As writer-cum-roadie on the production of his play, Dr Ledbetter's Experiment, at the Edinburgh Fringe, Tom Swift starts to turn into a techie
Day One
Never ask the writer to pack the van. Just three-quarters of the gear has been loaded and the Ford Transit is already stuffed to the gills. Sean the van driver looks at me with a mixture of annoyance and pity. No, scrub the pity bit.
With just hours before we sail for Scotland, I am convinced that some of that bulky lighting gear will have to be ditched. I mean, can't we just get by with a value pack of 100watt bulbs and a roll of colour gel? I can tell over the phone that Kevin the lighting designer is not amused. He needs every single lamp and is anxious to know how many "Profile Lamps" and "Parcans" are still to be packed. "Seven tall black roundy ones and a couple of squarish heavy ones," is all the writer can offer.
It's 2am and Sean has had enough. We unpack the van and he sets about what seems like a giant game of 3-D Sudoku - packing every piece of kit so there isn't a square inch of wasted space. It all fits. I grab two hours' sleep and we hit the road for the Larne-Cairnryan ferry.
Day Two: The trip
They say the majestic Scottish scenery on the road between Cairnryan and Ayr has inspired writers from Burns to Robert Louis Stevenson. I can't really see what they're talking about. In fact, I can't see anything at all because I'm surrounded by so many plastic sacks of costumes and set dressing. Sean tells me to stop complaining. I should be glad of the extra airbags, he says.
Day Three
Edinburgh is alive with the buzz of creativity! I feel ready to immerse myself in this amazing cultural experience. I want to be inspired. Sean wants to be going. We immerse ourselves in the mundanely practical experience of unloading the van. I feel a little less inspired. I also feel the first twinges of a dodgy back. Is this what they mean by "physical theatre"?
Day Four
For the writer, the Edinburgh Fringe is all about exchanging ideas, being challenged by new work, allowing oneself to cast off old assumptions. Today I assume I can spend the afternoon drinking lattes and "swanning about". Wrong. Our production manager David hands me a hammer and a roll of gaffer tape and tells me to get on with it. For the writer-turned-roadie it's all about hard graft. Dr Ledbetter's Experiment is a promenade piece through Edinburgh University's old medical school and there's a huge amount of work needed to transform the place for the show. The hours are very long and you don't get bouquets or glowing reviews, but you do get to use a kick-ass DeWalt screw gun. A writer starts to walk differently with a screw gun in his hand.
Day Five
A writer must hone his craft every day. It is now five days since I last turned on my laptop. I feel my creative arteries are beginning to harden and fear I may be developing "techie tendencies". I spend our tea break discussing lighting rigs with Kevin and am getting increasingly attached to the screw gun. The other techies have nicknamed me "the master carpenter". I like that. Also "the wood butcher". Don't like that quite as much.
Day Six
Disaster. It's an hour before the dress rehearsal and the power supply for our FM transmitter has broken down. I'm hurtling up Lothian Road in a cab hoping against hope that Maplins will have something called a 13.8 volt transformer in stock. Because the play involves the audience listening to all the dialogue, music and sound effects through FM radio headphones, the entire show depends on the transmitter working.
I return from Maplins empty-handed. It seems were are up that well-known creek without a paddling device. Then a miracle happens. Our sound engineer Joris has a plan worthy of a particularly implausible episode of MacGyver or The A-Team. He whips the battery out of his motorbike and hooks it up to the transmitter. We are back on air. I love it when a plan comes together.
Day Seven
The first preview goes well until Edinburgh fire brigade turns up. The final scene involves leading the audience into the cellars underneath the McEwan Hall. It's supposed to be eerie and a little misty, thanks to a smoke machine. But when you accidentally leave that smoke machine on for an hour and a half things get, well, smoky. The audience seems more than happy to plunge into the dense fog of the basement but no one can see a thing. Then comes the inevitable smoke alarm accompanied by the voice of the queen (or some close relation) telling us to evacuate the building. Strangely, the audience seems to enjoy the whole experience. They applaud warmly when the director Jo Mangan fills them in on the ending. I toy fleetingly with the idea of a re-write but there's other work to be done.
Day Eight
For the writer, opening nights are hell. This is different. I'm so busy making last minute alterations to the set that I don't have time to be nervous. I must try it more often. The show goes off without so much as a fire alarm, the performances are pitch perfect and the audience loves the show. The Traverse Theatre hosts a wine reception afterwards and I'm introduced to an audience member. The fragile writer's ego is dying to hear praise for the script but all this woman does is praise the lighting, sound and set. Before, I might have been a little disappointed by that. Not any more.
• Dr Ledbetter's Experiment is at the University of Edinburgh's medical faculty until Aug 27. Details: www.traverse.co.uk