Auditions. A miraculous thing.

Everybody dashes about during the day doing their real jobs. Pitches up at a dishevelled and dilapidated office block with the dust of the day still clinging to their heels. Clusters together in a charmless room with scrappy photocopies of a work of minor genuis clutched in hot and sticky paws.

I lurk next door, the monster in the den. Waiting to strip all hope and confidence from the vulnerable auditionees.

And through the door they parade, one by one.

Turning a scrappy photocopy of a work of minor genius into something that for the most part, means something new and interesting and fresh and sometimes, utterly delightful. Just for me.

Well, of course not just for me. For the theatre group and for the chance of strutting about and pretending to be someone else and the chance to brush for five minutes with a work of minor genius and the chance to dabble in something other than the dust of the day.

And every now and again, you encounter someone - whether it's someone you've seen do a hundred shows or someone you haven't ever seen before in your life - who delivers a performance that is hats off breathtakingly delightful - or sad - or striking - or impressive. Or whatever. And it's a little bit of a humble moment that there you are, just regular old you, sat in this dilapidated office covered in the dust of the day watching these busy harrassed whole other lives going on around them people pull a moment of loveliness out of their magical theatrical bag of tricks.

Guess that's why we do it.