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!