I haven't really done much so far to contribute to my GMly duties for Six Degrees. A few nagging emails sent, a prompt schedule assembled, a production meeting arranged. These duties have not been taxing in the grand scheme of things.

Sadly, only one dear soul has so far responded to the various 'calls' for help with props. The dear soul immediately sprang into action and instantaneously sourced one problem item. And possibly a second. I sent out a few more emails entreating this or that person to seek out this or that thing. (B S Neill, we'd like your decanter!)

And then felt that as time was passing as invariably as it does, I should try a bit harder. So scheduled a Home Street visit with Ross to see what we could see.

Excelling in this as all things, I was then fifteen minutes late for the agreed appointment. Meaning that he'd already found most of the limited goodness that the amply but rarely usefully stocked boxes could offer up.

We (ok, he) got flowers, a tiny painting that might be refitted to feature a dog, glasses, x2 silver trays (on account of my returning of stolen / borrowed / generally purloined spoils inc. the trusty but sinister 'dead' rabbit) and possible sofa inspiration.

As I returned my other stolen (etc) spoils, the poor boy sat on the dusty floorboards, sifting through our finest silk flowers to find those which would be least incredible in 1990's NYC. I took my leave and he looked up at me, eyes wild with panic, reciting the never-ending to do list that is the director's lot.

So I (lord, oh so benevolently) said I'd take the silvery trays and clean them up. (Well immediately, he's a far better man than I. I used the dirty old thing exactly as it was for our Halloween outing last autumn. Slattern.)

And I stepped off to relax in the hairdressers, resolved that the next day would see me begin preparing for my festival show so I avoid precisely this two months of all-consuming all-else-excluding panic that is currently Ross' life.

I palmed off the tray cleaning to Siobhan. 'Oh how wonderful, how kind, much obliged.' Thinking that now, now, I'd have even more free time to begin my blocking the very next day.

Now it's the next day. And let's think what I've done. Been hungover and not slept enough, read deeply from my current brilliant book, gym, buy food, cook food, eat, Spanish homework, visit mother. Now I'm en route to the cinema.

Funny. Somehow the blocking didn't quite fit in.