What a weekend.

Gym. Haircut. Town. Panic buy shoes for Patrick. Cheap aqueous cream for Cath. Underbelly to see a show. Fringe Central to collect some tickets. Home to put soundtrack on a CD. Home Street. Load van. BP. Load van. GM's house. Don't load van. Venue. Unload van. Home. Panic props work. Try and convince myself to write a review. Dither over star rating. Bed.

Up. Venue. Six hours of panic. Pub. Lunch. Home. Panic music work as the soundtrack sounded as if it were underwater. Cook tea for my poor dad / lighting director as I got off lightly - he has a twelve hour tech and is still at the venue. Panic that I've forgotten something. And now I'm en route to the Traverse to see another show.

Well, to emulate the peculiar double negative that Mum is saddled with in the script, you can't argue that it hasn't been productive.