2006-08-27 - 6:17 p.m.

Rehearsals began this week.

Out of over 600 who auditioned, there are 30-odd of us shuffling into the studio trying to look like we know what we�re doing. Some � and you will know them by the trail of their flamboyance - are trained actors, singers and performers. Me, I couldn�t find my way around a stage if I had the floor plan tattooed into the inside of my eyelids. So it�s something of a learning curve.

Fame costs. And so does anonymous minor involvement in a professional opera, apparently. And here�s where we start paying. In sweat. Well, strained vocal chords, anyway.

Learning the songs comes first � which is coming as something of a relief compared with the unmitigated horror that the dance and acting training will no doubt bring. The five pieces we have to learn are in an alien operatic register but you�re just putting notes together after all � it�s not rocket surgery, and I�m holding up.

The fun, not to mention outright humiliation, will come when we (I) have to sing whilst trying to move around in a way that somehow approaches what the choreographer has in his mind.

In an attempt not to look like the arrhythmic, clodhopping oaf that I coincidentally am, I�m engaging in an ill-advised self-improvement programme. I haven�t devised the specifics, but it might involve some kind of gym loitering and not having eight pints any excuse I get, that kind of thing. Who knows, by October, when we open, I might even resemble a vaguely healthy human being.

That said, the evening rehearsals are seeming to end with a trip to the pub, last week until 3am on a Wednesday, so I�m not putting myself forward for any body sculpture awards JUST yet.

Tickets are selling out fast, though, so if you do want to see a grown man out of his depth, you should e-mail me and I�ll try and dissuade you