A new low today in the name of my Art.

Meeting early afternoon at our costume / set / props store to load the van with everything needed for the show so they'd have it for the rehearsal with the Returning Director.

(Yes, yes, I know I'm done with the show. But I can't just leave them to struggle on unaided, can I?)

The bus is at a standstill and I'm somewhere approaching the East End.

I need to be at the West End. And some.

I get a text from Ross. He must e about three buses ahead of me. Also stuck. We have the only keys. As the director is on his way back from Fife, having touched down in this land and dashed immediately to get his armoury.

I leap off the bus and hangitall, I'll walk. So off I stride.

Wisdom catches up with me mid-Princes Street and I climb on a now less congested bus. (My former bus sails ahead of me, tauntingly, but at least I can walk quick as a bus.)

Bus stop. Descend. Run.

Yes, readers, I ran.

Conscious of a cast of 21 or maybe more helpers piled up in the street outside our store.

Running running.

Arrive. "Everyone" is crowded around the van. I unfasten the door. And triumphant: "come on slow pokes! May I have some help?"

O the surprise on their faces.

Only seven minutes late.

Ross arrived one minute later having sat tight on his bus.

So bus, trot, bus, run and super-dishevelled gave me one minutes' advantage.

Well, I tried.