Yo-Yo Diet?

I feel like Yo-Yo Ma's cello. Plucked and prodded and bruised all over, with a left quad tighter than the A string and a hollow feeling inside.

And we've only been dancing one day.....

I've got to get over this. Isn't it what they call "good" pain, the hurt that comes from exercise? I should embrace it. With all the workouts I'm getting, I'm going to be one fit witch by opening night. Firmer than Madonna's inner thigh.

The powers that be have reiterated the "No weight loss" order, sparking numerous sightings of nuns happily tucking into bacon sandwiches and the like. The canteen has lost its air of deprivation and the mood at lunchtime is jubiant; ecstatic, even.

I'm always on some sort of diet, and as I guess the "no weight loss" thing probably extends to "no weight gain" either, I'm going to have to remain on one. I watched miserably this morning as two of my collegues cheerfully munched their way through a breakfast baguette, all sausage and egg and gloriously oozing butter. I think I may have stared too long. I'm now a little worried that I may have absorbed some of the fat through osmosis. I'm sure it's possible. In fact, my skirt feels a little tight now.....

Have We Met?

Witch arrived at Jerwood Space this morning to discover a cornucopia of coffee, cake and small talk. Ah, the "Meet-and-Greet"...

Well, they call it a "Meet-and-Greet", but everyone invariably sticks with the people they already know, so consequently neither meet nor greet happens. It's usually a seething mass of small, twitchy clusters; everyone seemingly happy to be there, but equally jittery. Eyes dart to more interesting groups on the other side of the room. Smiles are strained, laughs are louder, conversation is a little forced. The laws of politeness apply.

Today there was none of that. Many of us knew one another from the workshop in January, and the new people had been in the week before to get up to speed. I don't know if being plied with cake had anything to do with it, but the atmosphere was unusually relaxed.

I was slightly alarmed when I reached the studio upstairs to find about a hundred chairs laid out in an enormous circle. What were they planning? A mass séance? Or maybe a giant prayer meeting? Should I expect to find myself kneeling on the floor, eyes rolling to the heavens and manically shouting Hallelujah? I know I'm playing a nun, but that surely would be method acting in the extreme...

Happily it was neither. Just a plain old Stand-Up-And-Introduce-Yourself affair. In fact, we were asked to say our name, role and state our favourite film. As it came around to me, I kept trying to think of some amazing movie that would set me out from the crowd, some highbrow-yet-edgy piece of arthouse, something like Withnail and I or Apocolypse Now - a film with instant kudos that would let everyone know how educated and cool I was.

Unfortunately, when it got to my turn, the first thing that came into my head was Dirty Dancing.

Unlucky.

Curiously, the studio floor was raised a couple of feet. I was trying to work out exactly why, when the director enlightened us that a revolve had been inserted into the floor. A revolve. Wow. I knew this show was going to be big, but a revolve in the rehearsal space? Now, that's posh.

Haven't had a go on it yet. Apparently it makes you seasick. Oddly, I can't wait.

We got straight into a vocal call, starting with the end of act one, Take Me To Heaven. Man, this song is genius. Alan Menken has expertly woven classic seventies disco themes together, with obvious references to acts like Donna Summer and Chic. Equally brilliant are Glenn Slater's lyrics. The song is used twice in the show: once in Deloris' seedy nightclub and again for the nuns' launch as a choir under her direction. The words remain the same, but sit comfortably in two different contexts.

It was a good day, all in all. It's going to be an exciting few months. Whoopi's coming over at some point as well. I don't know when, but I literally can't wait. I'll be looking out for her every day...

Other highlights were seeing Rosamund Pike in the ladies' sorting out her contact lenses, dressed in jeans and a massive crinoline, and Dame Judy in the canteen. Now, that's showbiz.

Tomorrow we start dancing. Look out, knees.

Witch has woken up just on the wrong side of hungover this morning. Just reaching for the paracetamol and then you'll have my full attention.....

