I'm currently sitting back stage at the Old Vic Theatre in Hannah Waddingham's dressing room. It's the final night of Kiss Me Kate, and Hannah was absolutely sensational in the lead.
The back stage is buzzing with the stars and their showbiz friends, all drinking champagne and screaming "darling" at the tops of their lungs. I've got theatre anecdotes coming out of my ears. Christopher Biggins is milling around in a sparkly scarf and has just popped into the room to say, "love you... Mean it! See you at the Ivy."
We're here with Meriel, who's been at a course all day, called Gateway Women, which she's asked me to mention. It's apparently an incredibly empowering course for women who can't have children either for medical reasons or because of circumstance and she says it's made an enormous difference. She's literally buzzing.
We saw the show from the Gods in the theatre, which was a fairly uncomfortable experience, but reminded me of my sixth form days at the Theatre Royal, Northampton when we used to sit on rows of benches on the cushions we'd brought with us from home. I once opened a packet of Malteesers and watcher in horror as they showered the audience in the circle below. This evening I managed to drop two chocolate buttons and three opal fruits on people in the posh seats below. Rich bastards. 'Scuse the language. I'm pissed as a fart after a glass of fizzy wine; my first alcohol in 3 months.