Books down today.

And suddenly the tone shifts (as far as this director is concerned at least) from lovely messing about making sure they know where they stand and say things with a modicum of meaning. To oh my god we have a show to put on and they can't really carry their scripts around with them on stage and oh please god let them have made some effort to have learnt their lines.

I feel ever so slightly sick as I journey to work with script, a packet of Breakaway bars and a wannabe cast can of lager in my bag.

Eerily foreshadowing what might lie ahead, I dreamt last night that I was directing some sort of Bollywood musical - gold and sequins and saris everywhere. It was very picturesque. Although stretched our regular rehearsal rooms well beyond their reasonable capacity. The elephants really struggled to get up the stairs - and the cast (not my current cast fyi and peculiarly, the lead was an adorable girl I went to school with called Chelli who has never acted in her very life) were pranking about not listening, roaming off to smoke, to try on costumes and practice make-up (this last culprit was the aforementioned Chelli plus entourage) and eventually, the banks of my rage burst, I bawled at them all (clearly just a dream) and I woke up angry.

I shall choose to take this is a good omen.

Oh, and Cast, if you're reading this, don't worry. I'll be meek as a lamb tonight. Promise.

(Tchah.)