The Titus/Mad World company finally arrived in Stratford during a glorious spell of bank holiday sunshine. In fact, the weather was so gorgeous towards the beginning of the past week, and the atmosphere in the town so pleasant, that I had to constantly remind myself that this wasn't some sort of Shakespearean holiday camp.

When work on Titus Andronicus did resume on Monday afternoon, the stunning views of the river Avon and Holy Trinity Church afforded by the terrace outside the Ashcroft room were a distraction to be overcome. It's certainly the most beautiful rehearsal room I've ever been in, though admittedly that might not be saying much.

Over the course of those first few days in Stratford, our Deputy Stage Manager, Gabs, became very adept at retrieving half-naked, prone, sunbathing actors from the terrace just as their rehearsal calls were approaching.

Having said all that, it's a mark of how focused the work remained, and how much the weather changed, that when the fire alarm was set off on Saturday by the gale-force winds and torrential rain, it interrupted a phenomenally exciting run of the play.

We filed outside to the designated fire assembly point on the grass outside the Swan. There, we were joined by the audience from the matinee of As You Like It, and indeed, the cast, in full costume (oddly appropriate, given the Glastonbury aesthetic).

This is obviously not what's meant to happen – but the sight of two acting companies and a crowd of theatre-goers all huddling together in the rain and laughing seems as good an illustration as I can offer of what makes Stratford special.

There was a funny end-of-term sort of frisson in the air on our last Friday in London. The end of the laval stage in the life of our production had arrived, and, after nine weeks, it was time for us to emerge from our Clapham chrysalis.

The fact that we were all relishing the prospect of a two-day weekend in the glorious early summer sun probably had something to do with it as well.

But the anticipation of the move to Stratford wasn't the only reason for excitement. From the very first day of work on A Mad World My Masters, it's been clear that the music will play a huge part in defining the character of the show. Blues and jazz interludes run through the piece and help to hold it all together, like a syncopated, pentatonic backbone. This is Soho in the 50s, after all.

Linda John Pierre, our jazz singer, has been dazzling us with her effulgent voice throughout rehearsals, but we'd not yet worked with the rest of the band. As delighted as we were to finally meet our brilliant musicians, we were even more thrilled to hear them play.

Not only do they perform this music brilliantly, but they do so in the gutsy and seductive spirit of the play itself. To borrow a phrase from the play, you'd have to be 'musty visaged' indeed not to be won over by the spectacle of Ian Redford launching exuberantly into Let the Good Times Roll backed by a six-piece jazz band, complete with horns.

It occurs to me that Follywit, Sponger and Oboe are, in an odd way, not unlike jazz musicians themselves. They go through life riffing off of one another, and improvising their way in and out of trouble. If he were a musician, I think Sponger would probably play the double bass - though that might be 'a prop too far', even for me…

It's something of a relief having only one play to focus on for a while, as we go into technical rehearsals for Titus and get ready for previews on Thursday.

I find Shakespeare's language easier to grasp than Middleton's as the iambic pentameter beats out a rhythm you can almost feel in your body. We're in a good place: the experimental stage keeps the play from going stale and, sitting, watching, I'm hearing words I hadn't heard before - but we've done so many different scene drafts now I find it difficult to keep track on what worked when and where.

'Remember that time Titus…and you moved…' Nope!

There's a safe security in a structured blocking. I know that if all else fails, if the theatre burns down, so long as I stand here I will be absolutely fine. That's rubbish of course as humans respond instinctively - blocking can either be a safety net or a smothering comfort blanket.

It's perversely lucky Lavinia doesn't have much in the way of lines, however when she's unable to speak she's desperately trying to - when no one understands her it's extremely frustrating.

Both Ann Yee and Stephen Kemble have been working with me on getting both my body and breath to a place of trauma and shock. Nasty talk: I need to be aware of nerve endings and torn skin.

To recreate a similar breathing pattern to that of someone having a panic attack Stephen has me lie on my back, legs at right angles to my body. I flex my feet and try to put them over my head. The tension created by flexing my feet and engaging my thigh and stomach muscles sends a shudder through my body and my breath comes in gasps. We call it 'Tremble with Kemble'.

Last rehearsal tomorrow before we go into the theatre.

I'm very tired.

Hobbit sightings in Rhovanion: 0

I'll keep looking.

Has it has come to this? Which, by the way is another quote from the play of course.

We are done. Rave reviews and warm welcomes aside, it is with that familiar sense of sadness and reflection that we all part. How many of us will work together again? Who knows? It has been my great privilege to work on this historic production. Ohio was just lovely. Meeting people that you fall in love with almost instantly. There were functions galore, which helps explain why there has been such a gap since my last post.

But what a journey. I am now officially unemployed. Ah, angst and fretfulness, my old friends; where have you been? There is a line in a favourite film of mine (and of President Bartlet in my all-time fave TV series The West Wing) The Lion in Winter, where a character says that he has 'been through every street in hell.' 'That's funny', is the reply, 'I never saw you there.'

I feel like I have been through heaven and hell with this cast. Miserable filming days in some God forsaken part of the world that I am assured was North London. The stressful pleasure of understudy performances. The glory of opening in London and Stratford. The cool glances of Moscow natives. The joy of sitting in Stanislavski's seat. The wonderful theatres and patrons. The birth of my son. The long, long days away from home.

This production has been in my life for over a year. It seems to have flown by so fast. These actors. This crew. I can still hear them laughing. And arguing. And laughing again. I wonder if The Director feels the same. I assume he must. But the RSC goes on. Upwards and onwards. And like those lines we spoke over 160 times, we live on, and yet fade to some other place.

This was a great production. A great tour. I met a wonderful teacher who flamed red with passion for Shakespeare and she told me how she was still thinking about the play. People in America were crisscrossing the country to see it. Imagine. I miss Stratford. I miss these characters. I miss it all. I wonder how many teachers, actors, directors, writers, designers have been influenced by this show. How many will I see in my old age and marvel at their skill? From such acorns...

Hopefully see you all some day. If you saw the play, thank you. If you didn't, well, quite frankly, I have nothing to say to you! Except, don't miss out next time. You should have seen us. We really were a sight to see.

Love, always love. And Shakespeare.

With just over a week to go before the company migrates to Stratford for the summer, we're getting to the point in rehearsals of A Mad World My Masters when we start to have a go at 'running' lengthy sections, sometimes entire acts or halves.

This is a bit like getting on a roller coaster; it's a lot of fun, but there's also a frisson of trepidation as you strap yourself in for what could, at times, be a bumpy ride - knowing that once it's started, you can't get off until it stops. It's also not advisable to eat a massive lunch beforehand.

Having painstakingly worked on detailed sequences of verbal and physical cues, we're all working at our utmost levels of concentration and energy to try and make sure that nothing goes wrong.

But during the first few attempts, it's inevitable that something will go awry at some point. It's incredibly frustrating when it does. You feel like you've blown all the hard work leading up to that moment. But bizarrely, it's sometimes a good thing.

During Act 2, for example, Follywit, Sponger and Oboe attempt to carry out a burglary. Try as they might, they're not particularly good at it. So when something went wrong during a recent run that stopped the scene in its tracks and made us all corpse, we realised that it was actually perfect for the scene.

We've since spent about 45 minutes working out how to recreate this thing, that originally happened completely by accident in a matter of seconds.

It's a delicious irony that puts me a little in mind of Tommy Cooper's hilariously botched magic routines. At times, it may look like chaos - but the reality is that it takes an awful lot of time and effort to make it look like you're doing something that badly.

(Unless it's a genuine mistake. But then you'll never know...)

Eyes that fire and sword have seen
And horror in the walls of stone
Look at last on meadows green
And trees and hills they have long known.

Stratford reminds me of a place in a JRR Tolkien novel. For me it could easily be a Middle-Earth Rhovanion. Shakespeare pilgrims have consecrated it - and quite rightly so - and its seemingly mythical quality will continue to be a part of its allure but there's something almost too perfect about the place.

I like seeing things in faces that aren't symmetrical or conventionally beautiful, like a broken nose, a scar, or a crooked tooth as they'll most likely have a story attached to them. I suppose I entertain a slight perversity in finding aesthetically ugly things rather charming.

Please don't think that I'm saying Shakespeare's birth place doesn't have a story, of course it does and please don't fear that I might run wild and lop bits off lovely Stratford - I only mean that I hope to discover that alongside its infamous beauty, steeped in history, I'll also find broken bones – or even a tiny person with hairy, big feet…

Stephen and I were in Rhovanion last Saturday filming the Titus trailer. Stratford College had kindly offered up one of their large catering kitchens for the day and the premise for filming was: 'Shakespeare's unwritten scene.' The scene in which Titus prepares the two pies he ultimately feeds to Tamora and Saturninus.

Stephen was shirtless but with black trousers and an apron and I was in a long white shirt, bare legs and flour all over my face.

There was talk of Stephen only wearing the apron and a pair of white briefs, like a cooking Bryan Cranston in Breaking Bad, but this idea was dismissed early on the grounds of it being too distracting and a deviation from what Titus Andronicus is really about i.e. it's not about his pants.

We then had to wait a little while for the arrival of Yum Yum and her entourage.

Once she'd arrived, we began setting up for different shots of Stephen: stirring a pan, chopping meat, seasoning it. In the trailer Lavinia isn't involved in the physical preparation of the pies but is instead sitting quietly on the worktop, weirdly supporting. Yum Yum's there too, supporting, in her own very different way.

There will be blood, creatures, classical music and Stephen and I had such fun making it with Dusthouse productions.

I should also say that there'll be two versions: a U and then an R-rated for the kids.

Coming soon!

