My annual week of living like a savage rolls to a close.

I hadn't thought much of my ramshackle hand to mouth behaviour as the bread crumbs lay thick on the kitchen counter, nothing with any nutritional value filled the fridge and the nest of dirty discarded clothes rose ceiling-wards in my bedroom. But as I ran out to the gym with no minutes to spare this morning, my dad said - with, I detected a touch of weariness - "is that you off for the day again..?" I was able to inform him cheerfully that no, great news, he'd get a whole other 45 minutes with me after my gym class before I set sail for the day's shows.

It occurred to me that this week, he has seen me only hunched over my laptop bashing out 200 words a pop to cover my various reviewed shows either very early in the morning or very late at night. Running to and fro up and down my flat for twenty minutes gathering possessions necessary for three shows to review and a night's performance. And then sat taut as a meerkat at the sound desk craning my neck to see how many tears are shed and straining my ears to hear how many additional words of lewdity are popped into the script by my over-enthusiastic cast.

An exquisite hostess.

So I washed up this morning. It eased my conscience.