "You can make serious money.”

Back at the draw, Toronto’s Stick Man is the first act to be pulled out. He’s gone for the prime slot of 3pm in Parliament Square to unleash “chainsaws, a bed of nails and some stick-throwing.”

Joe May is another lithe, loose-limbed performer hoping to hear his name called out soon: “We bring entertainment to people who can’t afford it. The street team solves disputes, keeps it fair, plus they own the street… so what are you going to do?”

Eventually, Joe gets his slot. In fact today, after a disastrous run of audience-vanquishing bad weather, everyone gets one. Some even get a second. The weekend ahead is the busiest of the Fringe so Andy gives a short speech about health, safety and crowd-control before disappearing to bash out the programme (published online within minutes) for the day.

The buzz on the High Street is beginning to build. Fringe acts (who all bagged their free slots two weeks before the Fringe began) get 20 minutes of stage time. Six-part all-female a capella ground The Oxford Belles let rip with the crowd-pleasing 'It’s Raining Men'; there’s a mournful call-to-arms by the cast of The Curse of Macbeth; a man balances on the shoulders of two passers-by and prepares to do something painful-looking with a giant unicycle; a bunch of teens strip to their underwear and start squaking; a man walks about with a TV for a head; there are painted faces, tricks, statues, songs, dances and flyers. Lots of flyers.

Andy misses our lunchtime rendezvous (“Someone broke a leg. I had to sort it out. Usual kind of thing”) but we find a quiet few minutes early afternoon.

“We keep things ticking over really,” he says, “We don’t make the Fringe, we just tidy up around the edges. We’re trying to do more by having all our schedules up online, with QR codes providing full listings to smartphone and internet users.

“This year, we’re trying to get some cash out of the performers—about three grand— so we can justify doing all this stuff; but really it’s about getting a commitment from people so they turn up, but it also helps me push to make things better.”

He’s certainly getting there. The chaos of street theatre on The Mound (and The Jungle, for those that remember it) is long forgotten. These days, the Royal Mile is a slickly-run venue in its own right.

“It used to be packed down at The Mound, but it was great. The performers organised it themselves but it just go too manic – people could injure themselves and there wouldn’t be anyone to stop it or get medical help.

“The best thing about it though, is that it’s all free. the Fringe Cavalcade isn’t happening this year, Fringe Sunday isn’t happening… the street performances provide something for everyone. And some acts are just spectacular. This guy called Miguel turned up yesterday, not speaking a word of English and registered his ten-minute show—which is a difficult one to schedule—but we squeezed him in. He does this thing with fire sticks and acrobatics and it was incredible, it came out of nowhere. You never know who’s going to turn up. Apparently, Eric Clapton has busked before and Alastair Campbell is supposedly coming down this year with his bagpipes.”

Later that night, Andy finally clocks out just before 10pm. It’s been a long, whirlwind day. An entire arts and craft market has been installed, performers have been diplomatically switched around, there’ve been a couple more broken arms and poor Miguel nearly got mown down by a street-sweeper.

“But it’s worth it. Earlier, I took a break, took my jacket and radio off and went incognito; I saw this beautifully simple Charlie Chaplin show. It was lovely. I’m very lucky.”

We say goodbye until, way beyond bedtime, I get another excitable phonecall: “Oh! I nearly forgot! Yesterday, a man pre-arranged with one of our street artists, Shaun, to draw him and his girlfriend. In the picture, he’s proposing to her. When the picture was done, he asked her to marry him. She said yes too!”

Looking for real drama at this year’s Fringe? It’s out on the street.