Things to do in Edinburgh when you're Ed

This year, Fringe favourite Edward Aczel is returning for his fifth festival with Edward Aczel Doesn't Exist. He's fairly set in his ways is Edward. He gets up at midday, watches TV, eats lunch, potters around, does a show, eats dinner and goes to bed.

Today though, things are a little different. It’s 10am and he is standing at the foot of Arthur’s Seat flying a homemade kite. Because we've asked him to. Kitted out in corduroy trousers, a wonky jacket (he's done the buttons up wrong) and wearing an expression of manic intensity, he attempts a run up with said kite, but it smacks him in the face. "I FEEL ALIVE!" he yells. After this, through a series of handpicked "fun" activities and jollies around Edinburgh, we're atempting to bring a little joy to Aczel's world; and prove he does exist after all.

"Do you want to have a go with this one?" asks Justin, one of the professionals manipulating the more serious looking kites. Aczel tugs the ropes and promptly runs it into the ground. "I think I'm moving to a higher plane," he says, trying once more with the crêpe paper kite, which refuses to remain airborne, "even if my kite isn't."

Perhaps it’s time for something less demanding. Packing up the kites, we walk to Ottavio, an ice-cream parlour on the Royal Mile, where Aczel requests a scoop of everything except Pistachio. Raspberry cheesecake, apple strudel, vanilla and chocolate fudge are piled into a waffle cone and speared with a Flake. "Can I eat it yet?" he asks, eyeing the dessert and looking seven years old. When asked whether this conjures any memories from his past, he thinks for a minute and spills ice-cream onto his jacket: "Not really." Good. So he didn’t like ice-cream as a child? “I did okay with it.” Hopefully the Museum of Childhood will better stir up some youthful zeal.

"I loved Action Man," he confides, sitting amid dolls, gollywogs and other politically incorrect toys of days gone by, "Oh, and trains... I had a Flying Dutchman.” He searches for the much-loved model but becomes sidetracked by Meccano, standing in front of the exhibit murmuring, "I love Meccano."

It's a poignant moment swiftly followed by a spot of glove puppetry in the interactive section. Ducking behind a theatre curtain, the performance is a beguiling, surreal shambles; similar to his standup style, but with more waggling animals. "Where are we off to next?" he asks, plucking out an Edwardian bonnet from the dressing up box. When told, he removes the bonnet. "The last time I went ice skating was 25 years ago and I fell over."

Meccano now a distant memory, he's quiet on the way to Murrayfield Ice Rink and, before changing into skating boots, stares at his feet:  "I'm not wearing adequate socks.” Upon being reassured, he then turns to the shoes, convinced they're different sizes. It's turns out he's tied one up tighter than the other. Out of excuses, Aczel plods towards the rink and steps out onto the ice. It's like watching a deer with no legs trying to walk. "This is unnatural," he says. Yes, but is he having fun?

"NO." Within minutes, though, he's clinging to the side, shouting something about gaining momentum and laughing explosively. There is little doubt ice skating is the highlight of the day so far. "I have coordination problems," he explains, wobbling into the middle of rink, "do you want me to dance around?" He is incapable of doing this, astutely pointing out “it’s too slippy”.

The atmosphere back to the city centre is one of jubilation. "Well I didn't fall over," he grins, "I really enjoyed that.“ After such adrenalin highs it's time to calm down a bit. With a facial. "I'm not the sort of person who gets facials," he points out, unnecessarily. "I did shave this morning, though." Disappearing behind the door of Haymarket-based salon Inside & Out, five minutes later he is lying down with his face wrapped in a towel. “It feels odd,” he observes after being exfoliated, “I am quite relaxed though.” Can he describe the experience in one word? “Tibet,” he says as a facemask is applied, and a slice of cucumber slides down his cheek, “I could be wrong about that but it’s just the way I’m feeling.” He eats a chocolate biscuit, and a few crumbs get stuck in the mask. He emerges from the room ten minutes later, fresh faced and interested to know if there’s a visible difference. “This is one of those things I really should do,” he peers into the mirror, “Will I ever again? Probably not. It felt like glue.”

On the way home we quickly nip into an amusement arcade to round off the day. “I’ve been lucky in life, as gambling never really floated my boat,” Aczel explains, fishing for loose change, “maybe this is the start of something.” It isn’t. After twenty minutes of consistent losses, and nearly a fiver later, it becomes apparent there is little amusement to be had. “I think the point is that nothing in life is simple,” he comments, losing yet another 10p at the mercy of the bleeping slot machines, “The problem is that the house always wins.” Five pound poorer, and slightly frustrated, he cheers up while reflecting on the day’s events. He has, contrary to all expectation, had a damn good time. His conclusion is characteristically succinct: “Ice skating was the highlight. It took me back to my falling over days as a boy.”

With this, he gets a taxi upon hearing it’s a fifteen minute walk to Cowgate. “I should really do this more often. For five years I’ve wanted to go to the seaside, but I’ve never got round to it.” Will he, after today, be more inclined to turn such pipedreams into reality? “I’d like to say yes, but probably not.” And with that, he speeds off for an evening of pottering around, doing a show, eating dinner and going to bed.