There's not much creative inspiration to be had watching the sort of nonsense that has been my viewing of choice this past couple of days. Not much practical creative inspiration at any rate.

I am now more determined than ever that I must sometime find myself in a position to direct Bugsy Malone, thanks to the mandatory Christmas Day showing. Though most of all, I would like to be in it. Twice ideally, so I can play both Blousey and Tallulah. These would be my dreams. My dad's theatre did an adult version as a 48 hour bank holiday challenge. So I still clutch - albeit limply - to the idea that one day, I will be involved in such a thing too.

But tonight, a greater challenge will be posed. The BBC have produced Ballet Shoes, my childhood faithful favourite which I must have read at least 300 times and still read once every couple of years. Dear Noel Streatfeild, giver of so much pleasure. So it may be after tonight that I petition the Grads in the New Year to let me produce Ballet Shoes as a festival show. Maybe I could also be Pauline. I would never have made a good Posy. And have no interest in quiet and studious Petrova. But Pauline, plucked from obscurity to Hollywood at the age of 14 after a girlhood of Shakespeare and pantomime: that is my kind of girl.

8:30. BB1. Be sure to tune in.