This has been an exciting week in the Mad World rehearsal room. Partly because we found ourselves running the second half of the play (blimey, how did that happen?), and partly because the RSC has built us a new toy.

It's about 12 feet tall and 10 feet across. Sort of wedge shaped. It's got doors that allow you to get in and out of it and a big Perspex window. And there's a sort of a balcony bit, but I wouldn't advise climbing up there.

Because it's on wheels.

On one side, it serves for the exterior of the 2 i's Cafe. On another, the interior of the hall of Sir Bounteous's whopping country pile.

With each rotation, one wonders where we will be transported next. It's like an episode of Playdays but live, and with dialogue by Thomas Middleton. And without any of the rubbish stops. I'm writing a blog post about a piece of scenery, for goodness sake. That's how good it is.

During scenes, the block is safely secured in place. Then, at the beginning of a scene change, Jonny and Joe run on and activate the hydraulics, which hoist the piece up onto its wheels, making it easier to manoeuvre across the stage.

The buttons that control this extraordinary mechanism are all marked, 'Do not push unless authorised,' which is something of a red rag to a bull for me. Somehow I've managed to control myself so far.

Meanwhile, in Rome, we've been choreographing the final scene's gory and balletic fight sequence. This has mainly involved us spending hours experimenting with the most inventive and impressive ways of maiming each other. All part of the healthy cast-bonding process, really...

We have been reviewed. The NY Times is notoriously difficult to impress. New York is a city that knows what it likes and what it doesn't. After Matilda's rave reviews we really needed to step up.

Job done.

'This Caesar wears an African cloak'

Working on a Sunday! How horrific. But as the picture testifies, it's not really that hard. This is Simon Manyonda and Chinna Wodu seriously prepping for our Sunday performance: 144 performances, we are allowed to take some liberties.

Actually, that's unfair. This is taken after song call, fight call, vocal warm up. I've just left some members of the cast having a sit-up competition. Yeah, that's how we roll, ya'all. Ok, I'll stop now. Am noticing more slang sneaking into the company's language now. Good for our CVs, I guess.

We had an RSC Party last night. There have been a lot of parties. I made a fool of myself in front of Sir Tony Sher last night. If you haven't read his book, Year of the King. It is very good. I get a little tongue tied around him. I think I've mentioned in a previous post that he let me warm up with him many years ago. He made me want to act. Damn him.

Shows are going well. No injuries so far. Voices all sound a little tired. It has been a long week. Plus air conditioning. But day off tomorrow to sightsee. Will probably stay in bed and watch TV. Or go to Central Park!

The houses have been incredibly enthusiastic. Keep bumping into people around town who are so grateful to us for coming, which is nice.

There is a debate in the dressing room right now about nutrition and... how we get rid of our... waste. Not so nice. Yesterday we had a heated argument about language and race. From the sublime to the ridiculous. Again.

Have a nice day.

Sorry about that.

I have been informed by the beauteous Philippa Harland (Head of Press) that I really should be talking more about the play so...

We have press night tonight. It has been pretty intense so far but The Director, in his infinite wisdom, has decided not to call us in for rehearsals since we have opened. I was amazed to learn that we have performed Caesar 140 times.140! You would think we should know what we are doing. You would think. Still cub to learn. And as I have mentioned previously, we have new members of the team and it has been a while... still, no excuses.

The space is wonderful. BAM has a long association with the RSC and you can see why. A real theatre full of real theatre people. There doesn't seem to be enough space for us all backstage but somehow we manage to cram ourselves in.

Adjoa Andoh mentioned only yesterday that so much of New York seems to be a TARDIS. it seems like there isn't space but then you step inside and... voila!

The staff are incredibly keen to help. I feel a little like theatrical stars must have felt in the past. I have never had dressers hanging things up for me. Water being passed to me, items being returned, almost mystically to my desk. One could get used to this.

This is perhaps an apt moment to mention the union Issue. In America, the union does not allow non members of their theatrical union to be anything more than supervisors. So our crew can advise and demonstrate, but essentially are there in a mentor role.there is a lot to admire about this although I can imagine how frustrating this could be for our crew, who are so keen to get involved to make things go quicker. When I was studying acting (all those many, many years ago) you could not perform on an English stage without having an Equity card. But you could not get an Equity card without doing a job. A conundrum.

But you could get one if you went to a registered drama school. Or you could become a stripper. I kid you not. Anyway, when you got your card, the sense of pride and achievement and belonging was immense. We lost that union strength some time ago. And I can't help admire America's refusal to do the same.

I am growing a beard, as I mentioned to you. I feel like I'm incredibly in attractive at this moment in time. Not a good place to be when going on stage. I will have to act I suppose.

The space is very wide and has a...distressed surround which actually fits in perfectly with our setting. The Gods contrive... The audience are on the same level as the stage on the front row which means they are very very close. It also means you can occasionally see them craning their necks around an actor to see another part of the stage. It is perhaps my fave thing in theatre, besides the rustle of programmes and per- lights down coughs, to see audiences desperate to see what is happening.

It is raining today. Damn.

Go see some theatre. It keeps you slim and adds years to your life. Allegedly.

Monday 8 April, 10:43am. At the RSC's Clapham rehearsal rooms, Director Sean Foley and his actors attempt to refine a piece of comedic business...

SEAN: Let's try that bit again, from when you two come in.

RICH: Okay. I'll move a bit further down stage this time.

SEAN: Yes, I think that'll work.

BEN: So, wait - is it funnier if I put the box down, then you say the line; or is it funnier if you say the line and then I put the box down; or is it funnier if I go to put the box down, stop halfway through, and then you say the line?

SEAN: The second one.

BEN: Right.

RICH: Hang on, which one was that?

BEN: Ummm... I don't know. I've sort of forgotten why I thought it was funny in the first place...

Somewhere in my flat is a battered old issue of Plays and Players (if you're fond of old school, dusty theatricalia, you must search that magazine out). On the front page is a pull quote from Donald Sinden that reads, 'Comedy is a hideous mechanical business'.

Rehearsals for A Mad World My Masters certainly haven't been hideous. I have to say that, firstly because the director might be reading this, and secondly because we're all having a lot of fun. Nevertheless, I find that that quote comes to mind from time to time as we set about finessing some of the comic beats that require metronomic timing and physical precision.

It's tricky, because often the things that make us laugh are the happy accidents; unexpected flashes of mirth that we didn't - indeed, couldn't - plan. But once we've hit upon something fun, Sean needs to pounce with a keen eye.

There will be a single, particular way of executing the moment that will be sharper, snappier and just plain funnier than any of the alternatives.

So the upshot is that amidst the fun, there's hard work to be done. And it can be frustrating when you fluff a carefully plotted sequence of moves for the third time on the trot.

But it's rewarding work, and relief is always close at hand - one of the joys of working with a company like this is that you're never far away from another flash of mirth...

Queen Victoria, the Empress of India, famously never visited her colony in the East. Near the end of The Empress Abdul Karim tells the elderly, frail Queen Victoria, '…if Her Majesty can't go to India, then we will bring India to her.' The stage directions then indicate: 'a troupe of brightly coloured musicians and performers enter…Victoria looks delighted.'

I have been commissioned to choreograph this section of the play. I knew I did not want to use generic Bollywood or contemporary fusion movement languages that did not exist during the period of the play. In keeping with my post-colonial sensibilities, I also did not want this moment in The Empress to feel like a simple replication of Victorian tendencies towards carting out the 'ethnics' for exotic entertainments.

Director Emma Rice, Writer Tanika Gupta and I decided to use the classical Indian dance style of Bharatanatyam to root the performance in a specific, historically-accurate movement form from the period.

We also decided to use the entire cast, regardless of race, in the presentation, to show a vision of an entire Empire 'dancing' for its Empress and to allow for each actor to apply his or her unique intention to the presentation.

For centuries Bharatanatyam has been performed in the Hindu temples of south India as an artistic offering to the Gods. The development of Bharatanatyam in recent history is inextricably tied to events in the British Raj.

In 1799 the King of Tanjore, a patron of Bharatanatyam and its leading practitioners, signed a treaty with the East India Company. At this time, Tanjore's court artists were developing the repertoire that is currently learned and performed by Bharatanatyam dancers around the world.

In 1856, Tanjore was fully annexed to the British and cultural patronage was abandoned with artists going underground and leaving the area for Madras (now Chennai).

For the remainder of the 19th Century, Victorian codes of morality labeled Bharatanatyam and other Indian dance styles the equivalent of prostitution, which not only lowered the status of dancers, but also almost wiped the forms.

Bharatanatyam found a rebirth in the 1930s, when it was rejuvenated from its underground status as a part of Indian nationalist attempts to recapture an authentic, independent Indian nationality and a celebration of Indian cultural forms. Since then, the form has accompanied the Indian Diaspora throughout the world; I grew up studying Bharatanatyam in California.

In the context of The Empress, the use of Bharatanatyam has fascinating historical implications. During the period of the play, Bharatanatyam was a form in hiding, practiced at the margins of society.

Like most Indian cultural institutions, Queen Victoria would have had very little knowledge of Bharatanatyam, though her colonial officials were doing their utmost to root it out of society in her name.

With the rise of the Indian independence movement, led by a number of historical figures featured in The Empress, Bharatanatyam was used as a form of cultural defiance in the face of foreign occupation.

For the last five weeks, I have been teaching the company Bharatanatyam in daily sessions. We have built this movement knowledge into a choreographic gift from Abdul Karim to Queen Victoria, and will perform it as one of the final scenes in The Empress.

This is a picture of the lobby in our hotel. Swanky isn't it? Brooklyn is great. There are really good food places and you could write a book just based on the snatches of conversation that one hears as you are walking down the street.

