It's a desperate day when you receive a 9am text on a Sunday from an international reader indicating that it has been some long time since a recent post and is the show in crisis? (Or have I succumbed to the pernicious ravages of the flu of the swine?)

So. No. The show is not in crisis. Yet.

Last Sunday was an exercise in self-control. But this perhaps is the director's lot. The Unnamed Actor who quite frequently now has been absent from rehearsals was absent again. With an hour's notice. Which, needless to say, made my blood boil.

I had one apology already from another significant actor. And received another from another with maybe two hours to go. So my first full run-through was kind of thwarted. Grrrrrr.

I painted a fake smile on and prepared to face The Wrath of Jo. And the others. But his wrath is usually the worse. I thought I was managing to hide my anger successfully but chatting to our props lady yesterday - who had the dubious pleasure of arriving with flameproofed cushions to fill the body bags in the midst of the excitement - commented that the atmosphere had been quivering with tension.

Oblivious to all the back story, into the midst of the excitement, burst The Child. Eager to get started. So schooling her in the layout of the stage and the names of the actors and her required movements was at least a moment of charming innocence against the backdrop of black black fury.

Entertainingly, the presence of a 7 year old disconcerted the other actors - those present at any rate - to the extent that any swear words were delivered with a hundred times less menace than usual. The Child has clearly been prepared as she obligingly frowned and covered her ears at any inappropriate language anyway. I wonder if she will retain this habit throughout life.

So we limped through most of a run through. And then I flew off (cue the angry music from the Wizard of Oz when the wicked witch appears on her wicked bicycle) and panically phoned anyone that I could think of that might possibly serve as a replacement for the principle offender. No such tolerance as was displayed towards the Impossible Boy who then took all the glory in Polaroids. But then I guess an Eastern European go-go dancer is always a trickier proposition when it comes to last minute replacements.

Wednesday at least was less eventful. The rehearsal itself was as shambolic as you'd expect given that they are about to cast their books down. In a spoiling of my self-righteousness, I turned up late thanks to a pesky flight in from Manchester. But my assistant director seemed to be doing a fine job of keeping things in order. But The One Who Often Does Not Turn Up (TOWDNOTU??) was at least there. So fevered brows were a little soothed.

The Test will come today as Sundays appear to be the problematic day. I await 2:30 with the sort of baited breath that can only come to a director with 4 weeks before debut and a stumbling erratic pack of performers.

However, speaking of stumbling and erratic performers, I should take heart. Last night, I watched a local production of Blithe Spirit. I've never seen the play before. Great script (I must suppose). Great premise. Lovely Noel Coward. But oh my. I counted six prompts. And these weren't just surrepitious muttered swift recoveries. No. These were full-blown grind to a halt, call for a cue, prompts. "Line" a few of them called on occasion. Or, my personal favourite, "prompt".

The acting wasn't really terrible. Just marred by this. Noel Coward and six prompts (though Ross maintained it was more) do not go together. Still, the set was stunning. We need to try and poach their set designer. And the bacon and eggs which Gillian prepared last weekend and froze were a triumph. And Caroline, as you'd expect, was really marvellous. Though she said mournfully that her patience had run out with the shambolic others by last night's show. Reasonably enough. I'm glad that she appears to be destined for bigger and better things.

Still, this was a good lesson in how bad it can be. I hope we won't plumb these depths at least.