Two Thursdays ago, a girl I work with said innocently "oooh, Claire, it's not long 'til your Fringe show, is it?" 

First, I looked at her like she was mad. 

Then I realised with sinking heart that in simple week terms, it was not long until my Fringe show.

It's funny how time slows to a creep and yet goes faster than the rest of the year in the run up to a show.

At one level, every day is a stupendous juggling match (me vs. everything I might forget) so the minutes tick by, replete with the possibility of calamity. Like hauling a child through from Paisley for a non-existent rehearsal. Or - you know - forgetting to do something I'm actually paid for doing. 

And then there's the constant paranoia (some sort of symptom of getting old? Or bitter experience?) that people won't turn up for rehearsals (so many new people in this cast!). That someone will pull out of the show. That someone will not do what they're meant to do and it'll become mine to sort out at the eleventh hour when I don't have an eleventh hour in the day. 

So whilst at some level, time creeps, at the same time, there isn't nearly enough of it. Never enough to do all the things I need to do Before The Show. 

Totting it up, after this girl's casual comment, I realised that although the rehearsal schedule was still three pages long, this was only actually because the cast is so big - so there are so many names against every rehearsal that the schedule seems endless. But in reality, there were - at this point - a precious seven weeks to go. Seven and a half if you were being generous. 

And I realised two Thursdays ago that I had no costumes, set or props. No gobo. Oh and Neil needs somewhere to store the instruments in the venue. And oh - the cast want to see the venue. And oh - half of them still haven't paid their membership fees so please don't any of you unpaid ones break a leg before you've paid us and decide to sue us. And oh my good heavens I still need to put together a programme which will be like The Most Mammoth Task. 

So then I get back to this state of brinkmanship. How long do you leave it before you start to nervously, sweetly, follow up on the things that you hoped people were doing? Is there a way to ask if people think they really will come to the rest of the rehearsals because we kind of really need you there. And people take HOLIDAYS of course. And I have this irritating but longed for holiday. (Only a week - it'll be fine! Right?) 

And batting around in your head like a claustrophobic moth is the hollow laugh echoing after the hollow and desperate cry: "this is meant to be fun!"

Deep breath.

(Since two Thursdays ago, I've seen the most beautiful costume designs, I have shot glasses (v important!), I might have palm trees, I have additional help with lights (thanks, Andy), I have a venue visit, I might have a locked cupboard for musical instruments.  Best of all, we have a trumpet!! The best shows are made up of baby steps. Right?)