Last week, we had a read-through of our unfinished script, 'For We Are Young And Free'.

We asked three very clever people to play the parts in the script and to provide us with feedback afterwards.

I honestly cannot offer any better advice to writers than DO A READ-THROUGH WITH ARTICULATE PEOPLE BEFORE YOU FEEL THE SCRIPT IS READY.

It was the best, most challenging and motivating session. I don't know why, but the potential horror of realising that certain things don't work or that certain other things need to be completely reshaped is (at the right point in the process) the most confidence-inspiring thing. You realise you can change that, you can tweak this, you are in control of the direction of the writing and there are things about it that actually work. It's a brilliant thing, the read-through.

And then, months from now, after the show, in the foyer (at the wrong point in the process) when someone says, "I didn't like this character" or "Did you ever think about taking this part out altogether?" (and there are people who say this kind of stuff in foyers after shows), you get to say, "Yes, we workshopped that, and it didn't work because [explain why person asking question is not as clever as you are]."

And it's quite a nice feeling to be able to say something constructive, rather than standing there feeling insecure, and it doesn't matter if people don't like the show (not everyone likes every show)... but it does matter that you feel like you thought things through and you challenged yourself early enough in the process that it made an impact on the script.

It's at this point that you look across the foyer at the people who were at the read-through and you think "Thank you", and quite often they look back at you and they give you a little wink and you remember them always.

Thanks very much to Tim, Jane, Emily and Rita.

I am now up to the stage in re-writing my show from memory where I am sure it was funnier. I'm sure it was better. And more clever. And in fact brilliant. I'm sure it had a strangely genius quality about it.

But we'll never know.

Stupid exploding hard drive.

Also, according to the newspaper this morning, I am getting dumber. Having been vegetarian for twelve years, I am now a very shame-faced meat eater, against my finest political and ethical convictions. Now I find out I'm actually making myself more stupid. This might explain my script.

As part of the show I am writing, I'm researching Paris Hilton. Paris is already the most googled person in the world, so I'm doing our global reputation no good, not to mention the filters I've had to install in my search options (yeesh!).

Anyhoo, check out this mistake in a newspaper article about Paris. A nice little twist.

Also, just so Anthony Lane doesn't think he's the only New Yorker film reviewer I like (because obviously he is a big fan of the Standing There Diary), here is an article about film production and distribution, by David Denby. As with all New Yorker articles, it's probably a good idea to print it out and take it with you everywhere you go. Then one day, maybe three years from now, a train will break down when you're two hours from anywhere and you'll thank me for the David Denby article. There are still several unwrapped New Yorkers next to my bed. They span a very busy period in my life known as 2004, and I still haven't got around to reading them. One day I will. I might be a grandmother by then, but I'll be grateful for something excellent to read.

Do you think anyone would find it cool if I started an Anthony Lane fan site? Is there any way in which that's socially acceptable? Could I do it with irony? Under a false name? Under his name?

Probably I should go back to googling Paris Hilton.

So now it's official.

Standing There Productions is doing a theatre show during the Comedy Festival!

This is foolhardy and terrifying and those of us in charge of writing said show had frankly better pull a rabbit out of our hat fairly quickly.

At the moment, the show consists of a draft script and a series of hand drawn "maps", kind of like family trees, demonstrating what the show is intended to become (always good to keep by way of hilarious retrospective comparison with what the show actually ends up being). Some of these maps are on napkins. Some of them are on the backs of invoices from places like the physio where I went to get my wrist looked at. One of them is written in a crayon. (It was down the back of the couch).

In the next five months (yes I am counting December shut up) the show will become three dimensional and will develop a life of its own. Rita has drawn up a budget that, if it were a person, would be very intimidating and already would have done its Christmas shopping.

Any advice, support, love, affection, cash, and potential bums on seats would be most welcome at this point.

Also, anyone who can read my handwriting from when my wrist was broken might be able to help me decipher the previous month or so worth of not very helpful "notes" I've been taking on the show. What do we think "[indecipherable word] could be hilarious" might mean? What could be hilarious? What dammit!?

Let me know. Quickly.

Just while I'm on this point, quote of the year so far goes to Rita (as usual) for her assessment the other day that we did not need to panic about a certain aspect of the production "at this stage". I expressed my relief and Rita considered the position for a moment. "Although", she said soberly, "There's panicking to be done".

This, I think, shall be my mantra until May 2007. There's panicking to be done. How exciting.