Books Down Day is almost upon us. And it's quite lovely to be dreading it as an actor who's responsible for one fourteenth of the overall piece rather than the director who must take responsibility for the usually miserably shambolic first books down run through.

Where rehearsals 'til now (those slim few that I've attended) have been casual flippertigibbet affairs with light hearted joshing, pranking and opportune bank visits being enjoyed backstage, Thursday's rehearsal had a whole new focused intensity. Those not on stage sat silent or paced fretfully backstage muttering their lines as they stooped over their scripts.

Not that these flimsy volumes appear to be up to it. I have all of three lines and the page on which my first lines appear today detached itself from its cousins. So I dread to think how the volume belonging to he of surely as many lines as Richard III (Byron. Mr Johnny Rooster Byron) must be faring. This perhaps is why everyone bar myself and my similarly lightly-spoken co-actor Kenneth have switched to photocopies.

Tomorrow is D Day. I forced myself for one bold run-through on Thursday to manage without my script. I managed only because he of all the lines in the world was waving his script about so I could slyly read my words from his highlighted photocopy. The consequence of this? Some gorilla faced photos of me frowning and scrunching in concentration on Facebook. No need for you to know where.

So I look forward to more frowning and scrunching tomorrow. In the meantime, I'm going tonight to learn from a master. Jason Donovan in high-heeled action at The Playhouse. High-octane fun, I gather.

Apparently I walked like a sloven on Thursday night. So I'll see what I can learn from the three high-heeled lovelies tonight to bring new inspiration to tomorrow's rehearsal.