Mansfield Park & Ride The Pot Noodle And The Daily Telegraph.

Breaktimes and lunchtimes are fraught with diplomatic niceties in the first few days of any rehearsal period.  And of course one wishes to present oneself with professionalism and courtesy!  One tiptoes along pleasant conversational by-ways, making sure one does not say anything rude about any director, actor, production, or indeed place because like as not, just as you are saying something rude about Kings Lynn, someone, in the case of these rehearsals, poor Sophie, will pipe up to say, 'I come from Kings Lynn, it is a place of ravishing beauty'.  I then have to splutter a bit and say, 'I meant Kings Lynn in New Mexico'. 'I didn't think there was a King's Lynn in New Mexico'.  'There isn't.  Sorry.  I think bits of Kings Lynn are okay. I'm sorry. Some of my nicest chums hail from there'.  All very tricky.  

Later on, you get into a light hearted discussion that ranges over various social stereotypes, and someone says, 'Yes. The party was full of chavs, and Essex types, Kevins and Tracys'.  Now, it's my turn to say, 'My partner's called Tracy'.  And so the grim process of getting to know the cast continues, and just as one withdraws one's size ten loafer from one's own gob, then someone else thrusts a Manolo Blahnik into their own.  This is what comes of not working with the same group of people for 36 years, until they give you a Japanese clock and a £36 garden bench from Notcutts to die on.  So swings and roundabouts really.

Dietary habits are also not without their pitfalls and pratfalls. You'll always witness some pretty weird food stuffs emerging from a variety of Tupperware during rehearsals. 'Yeah, I always have to eat 6 Goji berries, at the end of every meal.'  'Why's that?'  'The shamen of Turkkmenistan say they're great for concentration'.  It is here that the reply 'Oh', comes in really useful.  I seldom remember this, and will usually say something like 'Tosser', by mistake.  

Then they'll be the medical diets, and the conversation will go something like this.  'Your flapjack's a bit of an odd colour'.  'Yes, it's a special one.  Well I'm gluten intolerant and can only eat spelt that's been grown and ground by hand using Bronze Age techniques.  It's not cheap but if I didn't do this I'd die.'  The actor who comes out with this kind of guff always garners a lot of sympathy, and you are always amazed that they are alive, let alone running about a lot on stage.  It is this very same actor who will be tucking into a large Doner kebab three weeks later, and when questioned will say they're in some kind of remission, brought on by Dr. Theatre.

Happily, this year there has been none of that nonsense.  Indeed, I am delighted to say, that I brought a Pot Noodle in to work in the second week and ate it without being sent to Coventry. It even aroused a little interest, and the contents label was studied with great interest: 'And the Cast saw that it was Good'.

Perhaps the most tricky thing about lunchbreaks and coffee breaks in the drama/artsy world is politics.  There is an unwritten rule in theatre which states: 'Thou Shalt Not Espouse Any Views Which Would Not Have Been Approved By A Soviet Committee circa 1972'.  This makes reading The Daily Telegraph openly a tricky proposition.  But it can be done.  First of all you'll need to employ some distraction techniques, perhaps singing something from Billy Bragg's back catalogue and talking up Hugo Chavez and the merits of the Cuban health system.  Once you have lulled them into a state of ideological oneness, simply whip out your doctored Daily Telegraph (having trimmed down your DT pages to tabloid size and Pritt sticked them into the scooped out carcase of a G2 Guardian Supplement).  But always be on your guard, for the Grauniad is like unto the motherlode to arty types and they will pop up behind you, hoping to share the article you're reading.  To avoid this sit with your back to the wall taking care to throw out odd snippets like, 'Julie Burchill.  You tickle me, you do' or 'Look, you can offset your carbon emissions every time you drive your BMW 7 series to your third home in Wells-next-the-whatever by paying your Tongan cleaner in poussin or guineafowl,' etc.

The cast continue to speak to each other and to me: this, to me, is a result.

Ask me how things are going in late January.