I spent a happy hour in the dusty confines of the SCDA library with the custodian huffing around in the background. A fine man that would dedicate six hours of his life every week, every year, to dusty confines and re-arranging twenty boxes of books from the basement of Edinburgh City Council library. But huffing nonetheless.

It's remarkably well-stocked actually. I guess I haven't been there for a few years, preferring to rely on some half-remembered performance from way back when to select my scripts. But they now have a fair few 'modern' scripts scattered amongst the shelves. Some Traverse scripts. Some Royal Court scripts. Even a National Theatre of Scotland script.

I flicked my way through the spines looking for anything that wasn't a dusty stapled spine. Perfect bound only. Terrible criteria. I dug out "Tiny Dynamite" by Abi Morgan which I saw years ago at the Traverse and loved. Cast of three though and it would be a bastard to stage. I've always loved the Jean Anouillh 'Becket' but that's all men and too long for the festival (which I'm swithering towards). But I'm fond of his 'Antigone' too.

And then various other bits and pieces. Something called 'Push Up' by a German author whose name I couldn't possibly try and spell. Shimmelhimmelung or something. Something called 'Rabbit'. And another couple of things with mean and moody photography on the front of them which look bleak enough to keep me happy.

So I'm reading reading reading now. Such a lovely sense of possibility. Before all the dull practicalities crowd in.