It feels as if we are all appearing in a Hollywood movie just walking down the streets. And I am already starting to pick up the accent! I am a traitor to my nation. We leave and Margaret Thatcher dies! I don't know what to say about that.

We start rehearsals tomorrow and there is an awful lot of college sports on TV. Which is nice.

I clumsily mentioned to some of the wonderful organisers from BAM (Brooklyn Academy of Music, where we are performing) that I didn't really like New York. Oops. But I have already changed my mind. It seems like a little village. Just rough enough around the edges to make a South Londoner like me feel at home. You can see why so many people want to live here.

The weather was very warm today (sorry) which means I have brought the wrong clothes, again (please refer to my previous entry on Moscow), which means I may have to go shopping. Sigh. Most of us have spent a chunk of our money buying phones that work out here and can contact home, so we will be living on theatre party buffets for the next few days.

Already worrying about which job I will get next. Just enjoy it, Andrew. Live in the present. Good advice for anyone, but especially actors. No better place to stay present than New York. And yet...

The show is generating a great deal of excitement. Starting to feel like stars. Which we are. For a little while.

I miss Ribena. And my son. And a heating system I can control! But it would be churlish to complain. The RSC is clearly a different ball game to other tours that I have done here.

But my mind drifts to the wonderful company I toured the States with last time. Wish they were here. The Brunette says the time I am here will pass quickly. But what does she know? She's so sleep deprived that she thinks the moon comes up in the morning. Feel guilty for leaving so much of my life behind whilst I go gallivanting around the world. But this is the life I have chosen. Or did it choose me?

Any of my friends will tell you that I am the very definition of an actor. I have been since I was young. But I'm growing a beard now. And there is more salt than pepper on my chin. How did that happen? I found an old picture as I was packing for this trip. I look so young. Does acting keep you young? Or does it age you before your time?

There is so much life here, one can't help but feel invigorated. I'm very lucky. Woody Allen once said that he liked the air in New York, that he didn't trust air he couldn't see. It's a good line but there is a grain of truth in it, too. There is something in the air here. I will try and bottle it and bring some back for you.

Until then, think no ill of me.

Mad World My Masters is a filthy, bawdy and extremely funny play, and with a 'Mrs Littledick' and a gutsy prostitute named 'Truly Kidman' I suppose it would kind of have to be.

Each one of us five women, at one point or another expresses our characters' sensual, sexual side. I play a call girl called 'Mandy' - whom Ian Redford is now nicknaming, 'Mandy Rice-Davies' – who most definitely does.

Growing up I didn't understand boys. They used to punch my arm or throw footballs at me and only now do I realise that was probably because they liked me. I'm now 22 and not much has changed; the boys have discarded footballs and are now using wordplay but I still feel young. I showed a guy a picture of me being sexy once and he asked whether I was being passive aggressive. So, if you've grown up knocking boys over with one-liners, how do you then become a woman and express your desire to touch someone without words?

Jo King is the founder and principal of the London Academy of Burlesque, teaching women to lose their physical inhibitions and connect with their sensuality; we were fortunate enough to have her come into the girls' Mad World rehearsal this week and show us how to surrender ourselves.

First thing Jo said was 'I don't do shyness' as she disrobed and changed into a different dress. She then showed us how to evocatively lick our lips and trace our fingers up one arm, across and down our body. We walked, swinging with our hips, we danced, and I haven't seen these women look more beautiful.

Of course at first I was uncomfortable and apprehensive, trying to talk my way out of it, but I soon found it extremely liberating; to have no inhibitions and it never be distasteful or too much. I have curves, I have a bottom, as do all women and we should be extremely proud of them. Beauty and brains need not work in opposition as combining them can create a super power – if both are used in good faith and equal measure.

Afterwards we went upstairs to join the men's rehearsal and they wanted to know all about it. I didn't say a word!

It's snowing outside! But in our rehearsal room in Clapham, we are starting to warm up. New additions to our company are fitting in nicely and we are all starting to remember our roles. The muscles remember even if the mind does not.

We are on a plane in a few days. Time to pack enough clothes for all weathers to be found in a month. Heard it was bitterly cold in NY last week. Oh goody.

I am starting to remember what made this production such a hit last time: it is full of passion. Exemplified by the two great Mark Antony scenes in the play.

It is an awfully clever play. I am sitting at the back of the rehearsal room and all the other actors not in the scene are watching intently. We have done this play 140 times I'm told. And still lines are being spoken that I haven't heard before. Maybe I should listen harder. Or maybe it is just incredibly textured text. Perhaps a bit of both.

It also allows those of us who would normally be getting changed backstage to watch scenes we have not seen since Stratford (ah, lovely Stratford. We miss you.)

Am feeling the dread/ excitement of the possibility (remote, I suspect) of going on as an understudy. Gulp. Lines lines lines. Already starting to whisper in my ear at night. You know, I could have been a lawyer. Why did I not listen to my mother? Sigh. I often say that to myself.

See you soon.

So. Are those lines still there? Hmmm. Nearly all the gang are back together. So wonderful to see everyone again.

So many things to consider when taking a show (especially a hit show, excuse me!) the below pic of Ben Tyreman our company manager giving us details of tickets, plane travel, Ohio, hotels, partners and children travelling over... etc etc. Phew! I almost feel sorry for the man. Almost. Because we are going to New York (concrete jungle where dreams are made of)!

I really thought that I would not be back. But life shifts in many strange ways to do with you as she wills. I always think of life as female - I don't know why. Ben has just mentioned e-tickets! It's all very complicated. At least to a Luddite like myself. And where are our passports? Luggage capacity is 23kilos! People now worrying about how much their make up will weigh. Ooh, there is a pool at the hotel! It's a hard, hard life.

We now are talking about money. Sigh. It always seems to me that money is the bane of my life. Mainly, I never ave enough of it. And now we are going to the Shopping Capital of the World. Sigh.

Now being scared to death by tales of high cost phone calls and data roaming. Guess we will be writing letters and postcards. Remember them? Weren't they nice?

The first run went well. All new actors did brilliantly. I forget how to act Shakespeare. Which might not be a bad thing. Now getting our passports back! Phew. Terrible photos, some looked at and laughed,some very quickly popped into bags. All is vanity.

Such energy with this crew. I have had four jobs since we broke up. (Yes, four! Aren't I brilliant? Or lucky? Lee Trevino, the golfer once said 'the more I practice, the luckier I get.' But actually, that's false. It is all luck. Almost all. It's the almost that's the trick though isn't it?)

Four jobs and none with the volume, energy, swagger of this production. It's so ... sexy. No wonder we do so well at the box office. Have I just jinxed it? I defy all augury.

By the way: hello! Nice to be back. Stay with me. This time I have pics (bought an iPad on the Russian leg of the tour).

New York and Ohio: are you ready? 'Cos we're coming!

Happy Easter everybody! As you polish off the last of those eggs, the 2013 Swan Summer Season company is about to begin their fifth week of rehearsal. As a result, there's a few things to catch you up on, so I'll dive right in...

Michael Fentiman, our director for Titus Andronicus, has a really striking vision for how our production will look. Part of that vision requires us as a cast, and particularly the militaristic young men of Rome, to be in peak physical condition. When this is first discussed, we all nod in agreement that this is the way to go. 'Mmmmm, yes,' we all mumble. 'I've been meaning to get in shape', somebody offers. 'This is great!'. Positive murmurs of assent. But how is this to be achieved?

The answer? Unleash Ann Yee.

Ann, our movement director, has basically spent the last four weeks dismantling us bone by bone, muscle by muscle, and then building us back up. Her regular morning boot camps, supplemented with personal training with the meticulous Richard Reid, are unrelenting and take no prisoners.

I'm not even sure yet that Publius, the character I'm playing, is a soldier - but somehow there doesn't seem to be time to raise finer points like these whilst somebody is making you skip, run, star-jump, plank, ab-crunch, press-up and squat until failure whilst rattling your skeleton with Vampire Weekend at nose-bleed inducing volume.

It's punishing, but fantastically rewarding, and it all complements the detailed work going on in the rehearsal room brilliantly.

In A Mad World My Masters, I'm playing Lieutenant Sponger, a cohort of the ne'er-do-well trickster Dick Follywit.

You won't find Sponger on the original list of dramatis personnae - when Middleton first created the character, he was called Mawworm - but his is just one of the names that's been updated by Sean Foley and co-adapter Phil Porter to allow the audience in on the joke in their 1950s Soho setting. A 'maw-worm' is basically an intestinal parasite, so 'Sponger' gets the point across very nicely, albeit in a slightly less disgusting way (shame).

I don't want to make any sweeping, binding judgments about the character too early on, but what's emerging in rehearsals at the moment is a sarcastic, irresponsible trouble-maker who'd probably be a real danger to society if it weren't for the fact that he's also unforgivably lazy. This is, worryingly, incredibly fun to play.

Early on in rehearsals for Mad World, Sean encouraged us to spend a little time walking around the room, working out how we would relate to each other - who would know whom in this world, etc. Richard Goulding (Follywit), Harry McEntire (Oboe) and I set out to do some mischief.

Naturally (and initially just for our own amusement) a few of us began to slip into a light, early sketch of our characters. This resulted in me spending about an hour capering around the room, being the most brassy, shiftless and annoying possible version of myself. I was cheeking, hustling, greasing and bickering. I was laying bets with borrowed money and trying to persuade other people into paying off the debt. It was a right laugh.

And I wouldn't be suprised if that's the way that Follywit, Sponger and Oboe see the world. Sometimes money is a bit tight, which is a drag, and sometimes the plans they concoct to get themselves back into the pink can land them in pretty serious trouble.

