Dad asked how many tickets we'd sold and I did my BRILLIANT little routine about intimate theatre, which means I changed the subject before giving him a number. He said he'd come even if it was just him. I love him so much and also wanted to scream, because the picture of Dad sitting alone in the front row is precisely the picture I keep trying not to see!!! Rang off cheerful, then cried while looking for a clean mug, glamorous. The sound engineer came round and listened without telling me it would definitely sell out. I was grateful for that. Still wanted him to tell me it would sell out. A very reasonable woman, your correspondent.

Trying to cut six minutes from the solo show and have discovered that every single line is apparently my firstborn. The opening anecdote gets a laugh when I tell it in the pub, but in rehearsal it takes ages to explain who everyone is, and the next bit actually starts the story. So why am I guarding the anecdote with my LIFE? Possibly because I know it works, possibly because I enjoy doing the man's voice. Recorded both versions, which involved first spending twenty minutes locating a phone stand. Without it the show moves faster. With it I feel safer. Going to try the shorter version on two friends before putting it back, which is absolutely not a promise.

INT. CHURCH HALL. A WOMAN WHO THOUGHT SHE WAS WARMED UP. The children wanted the game where we all move like different animals and apparently a crab uses muscles I have been carefully avoiding for twenty years, because after two circuits my arms were shaking and I was laughing too hard to demonstrate anything!!! Lovely to be properly hot, though, not just sweaty with audition terror, and when we lay on the floor afterwards I could feel my whole back settle against it. Ankle complained on the stairs, usual supporting role. Ate a sandwich on the way home with such concentration I missed someone waving. Darling, this body requires lunch before four, who knew.