I'm still fooling myself that I'm working hard at the gym by reading on the exercise bike. Last night I managed a 40 whole minutes and got through Stephen Greenhorn's Passing Places. What a lovely play that is although surely almost impossible to stage as road-movie style, it's loads of tiny short scenes scattered across Scotland. It's too long for the one act anyway and couldn't be cut without damage. So it hardly matters.

Trying to be proactive, I enquired about performing rights for another possible only to find the agent in question is on holiday for a week and a half. Thwarted every way I turn!

A terrible terrible film last night, Pineapple Express, of which the less said the better. Of course it wasn't aided by DG's generous hospitality on Sat night which meant I wasn't exactly spry by the time it got to 8:50 on Sunday evening. But I don't think I missed much during my extensive rests.

Went to see a play called Cherry Blossom on Friday night at the Traverse. It was written by Catherine Grosvenor, a local girl. We almost did her first (and only other) play One Day All This Will Come To Nothing in the Festival a couple of years back but it fell through.

This play explored the problems faced by immigrants to this country, the Polish in this case. And was fairly interesting I thought but half in Polish which rather impeded my understanding of the plot to the point where by the time we got to the end of the play, I was convinced that a character who was actually perfectly lively, was in fact dead. And who knows quite why it was called Cherry Blossom but perhaps this was also covered by the Polish portion of text.

It was one of these modern plays where each actor ends up playing each character. Apparently the script - according to the faithful always script buyer - was all in English so this was clearly another trying to be clever gesture - though to be fair to them, it's next transferring to Poland so it wasn't a totally random choice of tongue.

Anyway, Ross hated it. I was a bit more ambivalent. It had a pretty set. But it was my first time back at the theatre since the theatrical overload of August (as I missed out on last weekend's behind my back trip to the Scottish play) so it felt like an honoured occasion nonetheless.

Reading reading wannabe one acts. I read a play called Modern Dance for Beginners because I liked the title but it was the usual story of mid-thirties people shagging and whaddya know, they're all apparently nothing to do with each other but turns out they're all either in love with or shagging each other. Although I was briefly tempted as in one scene, Russell spends the entire time literally coupled with Frances. I thought this might get the busy tongues wagging in the SCDA but that's hardly a reason in itself.

I also read I was a beautiful day by I think Iain Macleod. Great title. About (ex) Army soldiers which seems to be my current fixation. But called for someone from the islands (of Scotland) and my lack of skill with accents I think rules this out as I couldn't identify an accent from the islands if it snuck up behind me and hit me round the head. And actually the fact that he was in the Army was kind of incidental. I think I'm just after the uniforms...

DG has suggested a couple of options which I shall investigate. As did Ross. So the search goes on.

I stepped along to the SCDA library on Tuesday evening, kind of half on the hunt for a one act play script and half not. Brian has offered an act of Cloud Nine as a possible entry for the one act so I hardly need to do something but the devil in me wondered whether I might anyway.

I arrived to "ah, Claire! Looking for another strange play for the one act?" from the faithful librarian. And indeed it turned out that two of the leading light directors from the local 'scene' had already been in to the library that day on the hunt for one act scripts. The third had been on the phone, interestingly seeking 'Private View' by Vaclev Havel plus its companion piece. The former was my directorial debut in the one acts however many years ago.

And then the third of the directors turned up. The same that was so charitable in our moment of victory at the Edinburgh round earlier this year. "Ah Claire, now you know you're not allowed to do anything controversial this year?"

The competition is on...

I'm back! And after a week on Skye of the greyest weather you've even seen, it's been stolidly resolutely sunny all day here. Typical.

All work and no play has been making this one a very dull girl of late.

However, rejoice! Rehearsal tonight and then I'm almost on holiday. Happy (most likely rainy) days ahead.

Now I'm not entirely sure which front door belongs to TMWLO. I think the for sale sign was actually a door too far along. But oh my goodness I get home tonight and there's a for rent sign just outside what I think is The Actual Door.

Let's hope someone attractive moves in.

A For Sale sign has gone up opposite. I've driven him away.

What a week. A week in which coffee is my friend.

Second rehearsal last night. Gordon told DG and I where we might stand in our first scene which is approximately one page long. And then we were despatched.

The virtue and the penalty of a tiny part...

So yesterday saw me again mount the stairs of the rehearsal rooms with that light-hearted and glorious no responsibility feeling as rehearsals for the Twelfth Night began.

Of course once in the rehearsal rooms, the weighty responsibility of line learning and entrance / exit remembering and not totally failing your fellow cast members by ruining your rendition of your lines started squashing down on my shoulders.

Same old.

A weekend of beer, the zoo and endless play parks, Hellboy 2 and the fireworks at the end of the International Festival. A suitably trashy conclusion to an unnaturally cultured month.

Now into September and still it rains...