Diary – 24 May 2018

Monday morning. Sitting in Ed the physio’s waiting room. He is theatreland’s go-to man for fractured bones and torn muscles — essentially, an MOT garage for weary actors. A herd of cast members from The Lion King hobble in; the expression ‘suffering for your art’ comes to mind. I hurt my knee playing on all fours, but as a dog rather than a big cat. Since training at Laban, I had always wanted to do absurdist theatre, and when a role in Auden and Isherwood’s The Dog Beneath the Skin came up, I thought my prayers had been answered. But what a challenge! On stage for two hours every night, wearing a boiler suit, dog head, and gas mask. No more dog parts for me. I was apprehensive about the reviews, but Matthew, my brother-in-law, pointed out: ‘It’s really none of your business what they write, Cressida.’ Fair enough, I suppose.