I have a cast.

In an incredible aligning of the stars, I saw my dad on Friday night having received my final cast member confirmation very early that morning.

"Looks like you've got a great cast", he said, as I sipped my no doubt honourably locally brewed but slightly insipid looking cider in one of these pub backyards that us ill-equipped Brits make do with in our fleeting summers.

And it's true. 

I've got an unbelievably great cast. 

23 of them. Mostly grotesquely under-used in terms of the talent versus stage time ratio. But that is the wicked nature of the play.

I would have liked to be a fly on the wall to observe my stuttering inane interactions with prospective cast members, apologising with a forlorn shame for offering them such limp and slim (casting) pickings.

To those I didn't manage to cast at all, be not offended. You were just Too Many.

My favourite response to all of my clumsy fumbling forays came from an 11 year old.

It seemed lame - as she might say - to go through her mum to offer her the part. And I thought phoning her might be inconvenient.

So I made like a Young and sent her a message on Facebook.

She responded amazingly swiftly with a simple, elegant and succinct response:

"Yay!"

Quite so.