SKATEBOARDING? THERE'S NO FOOL LIKE AN OLD FOOL

THERE can be nothing more foolish than trying to skateboard at the age of 46. But it's easy to get into these situations.

Basically, you see young people do something, decide that you can do it as well, then act purely on impulse. Despite the only probable pay-off being a broken hip or a scraped skull in exchange for 16 seconds of freewheeling fun, you carry on regardless.

This is what happened to me last week.

As I watched three young hooded teenagers bang, jump and skate up and down the smooth grey curved wall beside the Pleasance Dome in Edinburgh, I must have had a small stroke or some type of electrical brain overload because I heard myself say: "Can I have a go?"

The kids looked at me doubtfully and one tall, skinny boy sullenly rolled his board in my direction.

I should have taken into account the fact that I was performing two shows a day at the Fringe.

I should have taken into further account that I am old and that the last time I stood on moving wheels with any skill was in 1974 when Donny Osmond looked like a sex god with good teeth.

I was also 6st in weight and 4ft in height at the time. The dynamics and physics were in my favour in those days.

I respected none of the consequent changes; ignored my lack of spatial awareness that has developed since my boobs grew so big; put down my handbag; forgot I was old and fat; and foolishly launched myself on the moving board.

It moved OK. More than I could have expected. All the way down the cobbled street it trundled and banged.

I felt the old black fillings in my back teeth crack and rattle and then it deposited me in a heap on the road in the manner of a useless hostage being tossed out of a speeding car.

The boys laughed loudly and I just lay on cobbles too scared to feel my knees, in case the pale flesh had been cleanly lifted and was now imbedded into the ancient stones.

It was then that I felt blood, but it was from my hand and I held it up to my face.

I realised I had lost a flip-flop on my journey and my toes were in a wee dirty puddle that filled the cracks on the cold road.

The scrape on my palm looked like the shape of Australia; it somehow pleased me that my injury had some resemblance to a country I've never been to.

I just lay there on the damp smelly stones staring at my palm and thinking about kangaroos and Kylie Minogue.

"You need to get up, Missus."

The pale, freckly boy reached out his hand to help me up.

"Skateboarding is hard, but you did really well for an old woman," he added.

There are certain things older women like me can no longer do and they are the very same things that young people can - like skateboarding, roller blading, surfing and going on a unicycle for the first time.

I know there is a generation of women who, even in their seventies, can manage these activities; but they do require building up resistance and training and I am never committed enough to invest in such a task.

I hate attempting new stuff that takes preparation.

The very fact that you have to do months of practice irritates me; I gave up knitting on the first day when a creamy white Arran sweater refused to grow from the clicking needles that I industriously clacked together while a dirty beige clump of knotted twine that resembled a dead baby lamb emerged instead.

I am the woman who assumes she can do things on the first attempt and when they don't happen, I throw away the project and declare it a waste of time. Surely if I had the talent it would be apparent on the very first go, like those people who can just pick up a guitar for the first time and pluck out a tune?

We also hear of those wondrous folks who merely have to look at a box of paints and can do a Sistine Chapel on the bathroom ceiling in an afternoon.

I hate those people. They should be banished for being smug.

Today, as I leave Edinburgh, I am going to try to walk on stilts. I have a good feeling about this one. I once walked on heels.

THE LADIES LOVE SHY AIRPORT HERO WHO HAPPENS TO BE SINGLE

MY EDINBURGH Fringe chat show with John Smeaton last Thursday was wonderful; the guy is just a sweetheart and the show sold out at the Green Room venue. It was the first time he had faced a live audience and he struggled to make eye contact due to his natural shyness, which made me smile inside as this is the guy who faced a burning and potentially exploding car, helped to drag one man away and tackled an alleged terrorist.

The crowd roared with enthusiasm as John took the microphone and spoke of his love of fly-fishing, Pink Floyd and the Stone Roses. Just an ordinary guy who happened to be in extraordinary circumstances when terror struck Glasgow Airport. There were many young women in the audience who whooped and cheered when he mentioned he was single, something I suspect will change quite soon.

Mind you, tackling the hordes of single women and an alleged terrorist might amount to the same thing in his future!

GOODBYE FRINGE, HELLO DINNER ON A PLATE

TODAY is the last day of the Edinburgh Fringe. How can it be possible to go almost 28 days without eating proper food?

I have been living on caramel shortcake, salt and vinegar crisps and diet cola as I run from show to show. Doing two full gigs a day with a chat show at 5pm and a comedy show at 7pm and then all the other gigs in between has meant I have not been getting time to sit down and have a decent meal at all.

My handbag is a mass of ripped-up cake wrappers and crackly crisp packets. The mere thought of a plate of potatoes and warm roast beef is making me mental and desperate.

I passed a restaurant near the Meadows last night and saw two people sit down to a big hot steaming dish of mussels and sincerely considered running in and snatching a bit off their plate and bolting out of the door.

I am off to buy more crisps.

GHOST TRAINS ARE ONLY WORTH PAYING FOR IF THEY'RE SCARY

MY NIECE Abi, who is four, came through to Edinburgh to visit me while I was performing at the Fringe.

We were staying near the Meadows and she skipped with excitement at the sight of the funfair.

I took her on the Ghost Train about three times. She loved that the operators jumped on the back of the ghost car and whispered "Wooooooo!" all the way through the dark tunnel.

Before she went home last week, I took her on the ride one last time. But the worker this time didn't bother to hop on and scare her.

Abi was mightily disappointed. When she came out, she shouted: "Why didn't you come on and scare me?"

The man explained that he thought she was too young to be frightened.

Abi put her hands on her hips and shouted: "We want our money back! It's only fun if you shout 'Wooooooo!' behind us!"

She got her cash back. I was impressed.