frisson has been and gone. 

The online version ran two weeks ago. The real life version ran last week, impeded by a bout of sickness amongst the cast which led to a spike in my heart rate and the cancellation of the first real life night to avoid potential infection of either cast or audience in its wake.

I feared we'd surrendered our right to any reviewers with the cancellation so was touched and extremely gratified that those booked in for Tuesday were able to reschedule. It's been a busy few weeks in Edinburgh theatre land so this was not something to take for granted.

The real life audiences were compact in number but enthusiastic in their reception which was obviously lovely.

But the moment I must keep in my heart for all time came to pass like this. 

An email from the wonderful Hannah who's been managing the show's PR. "Stop press. Joyce McMillan wants a ticket for Thursday night's show."

Someone called Joyce M had watched the online show but we had no sense of whether it was The Joyce or some other Joyce.

Thursday's show and there she was and I was darting around on the door taking tickets etc. It was hard not to fawn. 

I felt that she chortled her way through the show but this could have been wishful thinking. 

Post-show, I thrust a list of the people involved into her hand. She said (I think. My memory is hazy as this was all just much too much): "so what is your role in this?"

I said I was the writer.

She said, "ah, so you're cmfwood."

"Claire", I said swiftly,  confronted starkly by my pretension. "I always wanted to be AJPTaylor, hence the cmf. Silly really."

And she said:

"More like e e cummings, no? With all the lower case."

Like an idiot, like she was comparing me to the wild beauty of his words, I dipped my head. "I'll take that", graciously.

"I enjoyed it very much," she said. "Thank you."

THANKING ME!

And then she was away and the ground could have swallowed me up then and there and I would've been happy.