But even with the Old Bill breathing down their necks and the threat of a few year's porridge over their heads... you know what? It's still a right laugh.

I've found this Titus week quite challenging. It's great to see how scenes are starting to piece together and yet there's one scene in which Lavinia pleads with Tamora, Chiron and Demetrius that I'm finding difficult.

Technically I have to remember set fight moves so no-one gets hurt, not favouring a side for too long because we're working on a thrust stage, check I'm breathing correctly, remind myself of what my character wants and how she's going to get it, the rhythm and clarity of the language… amongst many other things.

It feels like a lot of balls to juggle and while I'm concentrating on one I'm dropping another.

I recognise that working this out takes time and the plan is to get to a place where I'm juggling invisibly, subconsciously; it's necessary invisible work which I then have to forget and trust is inherent. For an audience member there is nothing clever or more distracting than seeing how an actor is doing something.

I went home to see friends and family over the Easter weekend which was lovely. When I move to Stratford I'll only be able to see them once a week so I'm being extremely selfish until then. While I was there my Dad told me a sweet story about my Grandfather 'Charlie'. The story contains blood so I thought I'd copy it in…

So my Dad, let's call him John, aged 10, comes home one evening to find his father, aged I don't know, in their garden shed. He's wedging a microwave under his left arm and in his right hand is a club hammer.

John: Dad, what are you doing? Mum told me to tell you dinner's ready.

Charlie: There's a magnet in here and I'm going to get it.

John: Why?

Charlie: Because we can use it for something.

Saying no more, Charlie brings the hammer back and down to meet the microwave, breaking it only slightly. He brings the hammer back and down again and a piece of glass falls to the floor. He hits the microwave a third time and it explodes, sending glass everywhere – okay, I may have slightly embellished that with the theatrical power of three but the rest is true - Charlie has small cuts all over his face that are beginning to bead blood.

Charlie puts the hammer down and moves to a step ladder. Drawing it up to a corner of the shed where a giant cobweb is hanging, he climbs the ladder and gathering the web turns to his son.

Charlie: Now you're going to learn something. Wrap this around my head.

John: Why?

Charlie: The thickness of the web will stem the flow of blood.

Little John does as asked and after he's finished his father looks like a mummified sultan - but the blood has stopped. Father, now all wrapped in cobweb, walks son into the house and they sit down to dinner. His wife, my grandmother, watches silently as Charlie spoons chicken through a man-made mouth hole...

I'm now going to get on to Gabs and Tom, stage management, to see if there's any mileage in massive cobwebs.

Stephen Boxer has just said 'willy' inches from my face. I know what he meant, he meant 'lily' but suddenly our demographic has changed…

Titus Andronicus is known for being Shakespeare's most gruesome play with scenes of incredible torment and grief… but I can't stop giggling.

You know when you find yourself in these types of situations - you tell yourself now is not time; here laughing is most definitely inappropriate but by the time you've told yourself that it's already too late.

They say in the heights of hysteria, a place we visit quite a lot in the play, you can laugh and cry simultaneously but, see, even this to me sounds like some horrifically low-budget, David Lynch commissioned holiday resort where everyone knows your name…

We're putting Titus on its feet this week and I cannot stop laughing. Katy Stephens has me in a headlock and I don't know whether it's because it's part of the scene or because she's trying to make me stop.

We have split calls every day for Mad World My Masters and Titus Andronicus and so when we're not needed in one rehearsal room we move across to the other. The plays are mutually exclusive but both contain scenes of a physically violent nature.

Alison 'five times longbow champion' de Burgh's been working on the opening fight of MWMM with us in which young 'Dick Follywit', played by young Richard Goulding, wreaks havoc. We've also been lindy hopping in prep for our 1950s style.

But Titus. Oh, Titus. Ann Yee our movement director has been adding a voluntary 9am 'boot camp' call twice weekly. You need the other five days just to recover! It's primarily to encourage our men playing military types to bulk up a bit but all of us girls do it too. It's tough, Ann takes no prisoners, however there's a slightly sadistic comfort knowing that we're all going through it together.

Ann Yee: 'It's so you can look like you could kill someone.'

Matthew Needham: 'But I look like that already...'

I toured a show to Singapore once. They put us up in a five star hotel and we were treated like royalty.

I happened to be there on my 24th birthday and when I came down to hand in my keys at the front desk they wished me a Happy Birthday, as did the doorman and the porter. None of them checked a computer or notebook before doing it. I came back to my room at the end of the day to find a birthday cake on a trolley.

I remember thinking, 'Wow, now I know what five stars truly means.' It has very little to do with the quality of the 'stuff. Nice sheets, fancy mirrors, gourmet food etc. All of that can be found in places of varying quality. What makes something truly elite in quality is the attention paid to you and the effort that goes in to create your experience.

Well we're now into show calls only now. We have our days back to ourselves as exhaustion slowly gives way to satisfaction. The fog has cleared and winter is on its way out. The birds chirp longer during the day and there's more light now than we've had previously. This is the sweet stuff.

I talk a lot about the team of people involved in making the shows happen but I rarely get the chance to praise the team of people we don't get to see.

What makes working here so amazing is that you're welcomed and supported by every element of the theatre. The guys at security and at stage door, the ushers, the bar staff, the front of house staff and everyone in admin. You walk around the theatre and people you've never met say hello to you by name.

The front of house staff who sit and watch the shows every night and usher the audience around continuously engage with the audience about the shows. I overhear them all the time comparing plays, discussing plot lines, praising the company of actors. It's truly humbling stuff.

None of them are career ushers. Many are young actors about to head to drama school. But that kind of attention to detail is unmistakable. It's infectious and rubs off on the audience.

The plays put on by the RSC will not be universally liked and won't appeal to everyone. But to be able to say you had a great time at the theatre, even if you didn't like the show, now that's an achievement.

Talking to Tony Boyd-Williams who is a tour guide at the theatre reminded me of how lucky we actors are to find ourselves with such support. He sees every play numerous times, as well as the understudy performances and speaks very knowledgably about theatre, especially the theatrical history of the RSC.

With my days free again and the sun starting to come out it's very very easy to view this as another five star holiday. I remind myself that I'm getting paid to do a job and that I'm meant to be at work. The thought just makes me happier.

So here we are in the beautiful city of York. Last week marked our first touring venue in Milton Keynes.

It was a busy week or restaging and teching on stage before we opened to our first touring audience. There is no doubt it feels different. The shift from a thrust stage to a proscenium arch stage felt huge, even for the very experienced amongst us.

The obvious adjustment is moving from playing all sides to just out front, but if affects the vocal requirement too. I personally found some scenes easier and more effective than in Stratford, however some felt tricky.

The biggest challenge, that will be ongoing, is adjusting to being side lit, which demands constant attention so that you are not blocking your fellow actors light and making sure you can also be seen.

Overall though we are excited to be back together after a two week break and out on the road. We are touring to some great places and are excited to see what people think of the show. I am sure there will be lots of fun beyond the job too; nice meals out and touristy days etc.

A week in York, then onto Nottingham next week…

I always find it difficult writing these sorts of things without setting up a similar prefix to that of: 'what did you do over your summer holiday?' I feel infantile, silly and suddenly very aware of my feet. I suppose it doesn't have to be Shakespeare…

I'm Rose. I'm acting with the Titus, Mad World and Candide company in the Swan this summer season. I've been asked to write a little about our rehearsals and then about our performances once we've opened in May.

I'll write as often as I have time and I'll try to include a few rehearsal photographs - though some things are best left to the imagination – or indeed the stage!

Best,

Rose.

Well that went well! Press night was amazing and now we're practically sold out. It's a nice feeling. Every show from now on will have a full house watching it.

We've worked quite hard for it too. The technical rehearsals were quite laborious and we've drilled each scene change to death. Understudy rehearsals are of course well under way and we have our understudy run on Tuesday 26 February.

There's a line in the play, 'It's easy for a great man to get lost in the world of the stars, which is so very vast.'

The same thing applies when you have a play in front of you and the possibilities are endless as to how you're going to present it.

Good directors have a sort of sixth sense that allows them to navigate through the quagmire of possibilities. I've loved working with Roxana again. She always seems to run a very relaxed rehearsal room and we always end up having fun.

Everyone is tired but everyone is smiling too. I can't tell you how rare that is. It's very easy to tell people what to do. It's another thing entirely to get people to do it of their own volition. The very best directors manage that.

Roxanna leaves the RSC to become Artistic Director of Birmingham Rep. Very well deserved. I find myself feeling very proud to be in a season that is comprised of Greg Doran's first show as Artistic Director, Michael Boyd's last as artistic director and Roxana Silbert's last with the RSC. What will this season be my last or first of I wonder? First time I played a particular type of part? Last time I ever worked? Shudder....

I should explain. There is something every working actor has to deal with at approximately this point in the season. When there are about five or six weeks left on a particular contract, we get what is commonly known in acting circles as 'The Fear.'

Just when you start to assume the job will last forever, Boom! The fear strikes.

'What will I do next?' 'I need to line up another job!'

'I need to be auditioning.'

'I'm never going to work again. That's it. I can feel it. Yup. Yes. I'm not going to work for another two years...'

'Please give me a job - I'll do anything.'

It's horrible. We're all seasoned and used to it so you won't find actors shaking in a corner but we do constantly go up to one another to check if they're auditioning. Looking for the green light to call our agents.

Fire the lot of them if they're not capitalizing on the fact that we're currently employed. It's so silly but that's 'the fear' for you. The older more experienced actors are a constant source of reassurance. 'Nah, I haven't been up for anything but I'm not going to worry about that for at least another four weeks.'

Brilliant. That's what I'll do then. It's times like these that I remind myself to focus on the here and now. Life's too short and right now I'm working for what I believe are the greatest, most wonderful people in my field.

