A productive weekend. Two rehearsals, one of which was with son of Creon who hasn’t featured at all yet due to my peculiarly bitty rehearsal schedule.

On my long list of small concerns about how the show might go, somewhere towards the top of it is the fact that Creon, father to Haemon, is from Perth. And Haemon, nearest and dearest blood relative, is from Northern Ireland.

We saw Phedre by the National Theatre, filmed and broadcast live to a cinema near you on Thursday night. If that is any kind of benchmark (as it will be on a costuming front. Idea stealer? Me?), a motley crew of accents isn’t anything like an issue. Father in Phedre was from somewhere in the North of England. These stolid reliable warlike individuals always are, right? Whereas fruit of his loins was not. Maybe he’d been sent off to boarding school or something. As son of Creon may have been.

So interesting to hear the two of them together and puzzle over whether something could or should be done.

In addition to these delights, I talked (7 year old) Miriam through her starring role. (“Can I not die too?” she said, as I explained that most other people were dead by the end of the show. She ran around the living room and demonstrated being stabbed to show how she would brilliantly act. It seemed somewhat distasteful talk in a child – Barnardo’s would have been horrified - but that probably just shows up my lack of exposure to children.) Good news is she is volunteering one of her teddy bears as a vital prop.

Then I had a session in the street in the rain oddly, picking through fabric swatches to identify potential candidates for clothing the girls in my cast. Susan, to whom I must be eternally grateful, appears to be volunteering to make them dresses. Which almost makes me want to burst with excitement. But as I’m on a train just now speeding south, I shall endeavour to hold off at least until I get there.