2007-04-11 - 9:58 a.m.

Johnny Geilgud, James Mason, Dame Peggy Ashcroft, Margot Fonteyn, Nureyev, Darcey Bussell and, from tomorrow night�er, me.

Yesterday we moved onto the actual stage in what we call �the theatre space�, which is a technical term theatre people use for �the theatre�.

We have two days to �tech� the opera, which basically means running it at a pace slow enough to cause cerebral haemorrhaging in the more impatient, whilst the lighting director, conductor, director and cleaning woman all scream at each other as every little thing they do upsets the delicate balance of our finely honed performance. They are all internationally renowned in their fields (especially the cleaning woman) so it�s something of an ego-fest and they�re not afraid to strop it up in front of everyone.

It�s fairly tedious in that you�re often made to repeat things only standing three millimetres to the left to see how that looks, but hey, that�s professional showbusiness. Er, I guess.

The most intriguing, by which I mean physically shocking experience yesterday was being made up. The black members of the cast all went in for theirs, were given bits of designer dirt on their smocks, came out looking like slaves kitted out by Gap, but fair enough.

Then me. My fears about being blacked up were immediately allayed, and they�re not doing that at all. No, they�re GREYING me up, smearing me with soot-coloured dust and THEN kitting me out in rolled up pants, collarless shirt and a STRAW HAT. I look like Huckleberry Finn after losing a fight with some asphalt.

Still, it does mean that I don�t stick out like a shining beacon of pastiness, though I had to endure no little interest from other cast members whilst pulling my best �what can I do?� face from underneath my new chimney-sweep�s complexion. Man, it�s tough being a white slave. The LOOKS you get.