Having whipped myself (not literally - to be clear) into a frenzy of panic about my lack of show preparation last Sunday - admittedly with no discernable results to show for it - I thought I should remedy the situation at the start of the week and sent off an "I'm still here" email to the agent of the author of 'my' Fringe show.

For my current dread is that lack of precise detail about when when when precisely my festival show will take to the boards will confound my application for the performing rights. Now the rights were available in principle last November. But without a start time, the girl cannot apply for The Licence. Without The Licence, the girl has no show.

But for a cacophony of reasons too boring to go into, I still don't have a start time. So a precautionary email was sent at the start of the week. "Just checking you remembered you said I could have them..." was the gist of it. Wrapped up with all sorts of festive and non-festive wishes, token questions, pointless outlines of my next steps.

Tense 1, 2, 3, 4 days pass by.

2:34pm this afternoon and an email slides into my inbox.

"Yes, I'd said so. Let us know when you know the time." (i.e. I can hardly even be bothered to reply to this email as it's so spectacularly pointless. Bother me when you've got some information I can do something with.)

But i's and e's aside, she replied. He's still letting me do his show. The prospect of a licence looms a little bit larger.

Game on.