It's Shelagh StePHenson and I read another of hers on the train returning from Glasgow last night. The Memory of Water. It was quite funny actually which I didn't quite expect after the tale of domestic abuse there's no excuse in the same volume. But it's too long so can rule that one out.

Another dragging trip through the dusty guady academic corridors and endless stairs to the play library. It was less frantic yesterday. Only one of my competitors had visited, plus a woman I don't know plus an anticipated trip from Wendy to pick up some Pinter scripts for some secret mission.

Then a rehearsal and then surprisingly a snatched clip of dapper Bart, the Mercators man, on Newsnight Scotland. Good to know that the amateur theatre crowd are speaking out in this time of economic crisis.