A disastrous press night for UP THERE'S HEAVEN. Harriet Marriott arrived by ambulance mid-afternoon, having had the op. She was scooped onto the stage, where she gave a completely inert performance (as I predicted), and then - to compound matters - could not even give notes (as I also predicted). The cast are furious, Harriet oblivious, and I am embarrassed to be 5th assistant director, frankly. This was always going to be a tricky entertainment and I think Harriet's selfish and masochistic surgery goes entirely against the imaginative potential of this fine play. Michael Billington looked very bored throughout and (I am convinced) will give us a panning. And we deserve it. There, I've said it.

To compound matters, Prat sent me a vitriolic text message, asking why I had missed his Ionesco's Penis class. I am going to find it very difficult to juggle T.A.A.D. and The Royal Shrug, and I will have to decide where my loyalties lie. Theatre is so stressful!!!