Sunday afternoon. Le Cirque de Muerta rehearsal two with books down.

Combined with a costume session with Mme Trapeze Artiste Extraordinaire at which we established that despite my wishful dreams, she will not pour herself into my 18 year old's ballet leotard as it's NOT A FLATTERING GARMENT. (Lordy, I used to wear that out to Rock City tout le temps.)

The lines? Well. One was perfect. Perhaps (contentious statement ahoy!) the one with the most overall responsibility for this gig. Actually, an inaccuracy. Two were perfect. The one with least responsibility for this gig was also tantamount to perfect.

The other three? Let's imagine a thing that's say, run a marathon and there's two miles still to go and they're pretty hot and pretty thirsty and there are still these two miles and so this thing is slowly, with some trepidation, creeping towards the finishing line. That was the Other Three. But they all assure me that, two days on, they'll be perfect tonight. We shall see.

The bubbly exciting thing is that tonight tonight, at very long last, we sandwich band and actors together. I expect glorious fireworks.