Ah. That's better. I took them with scorching hot coffee in the hope that they'll dissolve more quickly. Unfortunately now I have a massive blister on the roof of my mouth. Oh dear.

And what's going on with my feet? Man, they're twice the size they were yesterday. I've always had problems with bunions, but today my big toe joints look as if someone has stitched golf balls into them.

Last night was a success; the outfit went down very well and I managed to stay in the shoes all night - a first for the six-inch lovelies. The last time I wore them was a disaster. In my defence, I forgot that Newcastle was cobbled and there was nowhere to sit in Perdu (it's all weird bed-type furniture), but needless to say I didn't last long before the Wanderer had to carry me home.

Last night, however, I stood all evening; hence probably why the bunions are bad this morning, but I didn't want to ruin the effect of my dress by scrunching it up in a dark corner. I contrived to meet the Wanderer beforehand, so at least I had a strong arm to steady me on the stairs.

The Oliver! lot were there, quite a few had zipped over from Wicked and there were even a few members of the Joseph cast knocking about. All in all, quite a bizzy old affair.

Showbiz showbiz... Anyway. Witch had better go, darlings. I've got to prepare for my first day on Sister Act. Should be fun!

Will let you know how it goes, chickens...

It seems Whoopi is going to be a busy lady.....

http://tinyurl.com/cagn6v

Wardrobe Crisis Solved!

Went for a charming little dress from Betsey Johnson in the end, a cute little red number with black dots; quirky but elegant. Dressed it down with black opaques and black chunky court shoes. All set off with a simple Ruby Woo lip....

West End Witch: Never Knowingly Underdressed.

Wardrobe Dilemma

Just a quickie. Witch has an engagement tonight and nothing to wear. Nothing.

There is now nothing in my wardrobe. Every last garment has been tried on, discarded and then thrown stroppily on the bed.

It's a fairly posh do - members' bar, quite smart, teeming with creative types and media magnates. Oh, and not forgetting all the Wendies. The place'll be crawling with them.

Should I go all-out glamour, or quirky cool? It's very easy to get it wrong in these situations. I don't want to turn up looking like Dita Von Teese if everyone else is in Sienna-style skinnies and Boho belts. Equally, I don't want to blend into the background. Gaaah!

A Question of Faith...

Right. This is a tough one. Witch has been asked, as part of her Sister Act homework, to formulate a couple of questions to be forwarded to real life nuns. Hmmn.....

Thanks, by the way, for all your lovely Tweety suggestions - notably from Claire, who suggested asking if there's such a thing as standard issue nun underwear. Silly, maybe, but no less valid. Got me thinking. Where do nuns buy their knickers from? I can't quite picture Sister Mary-So-and-So cruising down the aisles of Marks and Spencer, or furtively fingering frillies at the back of La Senza.

Maybe there's a nun catalogue. Habits Direct, or similar. Although I can't imagine there would be much choice.  Available from sizes 6-20 in all shades of black.

Anyway, spurred on by bra-and-panty curiosity (every hue and shade of wrong, I agree), I began to think of questions I would like to ask a nun. It got off to a feeble start. After ten minutes, I had a paltry list of gimcrack ideas, all show and little substance. It was as if I was trying to ingratiate myself with or somehow impress these women; women I had never met, had nothing in common with and would almost certainly never identify with.

And then it struck me. Clean and quick, like the thunderbolt to the sinner. Hence my first question:

Why?

What makes someone become a nun?

It all just seems a bit, well... a bit silly, really. Why the hell (pardon the pun) would you give up your home, family, worldly possessions et al - to go and live a life of seclusion with a bunch of people you had never met? It's an issue of faith, sure, but is it really that helpful? I'd genuinely be interested to know.

I know they call it "the calling", but it would have to be a call louder than Streisand through a megaphone to get me anywhere near a convent. The idea seems utterly alien to me. I'd be pushed to get by without even my GHDs, let alone all my back catalogue of beauty products... Dr. Haushka... Clinique... Immac...

Speaking of Immac, I wonder what the church's official stance is on nun hair removal? Hang on, I think I've got my next question.