This (rain aside) is how a Sunday morning should be. (Old before my time) Classic FM. A leisurely read (Anthony Beevor's Stalingrad as my WW2 obsession gathers pace). Porridge. A potter on the internet to explore the itinerary for the wedding of lovely Sheryl who inconsiderately planned her nuptual bliss for precisely the same moment as my dress rehearsal.

I suppose this is what a Sunday morning is like if you're DG and have your play blocked three to four months before rehearsals even begin (not that I continue to torment myself with my shabby inadequacy).

When I grow up, can I be an insomniac?

Now I'm meanly hoping the rain lasts for the afternoon as I could do with:

a) establishing how much of a risk slipping off the edge of the wet deck really is for an actor (we hope that Gillian is wearing her sturdy shoes)
b) getting the fights over whether they should or shouldn't be permitted to carry umbrellas out of the way

The afternoon promises to be interesting also as we're attempting the first full run on the boat. So meanly (meanly again! So much meanness...) I am eager to see how much they grasped where they should be when in the hypothetical rehearsal space and how much of the knowledge fingertip clings on in a different location.

Unfortunately The One Who Seems To Struggle Most With Spatial Sense (TOWSTSMWSS) isn't here today. So that's a joy postponed. I expect all the others to be perfect.

Oh and by the way, happy Independence Day.