Spotted: seven nuns abseiling from the roof of the Palladium, in four-inch heels and red lipstick. Now, that's my kind of nun.
Sorry it's been so long, chickens - for the last couple of weeks I've known nothing but the deep, dark bowels of the theatre. I've barely seen daylight. We open tomorrow. After that I'll be back on tip top form with the usual witchy observations about the glamorous goings-on of the glittering West End.
Party's in Ronnie Scott's tomorrow night. Can't go full-out glam; I'm reserving all that jazz for press night. But Mr. Scott deserves a little effort, I think. Hopefully I'll be able to sweet-talk them into letting the Wanderer in too. I'm sure they will. He's very well-behaved, for a bloke.
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