Well we lumbered through our first rehearsal without the scripts clutched in our hot and sticky hands last night. And actually, in many ways, it was less tortuous than you might expect. Though I don't suppose poor director Wendy agreed with this.

We ran two scenes. The first run of each was - it would be fair to say - agonising. The second time we ran each was patchily better.

To add to our misery, Wendy decided that this was the night that Matt and I would be forced to press our mouths together in a simulation of a kiss. Not a terribly tempting prospect as I'm currently full of cold disease and would break away on the cusp of the kiss to mop my dripping nose. Lucky lucky Matt.

But all in, it could have been worse. Wendy delivered her usual (I've now realised incredibly tactful) verdict: "it's coming along". Well, how beautifully neutral this is. "Coming along" could mean a multitude of things, none of which are necessarily positive. I must remember and recycle.

I now have two precious days before the next shameful convening so am snatching every spare second (well, clearly I'm not as I'm writing this but anyway...). And the spare seconds are enhanced by the fact that the schools are off this week so my lollipop man is on holiday so I can cross freely and unobserved with my (dripping) nose firmly in the book.

My dream last night was of a stately home / playboy mansion full of gilt objects, antique furniture and large foam shapes that were nigh on impossible to navigate. I have no idea what this means with regard to my Secret Rapture progress.

Ideas on the back of a page of my well-thumbed script.