Neglected to mention that before afternoon tea at Theatre Royal, I scheduled a late lunch with Antoine at Boswell's in Covent Garden. How very Waughian of me. Sounds like a day with the Vile Bodies set.

Before we begin on Witch's society Saturday, let me describe Antoine for you.

Ok. Tall, blonde (I know, it's looking good already), with an interestingly pale opaqueness to his complexion and a face so ornamental you could rope it off and sell tickets for it, Antoine wasn't 'overlooked in the looks department', if you follow me. Why haven't I gone there, you might be forgiven for asking, if he's so gorgeous?

One word: G.A.Y.

Oh no, wait... that's just where he goes on a Saturday night. Still, it should clear up any confusion.

I meet Antoine outside the station and he is talking to a pretty blonde - a girl I know from, oh God, I can't remember... well, from somewhere. It'll come to me later. We share the usual showbiz chat, all carefully avoiding the fatal phrase "So, what are you doing at the moment?" - just in case the answer's "Nothing." So dangerous. I see a dance shoe sticking out of her bag and think I'll risk it. Turns out my instinct's right - she's in rehearsals for a show. Phew.

After a couple of minutes of this I see my friend The Boy (more on him later) approaching. Boy greets both Antoine and me and then says to the pretty girl:

"Hi! How are you?"

She replies appropriately and inquires after Boy's health.

"I'm great, thanks. Where do I know you from?"

She replies appropriately and the issue is neatly resolved. It doesn't solve my problem - I still can't remember where I know her from, but I've been standing there for nigh on fifteen minutes by now and it's too late to ask.

"How funny that we're all here," says The Boy. "Next thing you know, there'll be a whole gathering of West End Wend - Hi!" he adds, as along trots yet another Wendy; this time male, gorgeous (enough to give Antoine a run for his money), known by each of us.

The new Wendy greets us all.

"I know we've met," he says to the pretty girl, "but I can't put my finger on where."

Pretty girl can't remember either. I feel slightly better.

With a promise to call The Boy later, and several mwa mwas, I depart with Antoine for Boswell's.

"Well, that was weird," I say, disentangling my scarf from my string of pearls. "All of us meeting there like that. Maybe there's something in the air, some magnetic force at work."

"Or maybe it's me," says Antoine casually. I raise an eyebrow.

"You?"

"Maybe it's my cosmic pull."

I would laugh, but knowing Antoine, it's probably true.

"You're saying that everyone fancies you?" I smirk.

"I'm just saying it's a possibility. Like the laws of attraction. What do you think?"

Privately I don't believe the laws of attraction have anything to do with Antoine's chiseled looks, but I decide not to let on.

"Attracted to you? What, like flies to s**t?"

"Or gays to the sun," he replies. "Come on, they're waiting for me at Boswell's."

Talking of Oliver!, I am off for afternoon tea backstage at the Theatre Royal today. Don't get excited - it sounds way more glamorous than it actually is. Less red carpet and more sterile corridor, if you follow me, chickens. Still, I might get a glimpse of Rowan Atkinson skulking around the stage door. Not that he really skulks - that's a little unfair. I mean, there was plenty of skulking onstage when he was singing You've Got To Pick A Pocket Or Two, but I suppose that it's a necessary movement tool for Fagin. I'm sure that he's all grace and charm in real life. Hopefully I'll find out today.

More later, darlings. Mwa.

Witch is in a deep state of panic/self disgust.  Having just devoured a burger big enough to feed the entire cast of Oliver! several times over, I have realized that I have little more than a week to get it together for rehearsals.  Trying to channel the magic of Sally Bowles, but feeling more like Liza circa 2000.

I shouldn't whinge.  It's not the usual OhGodI'vegottoloseastoneinaweek drama, thank heavens. In fact, we've been specifically told not to slim down.  It was quite refreshing to be told by the choreographer, "Ladies, don't lose any weight.  We want you aerobically fit and brimming with stamina, but stay exactly as you are."  That's a novelty.  Usually they're tearing you apart with their comments about keeping away from the biscuit tin, or suggesting you get down the gym before you break your partner's back.  Someone even told me once that they could see the fat in my eyes.  Now, that's lipodetection for you.

But I have got to get in shape.  I was toying with the idea of setting up the WiiFit, but not sure I can stomach it (especially not after the burger).  Maybe a run?  Nah, it's getting dark.  Ummm....  Does vocal stamina count?  Maybe I could just sing along to my copy of Pirates of Penzance.  That's a laringeal workout, if ever there was one.  I'll even throw in a few reps with a can of baked beans whilst I'm wailing, although I might have to sit out the middle section of Poor Wand'ring One.  That'll do, won't it?

Actually, baked beans are sounding good right now.....

The hottest ticket in town, darlings - take it from me. http://www.sisteractthemusical.com/home.php

Witch welcomes all to the glittering West End.  The life of a luvvie.  The diary of a darling.  More later, chickens.  Mwa, mwa.

Witch wonders what to write...