Tomorrow can wait a couple more weeks.

It's Sunday and I've just had a blissful day off with my two roomies in the sunshine in Warwick castle, topped off with a three course meal and glass of bubbly. Bliss.

On Tuesday afternoon we had our understudy run. It was, without question, the highlight of my career so far.

We had four days to rehearse the entire play. Our dear Assistant Director Elle whipped us into shape at lightening speed. We had been through most scenes twice and had to be at performance-level at first rehearsal. Though nervous, I felt ready and so relieved to be working alongside such an extraordinary understudy cast.

Ben Whybrow, who played Leontes, and I had been working together quietly for months and by our first (and only!) performance I felt so safe in his hands. He is a phenomenal talent.

I am not sure I really understood the word ensemble until we stepped out onto the RST stage that day. We were all playing roles we had never played before and knew we'd need each other should anything go wrong.

Everyone had worked so hard and deserved to have an amazing show. I witnessed performances that day that I will never forget.

The response from the audience was electric (as you'd expect with half of Wales in the auditorium!).

A few hours later, having spent an hour with my dear friends and family, I was back in costume as Emilia. There were a few knowing looks between the understudy cast that evening as we knew our afternoon had been very special.

I am, above all, grateful to have had the opportunity to play both Hermione and Perdita on the RST stage.

It was a day I'll never forget.

Well that's preview number three down and dusted. We're changing lots everyday. Our call is usually 11am for notes and then we work through different bits. Same routine as always.

You'd think I'd be getting bored of it all but the thrill of putting on a new play for an audience for the first time is always new and exciting. The prospect of only having show calls around the corner is fuelling us all a little too I'm sure.

What are show calls? Being called to work for the evening's show and not for rehearsals basically. When all three plays are done, and all three understudy performances are under wraps then you have your days to yourself and only need to be at work when you are first called for that evening's show. Show calls. 'Show calls only'....ahhhh.

However. There is loads to do before then. I'm not locking off the downstage screen properly at the moment. I now need to sneak on the telescope between scene 7 and 8. Need to move the upstage trolley after Nia Gwynn in scene 2. Am only throwing two hoops at Joan Iyola during the carnival now etc.

The scene changes are the most heavy going. We've spent a lot of time working on them. They're all choreographed by Struan Leslie, the Head of Movement, and are a play of their own really. So in many ways we end up drilling the scene changes rather than rehearsing them. How else can it be done though right?

The human brain is capable of processing a huge number of different stimuli at the same time but right now, my brain can only focus on one thing. Whatever is directly in front of my face. It's become a battle to try and think two steps or more ahead. Not ideal for an actor in a play with many many cues to remember. But somehow, like magic, it works out fine.

The team are superb. The backstage area is its usual flurry of controlled chaos. Perfectly managed by our Stage Manager Suzi Blakey and Julia Wade who takes over sometimes.

I'm really looking forward to letting this one bed in and see what the audiences think of it after a couple of weeks. It's pretty great.

Off for an understudy fitting now but will check in again after press night. Not long now!

It's snowing. It's very cold outside and inhospitable and difficult to navigate. The rehearsal rooms are a 22 minute walk away from my digs on a normal day but with the snow and ice it takes 32 minutes.

Precious morning time is eaten up on the walk over. But the view is incredible. The night is still and the moon reflects off the snow giving the night air a pink incandescence. It's beautiful. Harsh and awesome at the same time.

That's how this final week of rehearsal will come across to the naked eye. It's the third play of the season so the short straw is drawn in many ways. We're tired. We've done this all before. We strain to rev the engine up every morning.

But when you sit on the floor of the rehearsal room, knackered, slightly broken, sore from the play the night before, watching one of the run-throughs of the play; you can see the beauty in this art form manifested in the scores of scribbling hands taking notes.

Actors stretch in the corner or stare at a spot on the wall... 'getting into character'. The heads of wardrobe, hair and make up, stage crew etc all take down copious notes to pass on to their team so that when we make it to the theatre everyone knows what goes where and what happens next. Indeed they are often the ones reminding us what to do.

The RSC is a big machine, yes but the gears that turn within it are very human and continually inspiring to watch work.

The play itself is shaping up. There is a shower. There are masks. There's a hoola hoop flying across the stage. There are balls rolling off the stage. There are blocks of ice. It's going to be mad but awesome!

Well here we are in beautiful Stratford-upon-Avon.

When we arrived, it was covered in snow and looking rather like Narnia. We toasted oursleves with a glass of wine and looked forward to the next few weeks of mayhem.

Opening night was very exciting; getting our half, quarter hour, then beginners call, then stepping out onto that stage, with hundreds of faces smiling back, lights, costumes, live band etc. It reminds you why we do this.

The theatre is stunning, beautifully designed and great to play. The backstage area is run like a finely tuned instrument. If a little daunting at first, I am now finding my way around the maze of rehearsal rooms, green room, canteen, post room, wig room, dressing room etc.

The staff team is quite something too, there appears to be a staff member for just about any job you could imagine. It truely is an impressive organisation, and really is our second home while we are here.

Our dressing room is frankly marvellous, Sally Bankes, Charlotte Mills and I have been causing all sorts of mischief.

We are still rehearsing in the day; tweaking, cutting and changing bits to try and make it the best show we can. We have a big week this week, press night, opening night, and understudy rehearsals begin on Friday.

Must not spend too much time in the Dirty Duck!

It's amazing to think that in the 1600s, when you called someone a scholar, then that person was assumed to be an expert on many different subjects.

The men who translated the King James Bible into English knew on average five or six languages, if not more.

Galileo Galilei was known to be one of the greatest minds of his time. He knew a lot about many things – mathematics, astronomy, engineering.

Time is a beautiful thing and a great healer but it does tend to narrow things sometimes. When we talk of an 'expert' today, we assume that they are very very good at one specific field and even one specific thing within that field.

It's rare to find someone who is able to float in and out of their subject matter with ease and still retain that expertise. It's rare to find someone whose field of study doesn't restrict their great intellect to that field alone. So it was with the greatest pleasure that we spent the afternoon with Dr Stuart Clark: astronomer, physicist, journalist, author etc.

We spent the most amazing afternoon listening to him talk about the phases of the moon, the Ptolmeic system, the Copernican system, relativity, floating bodies, telescopes, Kepler, mathematics, sun spots, sun flares, Brecht, Shakespeare – the list goes on.

Not only was he bright but he understood and appreciated the value of storytelling. And while that serves him well with the novels he writes, I found it served him well when imparting his knowledge to a room full of actors.

He mentioned how 'switched on' we all were, but that was because of him! Great teachers do that. Their personality shines through everything they say and that allows the listener, if the listener is willing, to absorb every last bit of information without doubt or fear or guilt – true learning.

In today's Powerpoint classroom we seem to have lost that. Maybe it's because of today's Powerpoint government and their crusade to identify the limits of our intellect and keep us there.

Maybe that's why the arts are getting slashed the way they are? Maybe that's what Brecht was on about?

Maybe that's how Galileo felt when the government of the day wouldn't even acknowledge the proof he had discovered. After all, Galileo asserted that the Earth revolved around the sun circa 1610. The Vatican acknowledged he was right on 1 November 1992.

The universe is a fascinating place when you really start to look at it. Mystery and revelation swim hand in hand way up there in the dark.

To think that one day someone pointed a telescope up there and began to piece together the secrets of the universe.

What astounds me most, is that long before Galileo ever did that, scientists had already begun to use mathematics and astronomy to try and piece together the movements of the stars, the planets and Earth's place amongst them.

I read a fascinating fact the other day. There are 130 million photoreceptor cells in our eyes, give or take. In each of those cells are 100 trillion atoms; more than all the stars in the Milky Way. Since energy never dies, each atom in each cell in our eyes formed in the core of some distant star billions of years ago during the Big Bang and is now being used to capture the energy released from that process.

Mind blowing? Imagine finding out that everything you were taught about the universe and the stars was wrong.

Well, we are up and rolling with rehearsals for A Life of Galileo. This is my third time working with Roxana Silbert, our director. Her rehearsal room is a real and genuine pleasure.

She has such a great energy about her and consistently manages to create a sense of ease and comfort within the room. We are joined by three new members of the acting company. Jodie McNee, whom I worked with here last year. Joel Gillman who plays Little Monk, and the great Ian McDiarmid playing Galileo.

Ian is of course widely known for playing the evil emperor in Star Wars. I grew up having nightmares about him.... which is the highest praise I can think of for an actor playing a bad guy in a sci-fi picture. It's incredibly exciting to be a part of this project with him and with a director I admire so much.

We read and re-read through the play in the first week. Listening for clues as to where the actors are taking their characters.

Of course, this is the first time we get to do a read through when we know the other actors present. When we started the contract, none of us knew each other very well, so the read through was an opportunity to hear the actor. This time, we have an opportunity to hear the character.

There's a point in the play where Galileo refers to the moons of Jupiter disappearing around 'the dark side.' A whole table of grinning actors, without a doubt as to how lucky they were.

It's New Year's Eve. Were in full swing in rehearsals today, though I'm sure we're all secretly looking forward to our first glass of bubbly this evening.

Christmas was a wonderful blur of great food, party games, walks on the beach and festive movies. All interspersed with me running upstairs to learn lines.

This has been the theme for me for the last month. I learn lines everywhere. When I get up with a cup of tea, on the tube, on the way to work, at work, during lunch, walking around M and S, when I get home, and in bed. So when the kind lady behind the till is asking me if I'd like a 5p bag, little does she know I'm actually in 1860s Sicilia.

