Well. Sunday. I guess my temper was a little frayed.

I dragged my sluggish self up from London. I think I got up at 7:15am. On a Sunday. To make sure I was back in time. And the trains were perfect. The Victoria line was shut but I got a replacement bus service, a tube, and a NationalExpress train all the way North and arrived in Edinburgh perfectly exactly when I was supposed to.

To be greeted by a succession of apologies for people's lateness. Ten people were due on Sunday. Five of them were late. I boiled silently and defiantly started with an unexpected section to 'defiantly' teach the latecomers that we wouldn't wait. A small pathetic gesture.

And then as if my foul temper had smeared everyone with misery, the run through was terrible. It is meant to run at an hour and fifteen minutes. I've allowed an extra five minutes in the Fringe programme timings to allow for dramatic pauses and moving musical interludes. On Sunday, it ran at an hour and forty minutes. You can only imagine how good it was.

Onwards and upwards, right?