2006-09-18 - 11:41 a.m.

In between the jollity of my Dad having two heart attacks (he�s stable now thank god) and frantically heading up and down between London and my home town, I�ve somehow managed to keep up with work and the opera preparations, though I don�t look good on it and feel like someone is siphoning out my bone marrow as I sleep.

That said, the adrenaline kick that comes with having to learn several intricate dance routines in a matter of days is a pretty stiff eye-opener. If you�d have told me, say, two months ago that I�d be frantically practising Jewish folk dancing as I would be performing it live on stage in front of 500 people for ten nights running at a major London theatre, I�d have thought you a deranged loon. But now, well, that does seem to be the size of it.

They really didn�t mention any of this at the auditions. I imagined the chorus monkeys like myself would be stood at the back where we would be heard but not seen � now we�re told we have to pull off an incredibly complicated choreographed set piece whilst singing which, to paraphrase Tom Waits, is harder than Chinese algebra.

In the opening genocide scene (it�s a feelgood classic, but starts grimly) we also have to �emote�, which I can barely do in real life, let alone under false pretences. Although there are 40 of us playing an oppressed morass in a hellish ghetto, we have to define our own characters and have these fake families to comfort when corpses get dumped in the stage to set the scene. Since mine includes an aged grandmother, there�s remedial old lady touching involved, which does to be fair give me accurate �terrified� feelings.

And as if all that weren�t scary enough, they�re making me grow a beard, so that we look more Jewish/biblical/utterly stupid*. So much for getting a date in the next month. I barely want to leave the house.

Of course, what with the dancing and dressing up and play acting, the gayness levels have reached giddy heights, and the more flamboyant members of the chorus now have free reign to increase the flaming factor, pretty much taking everybody else with them, which is funny.

During a break, a group of the guys were stood outside when one of our camper brethren came up with, �SO...I assume we�re all friends of Dorothy here?� In amidst the mixed response, I told him I was more a friend of a friend of Dorothy, though having witnessed my Jewish folk dancing, it was more than a fair assumption.

There are 11 rehearsals and 24 days to opening night, which is quite overwhelmingly scary.

*by which I mean, that it's me that looks foolish with a beard as a pasty white guy trying to look otherwise.