No Don...

Thus, I am Don.

You know, I only wanted to write the thing... I didn't want to play the lead. Lloyd is now sunning himself in Lisbon whilst I try to destroy every line in my own play. If I ever doubted my doubt over my ability to act, I doubt I was entirely in control of my faculties.

Thing is... it's bizarre how the other two are still totally on it. At points today, script in hand, muttering lines I really should know, it almost felt like I was Lloyd Peters, at least looking through his eyes... like that film 'Being Somebody or Other'. Good film.

I am amazed at how superb Szilvi and James are, especially James who I fear may become my claim to fame in years to come ('that guy, yes the one on the poster... yes, with Samantha Morton... he was in my play once'. 'Whatever, grandad'.) Enough of that.

What else have I learnt? Don't leave programmes, photos, and artists' passes til the last minute. But then, don't leave anything else that came before any of them any later than you left them before you did the programmes, photos, and artists' passes.

Anton 'the body' Hunter is apparently recording our score tomorrow. He's playing at Sand Bar in Manchester. He has a record label with Sam Andrea, who is a terribly fine person. They are not here, but here. (it's the last one)

That's about it... Well, apart from the weekend, we're all but set. I may well put up some boring stuff about programme design and that, but this is all really just for me anyway. A nice little record of the time I wrote a play and it got put on.

You can still read it though. I'm not being rude.