So. Catch up.

Three reviews printed. One in the British Theatre Guide which is my favourite to date - for obvious reasons. One from Broadway Baby which I hate - for also obvious reasons. And one from Thom which I feel a little ambivalent about.

The show has been going beautifully to my mind. No one has fallen overboard yet - audience or cast member. No fire has broken out in the hull of the boat, burning burning all those aboard alive in only fifteen minutes flat. No car has been left defiantly parked on the quayside as the clock ticks down to curtain up. Most remarkable of all.... no, I won't say it. I shall comment when it's done.

The only bleak black mark on the horizon (I'm terribly mixing metaphors at the moment) is that bitch director struck again yesterday and infinitely kindly but infinitely cruelly, let go one of Ariel's bitches for the remainder of the run. Luckily, bitch director has been so good at being a bitch recently that she can step into the breach with barely even a break in her stride. Hence, the peculiar vanity of a run of 8 performances to date, six of which have featured Mme Dir. Bitch. Not quite how I would have dreamt that it might happen as I've always questioned the wisdom of directing and featuring simultaneously. The only consolation is that my actors all perfectly know what they're doing already so with luck, there aren't too many horrible guddley moments slipping past my inattentive eye.

When I'm not bitching, I've been dabbling a little in reviewing. Hampered slightly by the day job but I am now embracing three precious days mostly out of the office. I feel honour bound not to mention that which I have seen in a reviewing capacity until it's printed. So I shall comment no further here. But I did, in a not reviewing capacity and in the midst of all the mayhem, have a rather fabulous night at Club Noir on Saturday. A joint collaboration with Scottish Opera. It was quite magic. I'd recommend it but it's been and gone so I can't. Unlucky.