In this production I play Emilia, but will understudy Hermione and Perdita. It's a challenge, but one I'm relishing. The cast of understudies have been given a date by which to learn their lines. So that is our focus at the moment. The sooner we're off book, the sooner we can start to get it on its feet.

The atmosphere is great in rehearsals, everyone is working hard, most through some sort of winter bug. We laugh a lot, mostly at or with Nick Holder. You'll see what I mean when you see the show. He is also my new country dancing partner. Wish me luck. If you see me corpsing, it's his fault!

Here's to a happy and healthy 2013!

Too much coffee, butterflies in my tummy and lots of slightly awkward hellos and introductions. My first thought was, wow there's a lot of people, I wonder what on earth they all do, followed by the dread of the approaching read through. Looking around the circle it was apparent I wasn't the only one, 'though I did meet a few faces across the circle who gave me warm smiles which immediately made me feel a little better.

Many more coffees and a few more awkward introductions later we went upstairs for the model box presentation of what will be our set. It's vast and wonderful and so inspiring, we are clearly in the hands of an extraordinary team.

The afternoon proved hot, sweaty, physical and hilarious as we all attempted to country dance with a group of strangers.

Here we are, two weeks later. We've learned to clog (don't ask) to dance, to speak verse, to play the spoons, we've been to Stratford, we've had two cast birthdays and a master class from Mr Doran himself.

Two of my fellow cast mates made comments this week that really rang true for me, one is that this is a particularly fun cast (doesn't always happen!) and the other that we will, for the next few months, be each other's family.

I think they're right, we're blessed with a beautifully complex and human play, and a fantastic team - what could be better?

A flock of geese. Flying in a V. You know why they do that? The aerodynamics of flight mean that the one up front beating the air creates a drag and the goose behind rides that slip stream thereby using about half the effort.

The V shape therefore is the way they each create a slip stream for the goose behind them. So when you see a flock of geese flying, you'll always see them switching positions and taking over from the lead bird to give them time to rest. Beautiful innit?

You can accomplish anything with a team that works together in harmony.

Just walked back home from tea and cake after The Orphan of Zhao understudy. That went so well and yet I barely remember what I did. Everyone seemed very chuffed with what they saw.

As I walked back I could have sworn that the sky was a little brighter. The air a little lighter. I never usually like to think about the work I've just done (or even just seen).

I've always found that talking about art, theatre, films, acting, whatever, always diminishes it in some way and thoughts tend to lock words in my head. Acting especially is so ethereal and intangible. Often times you're working off of your subconscious and instinct. You don't know why you're moved this way or that but you follow it in darkness.

Then someone asks you how it went or what you feel about how it went and all of a sudden you have to make a choice and concretize it. You have to use words and that limits the scope of your experience. However, despite this, today I'm happy.

Once again however, the credit must go to our amazing assistant director Zoe Waterman. I worked with Zoe about four years ago and always knew she'd be great but she really outdid herself on this one. We're definitely lucky to have her here. She's fantastically talented and I owe her for being so patient with us all.

As with last week's Boris run, she only had four days to get this show ready and managed to pull it off effortlessly it seemed. Greg Doran came on stage at the curtain call and gave us a very generous amount of praise and called Zoe up on stage to take credit. And rightly so.

This wonderful 2012-13 World Elsewhere company continues to amaze me with its generosity and support. There's no denying it ... we are knackered. But we continue to pull each other forward. Taking position at the front of the V until another comes to take over for a bit.

For now, I'm going to enjoy my two and a half hour break on this crisp Friday afternoon before tonight's main show. Monday, we begin rehearsals for A Life of Galileo. Bring it.

So the Boris Godunov understudy run happened and I'm alive to tell the tale. We had two days to fit it all in to place on stage. The backstage area was like a warzone as people frantically searched for bits of missing costume, entrances and general 'what's happening now' answers.

I cover Boris Godunov and literally had no idea where I would move to next and what I would wear at which point. My dresser was the lovely Linda Williams. I call her Michelle when I get tired. Don't know why. Just comes out. I was Michelling her left right and centre.

Air force pilots reach a point while they're flying where what they see out the window can't be used as a navigational tool. You can only fly the plane looking at the instruments and screens in front of you. That was Linda. 'Go on stage wearing this, then come straight back to me here and take a break for about 15 minutes.' Beautiful mania.

But it went very well. Our assistant director on Boris is Emily Kempson and she's the one who directed the understudy run. What a brilliant career she's going to have.

She managed to pull off an incredible task, rehearsing, tech-ing and putting on a brilliant run two days after the main show's press night. It takes a lot of trust in your actors and confidence in your abilities (as well as bucket loads of talent). She did a fantastic job.

When you understudy roles that are bigger than the one you actually play in the show, it can be a little hard. No one feels as though they have too little to offer, it's usually the other way around.

Understudy runs, while being the one time you get to practice the role you're covering, are also about letting those people express themselves artistically who have hitherto remained more silent than others. No assistant director is a career assistant. No one covering a bigger role is a career bit part actor. But everyone does what needs to be done in order to shine their light a little and the run is a beautiful and unique time for many people. The support from everyone at the RSC is very touching.

After the run they serve tea and cake in the canteen and we get to hear the feedback. A week from today we'll be repeating the experience with The Orphan of Zhao understudy run. As I bowed as Boris Godunov this afternoon, I began running my lines for next week. My head lowered as Boris and rose up 'I am Tuang Gu, head of the palace guard...'

It never stops...

PS: This is what they call the whirlwind.

The weight of this sad time we must obey. The King Lear company finally made it to Stratford for a week that was both a homecoming and a farewell.

It's been a long journey, over the course of which we've seen some amazing things and met some brilliant people. We're sad that it's ending, but we're immensely proud of the project and what we hope it has achieved.

We've performed in nine different cities across the UK and eastern United States, we've played an eclectic assortment of theatres, school halls, and performance spaces, we've run workshops with hundreds of our audience members, and I've been slapped in the face by seventy-six different young people.

(The award for the hardest slap, by the way, goes to Angelica in New York, who at our first performance on Park Avenue belted me so spiritedly that she almost knocked me out, leaving me dazed and struggling to remember my lines for the rest of the scene. I wouldn't be surprised if the sharp echo of that thwack were still reverberating around the Armoury even now.)

In the final lines of Shakespeare's play, Edgar reflects that, 'we that are young / Will never see so much, nor live so long'. In the context of the play, it's an instructive reflection – but ironically, it's almost the opposite of what I think we're trying to acknowledge with YPS.

The young people of today will, over the course of their lives, no doubt see things the like of which we that are old (or, at least, getting older) could never imagine. All the more reason, then, to try to pass on what experience we do have as early as possible. To encourage them to build on the work we've done by making their own discoveries.

Having been a part of this sort of effort is about as rewarding a job I've ever had as an actor. And long may it reign, I say. The King is dead. Long live YPS.

There's a silence in the crisp cool air today. My usual walk to work along the Avon is almost unrecognizable. That flowing water; the source of so much inspiration and comfort for us actors has given too much.

In acting terms, 'she's peaked' and now she's flooded. No more pretty riverside walks under swaying branches. No more green green grass alongside shiny silver water. Now all just water water everywhere.

It's eerily beautiful. Nature, awake and pushing back once more. I stare in shock and wonder at the new lake outside the theatre, enjoying the see-sawing of feelings inside my gut. That tiny feeling in the pit of your stomach that delights in hurricanes, tornadoes and other disasters. Never felt that before? You have. It went unnoticed but you've felt it. I suppose it's my job to spot those weird feelings and record them. There's nothing like being reminded who the boss is to make you feel truly human.

Press night is upon us. We've pushed our minds and bodies to the limit and are now full to the brim with ideas and notes, which threaten to bleed into one another to form a mush we'll never be able to unpick. Thoughts about thoughts and ideas about the ideas, all precariously balanced on the edge and threatening to spill over into chaos.

We say our lines. 'Did I just say that line differently?' 'Wait. Was that today or yesterday that I said it that way?' 'Don't you feel your spirit's flying on great wings?' 'Don't you feel? Your spirit's flying on great wings!' 'Don't! You feel your spirit's flying on great wings?!' 'Don't feel your spirit's flying? ... ON GREAT WINGS!' On and on and on it goes.

Of course, the beauty of this job is that we could very easily carry on making changes. It doesn't actually have to end. But life is about making choices and choices suck. It's now time to stop and 'lock it down'.

Some directors continue to make changes long after press night. I've always recognized that as a need for control … an insecurity. Michael Boyd couldn't be more different. He has a very sharp instinct, the kind you can trust. He also has a lot of love for his actors which manifests itself in a confidence in our abilities - he trusts us.

The result is a show that has the freedom to evolve over the course of the season. It's a beautiful thing.

He is also deceptively laid back. Underneath his calm and gentle exterior lies a momentum of steel. It moves forward and it never ever stops. It carries you if it has to but it never stops moving forward. He's a truly great man and a genius of the theatre. A man who makes you feel loved and cared for. A director who elicits great trust and a tiny, almost imperceptible feeling in the pit of your stomach.

As well as being the perfect way to shake off those post-US blues, the week we've just spent in the beautiful city of York seems to me to sum up everything that defines the spirit of YPS.

This week, we've performed in three of the most diverse spaces that we've encountered so far – a school hall, an ornate and resplendent Victorian ballroom, and the main house of a Matcham theatre.

Each space has lent something of itself to the character of the performances hosted there, and this is one of the really exciting aspects of the production for us as actors; every time we come to a new space, we have to reinvent the show. Only in a small, subtle way (don't worry, Tim!), but reinvent it, nonetheless.

In addition to finding an Edmund to fit each of our spaces, I've spent a lot of time this week preparing to deliver the new workshop that I've devised under the guidance of Jamie Luck and Rebecca Gould.

