A WEEK TODAY.

Luckily, I currently still have too much to do to be nervous. I wonder when full blown don't want to leave the house for fear shudders will set in.

We had a dress rehearsal yesterday which went pretty well, aside from the usual catastrophic blunders that define a good dress rehearsal.

And today, there's this. With thanks again to Hannah and to Mr Peacock at The Wee Review.

Just need to sell some tickets now. 

A week and a bit to go. A week tomorrow and we'll be moving into the venue. A week and a day tomorrow and we'll be doing our tech.

Assisted by first week back at work after holiday hubbub, it's one of those weeks that I can't quite believe I've (nearly) made it to the end of, in one piece.

At last, the teenagers are back from holiday. Between them, they were probably away for the total holiday period. (Must remember not to do shows with young people...)

Alan, co-director, is amazingly versatile as an actor but even his skills are stretched thin as a 14 year old stage school brat. And my presentation of Brad The Lad was nothing but ludicrous. So I'm glad they back.

And they all aced it last night at the rehearsal. I'm a little worried they shall steal all the glory from the grown people who've been patiently working away for three months. The young person's prerogative, I suppose.

Well, this is nothing but exciting.

Courtesy of PR whizz, Hannah, we've had an interview featured on The List's theatre editor's blog. You may enjoy it here.

Our big fat bribe marvellously worked, also with The List. Though I'm sorry it wasn't as exciting as the bribe offered by the Smut Slam Cabaret.

And here's a tidy little preview piece in What's On Edinburgh.

I shouldn't take such a childish pleasure from seeing my name in print. (For the right reasons - for the time being. Just you wait, cmf, until the reviews start to slate it. You won't enjoy seeing your name in print so much then.)

But for now, with thanks to Hannah, I am over the proverbial moon.

I am in love with my cast. Desperately unrequitedly in love. I'm at that absurd stage where, practicalities aside, I would rehearse every night if they'd have me and if silly real life didn't get in the way. 

They're all behaving. They all seem to be working on their words. We're a week and a half into books down and some portions are pretty much word perfect. (Other portions are farcically imperfect but I'd rather have flashes of brilliance than uniform drudgery.) And they're all patient (how was it that Justine ended up across social media in a Star Trek outfit?) and kind and lovely and I'd like to spend all of my days with them.

The acting reached an astonishing peak last night. The kids are now all away on holiday. Of course they are - it's three whole working days since term finished. And for Ruby, since school finished altogether and forever. So we have the hilarious procession of stand-ins. Last night, I was both Ruby and 16 year old Brad.

Brad gets the climactic scene in the play. The denouement, such as it is. And he has this ranting speech about what art really is. So I delivered this speech in my best 16 year old yoof speak. And as I was speaking, to my amazement, I saw a tear on Ty's cheek. Amazing, I thought, the power of the words. The power of the acting. How this wonderful speech puts all the pointless frivolity of the play - of this silly rarefied world - into sharp relief. And how powerful my yoof speak must be to so move him.I felt humble.

We finished the scene and I cawed incredulous: "oh my god, were you crying?"

"No!" (appalled). "I think you spat on me."

Oh.

There was a little moment at tonight's rehearsal. One of the props ladies had arrived unexpectedly and I had to stop myself falling prostrate at her feet as I'd been worried that - you know - she'd changed her mind. 

The actors had arrived. I darted down to let the (lovely) prompt in. Came back up to re-arrange the furniture into the daft configuration that, for this show, represents desk table chair low chair chaise longue. 

And as I humphed furniture, I thought that they, these actors, were having a very sustained and fluent conversation in the kitchen. And then I realised they were saying lines and then I realised these were lines that I wrote. And then I realised that this thing has life now, independently of me. It's out there, amongst these small seven cast anyway, and it's theirs now, not mine. And it was nuts and marvellous.

 

The wonderful Judith Fieldhouse working her magic at the weekend just gone to create the (tall order brief) "perfect image of beauty". Helped by the very beautiful Carolina. These are sneak previews from her very own camera. I can't wait to see the end result. Judith is in the middle of a feast of graduation photos at the moment - I'm glad she didn't sneak a mortar board onto our model's head on autopilot.