Hello, witchlings. Having spent a wonderful weekend with the Wanderer, reality hit me on the back this morning with more force than André Previn's left hand as I remembered that I have less than a week to go before I start.

Hence a two-mile run (admittedly, with stops) and a considerable amount of stretching and straining. Something has happened to my flexibility. I used to be able to drop into the splits without batting an eyelid. Now I can't touch my toes without wincing. In fact, these days I seem to have more aches and pains than the entire cast of Cats put together.

I'm not kidding myself. I know it's age. And it bothers me.

It's not so much the actual ageing that upsets me, or even the effect it has aesthetically. Ten years later I'm far happier with my body than I ever was at twenty. No, it's the fact that everything's just that little bit harder these days. 

Maybe ten years of showbiz have accelerated the process. High kicks and backbends can't have helped. I'm hoping that choreographically Sister Act is going to be less step kick and more step dig. I've got a horrible suspicion it's going to hurt though, a prickly feeling that starts in my back and runs down my left leg... Oh no, wait. I think that's sciatica.