The purpose of the session was to explore the various methods and, dare I say it, tricks that Edmund uses to get what he wants. It was a daunting experience for me in many ways, but I was really excited by how the students engaged with the ideas.

For me, this is another brilliant aspect of the YPS project – it has helped me to develop a new skill and gain confidence in an area in which I've had little experience in the past. If the young people we've been performing to have learnt half as much as I have, then we can't have done badly.

Photos: York Minster. Below is the entrance to the Quire with kings from Richard II to Henry VI left to right, all subjects of Shakespeare's plays.

There comes a moment during a last performance where one finally realises its all over. But nothing ever really ends (I warn you now, there may be quite a few quotations in this last blog).

'Whereof what's past is prologue' - The Tempest (Act 2, Scene 1)

And in the case of a show this is more true than ever. Julius Caesar will live on. In other countries,with a different cast (possibly, probably) but still, in some imperceptible way, OUR Caesar.

Moscow was not as cold as we thought it would be, and colder in other ways we hadn't expected. But I am a boy from south west London and it is a long road from Tooting Bec to Moscow, so I'm not going to grumble about cool stares and moody shopkeepers.

We seem to know each other so well now. Or do we? The more I think about our merry band, the more I wonder how it reflects a little world, a little community. With arguments and moods and unexpected kindnesses. Hopes and dreams. Failures and disappointments. I wonder when anyone stops playing the roles they are cast:

Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woeful paegants than the scene
Wherein we play in. - As You Like It (Act 2, Scene 7)

I miss everyone already. Everyone. I can still hear their voices in my head: The sonorous tones of Joseph Mydell. The deep rumblings of Ewart James Walters. The northern vowels of Samantha Lawson.

But onwards and upwards. And outwards. As we all drift off into our real lives and give assurances to: 'do something soon in London' the more experienced of us know that we probably won't see these people very much again. Maybe in an audition (competition?) maybe after a show ('How nice to see you! You look well! Do you remember that time when...') and we drift away...

I have been looking back through these blogs (am I the only one?) And wondering what I could take away from this journey.

I became a Father. Still think that it's all a dream. All the tour seems a little dreamy. Like it was happening on a big screen somewhere and I was just watching.

Did I really meet John Barton? Really? Was Waterside my address in Stratford? A hop, skip and a jump away from the Ashcroft room. The ASHCROFT ROOM! Did I perform on that great stage? Meet my idol, Anthony Sher after press night? Fly to Moscow? Warm up in the hallowed Clapham rehearsal rooms? Doesn't seem real.

Our revels now are ended. These our actors
(As I foretold you) were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air - The Tempest (Act 4, Scene 1)

So it came to the moment when Cassius and Brutus say their goodbyes. The quotation from the title of this blog has always been a fave of mine:

Forever and forever farewlell, Cassius!
If we do meet again, why, we shall smile;
If not, why then this parting was well made.

Always makes me well up. But on the last night I stood in my accustomed place (bang in the middle of the two lead actors: I'm no fool) and thought how the lines are a perfect way to say goodbye to anyone.

Who knows what the future will bring? Maybe I will see you all one day on the sunny streets of Stratford as I open in Hamlet. Maybe I'll be working behind the counter of a fish and chip shop telling people how 'I was adored once too.'

Sorry. That's from Twelfth Night, and I really love it. It makes me crack a little inside. Which seems to happen to me more and more nowadays. Maybe it's little Theo. Maybe it's age and the loss of my hairline. I know not.

The Brunette and Theo are sleeping next door. I can hear them tossing and turning through the monitor. Life is strange. I don't know what life holds. I know I'm grateful for any moment of happiness that life cares to chuck my way. I'm grateful for every hug, kiss and applause that has been given me. To the costume angel who put up with me being an arse. And continues to do so. To the old friend who travels miles to see me and tell me they love me. Still.

And to Shakespeare. I'm black, and product of a working class single parent family brought up in what was a dingy part of South West London. And Shakespeare took the time to write to me. Personally. That was ever so nice of him.

Parting is such sweet sorrow - Romeo and Juliet Act 2, Scene 2

Keep safe. Stay warm.

Andrew French

As I write this, we are on preview number seven of Boris Godunov. We have yet to perform any scene the same way two nights in a row. Things are changing every day. This can be a little confusing.

We're currently proving wrong the theory that actors need to be nimble of mind in order to do their job. Things are definitely heavy and sluggish at the moment but that doesn't seem to be slowing us down.

There is a large human tower at the end of the play (this time made up of more than just my 6'4'' frame). Tonight for the first time, the audience joined in and chanted 'Long live Tsar….' along with us. Very cool.

Our typical day begins with the preview we did the night before if you know what I mean. The amount of physical work done during the show and our need to constantly monitor our safety means that by the time we all go home, we are completely spent.

But tomorrow is only a couple blinks away, so we try not to relax too much. For those of us understudying, we leaf through scripts, paranoid at maybe not being fully off book.

We look at our Orphan of Zhao understudy lines too - remember that one? We then go to sleep and wake up as our heads touch the pillow … it's the next morning. Did we oversleep? Shit! No. No we're fine. But there's only an hour and a quarter before we have to be out the door. Shower. Coffee. Tea. I made the fatal error of making myself breakfast once. It cost me 23 minutes. I was a couple minutes late that morning. 'Sorry' I mumbled as I ran in out of breath 'Made myself breakfast like an idiot…won't happen again.'

This is what life is like in the fast lane.

We then get notes from Michael about the preview the night before. The note sessions last from anything between two or four and a half hours. If there's time we get on stage and rework, restage, rethink and re-examine.Our guinea pigs will then be that evening's audience.

At 4.30pm we break for dinner. The canteen begins food at 5pm, so we wait. We then eat when food is served and then, bellies full, we begin the madness: warm ups: both physical, vocal. Quick once-overs of all big moments in the play: songs, fights, lifts, tower, dance etc. This is so that when we perform for the audience that evening, we don't effectively do something major for the first time that day. Flipping someone over your back in front of an audience is manageable when you've just done it once not a few hours earlier.

The incredible Lina Johansen gave us a pearl of wisdom with regards standing on another person. She warned us that when an audience is in, even the tiniest bit of adrenaline will cause a performer's legs to wobble when standing on someone. That we need to just recognize it for what it is, engage our core muscles, relax and breathe into it.

I have the privilege of being ridden nightly by the wonderful Gethin Antony, who along with Paul Hamilton, Martin Turner and Sadie Shimmin, completes our company for Boris and Galileo. Gethin is a real trooper about climbing on me. It's not an easy thing to do. A human body is surprisingly unstable below foot. His work in the play is phenomenal and he's doing an incredible job of staying in control while acting his socks off at the same time. Did I mention he's the other lead? Walking all over me he is!

Well we had the first preview of Boris Godunov. Very weird. It felt like another rehearsal. No usual panic about performing in front of people. No butterflies to raise the level a little. Just adrenaline, fear, sweat and mental notes ticking over like an old-school train station timetable.

Boris Godunov is a very intricate and delicate play to get right. For one, it's brand new. So we have no idea what people are going to respond to. What they'll like, what they won't like. Maybe that's why we have 13 previews on this one.

But if the houses are anything like tonight then we're in great shape. They wooped and they hollered. Brilliant to hear.

New writing can be such a difficult and thankless task to get right. When you perform Hamlet or any other play that's been done before then you have a framework within which to present your piece. Not so with new writing.

'Does the play actually work?' you have to ask yourself. You don't need to ask that when you perform a Shakespeare or any other classic. But with a brand spanking new play - sure, ok, the moments are rehearsed. It may be funny, it may be sad, it may tug at the heart strings and grip you in suspense at times. But does the play itself work? Really? As a play from beginning to end?! Should it have been a book instead? Or a film? It's a very big, knotted and tentative question, and the answer can decide the life of the play for the rest of its shelf life.

At this stage of the game, the tiny changes that are made to the script here, there and everywhere, as well as the multiple changes made to our work on stage everyday is quite possibly deciding what will be done with this play after we're finished.

Will other theatres want to put it on? Will people buy the play and read it? Big stuff!

I'm reminded of a quote I once heard when I first started out as an actor…13 years ago! (phew) It's from a hymn I came to find out, and was misquoted in a film I rather enjoyed Romance & Cigarettes. James Gandolfini stares wistfully into the distance and whispers 'Will there be any stars in my crown, when the evening sun goes down, will there be any stars in my crown.'

I imagine it to be completely possible that even our ever changing script asks itself that question. Not just us actors.

It seems Moscow brings out the best in us - a moment of high drama in last night's performance.

Some of us had noticed previously that there were a number of people taking photos during the performance. In England, this is strictly verboten, but perhaps this was just the way they do things here.

We were informed that there was an announcement before each performance to ask patrons to refrain from such behaviour. When it had happened previously we mentioned it to Ben Tyreman, our company manager and I presume, it was swiftly dealt with.

But last night, there was a handsome chap in the front row who decided to capture our magical performances by taking pictures throughout the show. With a flash! Hmmm.

He clearly was enraptured with the show, because every time I looked at him he was keenly trying to follow the show by reading the surtitles. That is, when he wasn't clicking away like a Russian David Bailey.

In one particular scene, it seems as if all got too much for one of our actors. I could sense something was awry. Just before I came on, I felt that the actor was distracted. He was mad as hell and want gonna stand for it any more.

I came on early because I thought something had gone wrong or he had forgotten his lines. Once I was on, I could see the issue. What to do? Carry on regardless, I supposed.

But no. The actor stopped in the middle of the scene and asked our charming patron to desist. Everyone froze. The other actor sharing the scene, thought the actor had dried and cleverly, supplied his cue line.

He waved off her assistance with an imperial flap of his hands and gave the audience member the evil eye. My heart thumped maybe three times before the scene continued. Glorious.

The timing of the US leg of our tour has been so extraordinary, you could be forgiven for believing that it was somehow ordained – perhaps by the 'spherical predominance' and 'planetary influence' in which Gloucester believes, but Edmund mocks.

At one point on Sunday 28 October, it really did look like the approach of Hurricane Sandy would scupper our flight plans and jeopardise our chances of getting to Ohio in time for our first performances.

We were lucky enough to be on board one of the last planes to take off from LaGuardia, and though we were relieved to have made it to Columbus, I know I speak for all of us when I say that it was with great sadness and compassion that we witnessed the destruction wrought upon the East Coast over the next 48 hours. Our thoughts remain with the residents in and around the fantastic city that welcomed us warmly and gave us such a wonderful two weeks.

Meanwhile, in the Midwest, we found ourselves in the capital of one of the most crucial swing states in the US presidential election.

Both Obama and Romney both spent time in Columbus in the crucial days leading up to Tuesday 6 November. Whatever your political leanings, it was impossible not to be effected by the stirred passions and mounting tension. It reminded me of just how much of a ruckus is caused when power is up for grabs.

This is crucial to the first scene of our play, which sees the ageing Lear dividing out his land among his daughters. Many in this scene, Edmund included, don't yet know how the power will be divvied out. But for a man who is, on some level, obsessed with power, seeing so much authority hanging in the balance must be incredibly exhilarating.

So, our second week in Ohio has actually given me a deeper understanding of Edmund's point of view during the first scene, and has reminded me of the fact that, even when a character is not directly involved in the action and not speaking, there can still be profound things happening in that silence.

It's all very well seeing new places and having new experiences. But sometimes you want to eat and sleep and then get on with your work. You want to try out the new phrases that you have learned, you want to try out the new place that you have heard about. But...

So you give in to your baser instincts. You stop being noble and you fall for the lure of the familiar. And you have some fast food. But you don't want to eat alone. All those foreign people looking at you wondering where all your friends are.

So you go back to your lovely hotel room. You turn on your lovely hotel room telly. And you eat KFC on the edge of your bed. Ah, the glamour of it all. No doubt Olivier did something similar. I am reliably informed.

We get lovely breakfasts here in Moscow. It forces one to get up at a reasonable time and allow the pleasant and completely Russian speaking cleaning staff to wade through the mess you have managed to make in the last 24 hours. But your other meals are a moveable feast.

So, after you have tried borscht (lovely) and the vodka (too many times to mention) what do you eat? I look back through my blogs and begin to discern a bit of a theme here. Food must be an obsession of mine.

So let me tell you about the play. We had a line run in a room surrounded by great Russian actors. All the descriptions were written in Russian so I have no idea who they were but they all looked very earnest and talented.

Of course, there was Stanislavski again. Furrowed brows and gentle eyes, his head resting on his palm in what would today seem quite a studied pose. I wonder how much his ideas on acting would have changed with the advent of TV and film. Maybe not at all.

The line run was interesting for many reasons, mostly, because there had been a gap of several weeks since we last ran the lines together. Things we thought we knew, we didn't. But also because we had the chance to hear the lines afresh.

He could write, that Shakespeare fellow. Lovely to hear actors doing it for real. And it was for real because there was a camera man there, filming it for publicity for the show. There have been quite a few cameras around recently and some if the cast were involved in a press conference where, I am told, a gaggle of press hung eagerly on their every word.

It seems the RSC being here again after nearly 50 years is a big deal. So, you add cameras to actors and what you get is actors really starting to act. The cameras left half way through, presumably having gotten what they wanted. And it was then that we were reminded the other thing about this job: it's quite hard work doing Shakespeare.

It takes physical and emotional effort. Don't get me wrong, it's not coal mining. But it's tougher than it looks, otherwise, every bugger would be doing it.

Will let you know how the show goes. It's bound to be fun. The director will be in so that should liven things up.

Until then, think of me on the edge of my hotel room bed, trying to remember which channel bbc is on whilst trying to eat fast food with a knife and fork.

Finger licking Andrew French

It is a truth universally acknowledged that an actor in possession of a sunny disposition must be in want of a good slap in the face.

As much as it is lovely to be working for a wonderful company, in a beautiful hotel, in one of the most interesting cities in the world; there is also the sense of impending doom as dreaded unemployment starts to rear its ugly head.

I always like to sit down to my Christmas dinner knowing where my next pay check is coming from. It is a constant battle to try and stay in the present. Enjoy the new audiences. The new language. The new food. But when shall we work again? Who knows? Or even dares to ask?

Our flight was delayed for a little over a million years. But it seems churlish to complain about a delay on a flight that you haven't paid for, going to do paid work that you have dreamt of doing all your life. It is a true privilege.

I watch my fellow actors with a bittersweet vision, wondering when I will see these people who have become friends, who have become family. Adjoa Andoh, who quite brilliantly plays Portia, says that actors are good at hellos and terrible at goodbyes. Maybe there are no goodbyes. We just wait until we say hello again. But all the lines seem sweeter to me now. I watch scenes with a little sadness now. Five performances left, four...

But you don't want to hear about that. You want to hear about Russia. Well, we are in Moscow. A great, mysterious city with solemn statues and shops which never close. One of the actors got buffalo wings at four in the morning! You can't get that in Aylesbury. We used the metro on our second evening here. It would be easier to complete Sudoku in Chinese. Beautiful and mystifying like the city itself, one can feel a part of the city and apart from it all at the same time.

We are staying at the Marriott Grand Hotel, a gorgeous hotel with pool, jacuzzi and efficient staff. There is no wifi in the room so right now I am typing in the lobby, watching successful Russians smoking cigarettes (you can still smoke inside here) move through the metal detector as they go about their work.

Friendly bilingual women clear away your tables and gruff security men give you a cursory nod (I think this is a warm 'hello' in their language). The rooms are extraordinary. But it is the main road that is most interesting. Huge buildings that give almost no clue to a non-native as to what they sell.

I can't be sure but I think there is a 24 hour camera shop! Why? No one seems to go in there. It sits across the road from a 24 hour flower shop. Is this just an incredibly romantic city? Or are flowers the Russian equivalent of 24 hour Chinese restaurants in London?

Surly businessman look at you which curiosity. Or is it suspicion? We are an almost completely black company. Are they hostile or just being polite? We have read stories of gangs of nazis marching the streets on Thursday nights looking for trouble. We are assured that this is a complete fabrication and no such thing exists. I will let you know.

The theatre is beautiful. A wonderfully stylish and utilitarian canteen, full of actors and crew suffused with a love of theatre. Ray Fearon (he of the glorious cheekbones, abs and biceps) is staying in Stanislavski's dressing room!

There are two seats in the auditorium which are dedicated to Chekhov and Stanislavski. Amazing. Humbling. Two of the greats of drama performed, directed and worked in this very theatre. They walked these streets. And now we are here. Could Shakespeare, Chekhov or Stanislavski ever have imagined that a company such as ours would pace this stage? Maybe.

Many dignitaries are coming to see the show. The pressure's on. As always. Pressure makes diamonds. We have been told that it is probably not a good idea to drink the tap water as our bodies would not be used to ... its Russian flavour.

Between this and neo nazis roaming the streets in packs and the ghosts of uminaries of Russian theatre haunting our footsteps, we may not survive. But we probably will.

There were many occasions when I got to stand in for the actors during the rehearsal period - during an evening or a weekend rehearsal perhaps or if an actor was absent. I always enjoyed this because it helped me get to know the play, the actor's process and the demands of the space – and see Tim from the point of view of the actor.

Tim announced then, on the final day of rehearsals that if there was an illness and an actor could not go on, then 'Caroline will go on with the book, and read the part'. There were essentially no understudies as it was a touring show. I giggled a bit at this and crossed my fingers that it would never happen.

Ohio, Friday 3 November. I was having a tour of the Ohio State University campus, and the phone rang. It was Ali, our company manager. She said she didn't want to alarm me but that one of the actors was sick and I might need to go on tonight. 'Nothing confirmed, but just think about it'.

The tour of campus continued and I was taken to see the Annie Liebowicz exhibition – and while the images were attracting attention I couldn't but think of the role I might have to play (Cordelia and Oswald) and what the actor playing her/him did.

Then a photograph of Arnold Schwarzenegger's biceps took my attention and I was enjoying the exhibition again.

The phone rang again and Ali said coolly 'you're on'. I said 'OK' and a few other words to express my panic.

Of course this was the only day I had decided to leave the script at the hotel. I got a taxi back, and the taxi man waited as I trashed my room looking for script, something to wear, the plot I had made of Cordelia and Oswald (and never found until recently) and something to apply to my face for those dazzling lights.

I arrived at the theatre and I had an hour before the cast arrived to retrace the plot. The actors arrived, and we all looked at each other before I spoke. My voice was a little bit shaky, and I said 'so we've not had a rehearsal for this, but I think I know it, but it'll feel a bit unsafe tonight, and different'.

I turned to Paul, playing Lear, and I said 'I don't expect you to carry me on Paul at the end,' and he said stand up on that chair (in the dressing room) and I did. Everyone was around. And he said rest your head on my collarbone, and leave your arms limp and I'll hold you. And we tried – and he said 'I'll carry you. I want to.' And they all did, that night. They carried me – and we got through it as a team. It was an honor.

At a certain moment during the show, I walk over to a member of the audience and ask them to do something that will help Edmund trick his father.

It's a moment that I've spoken about before on this blog, but in this instance as in that, I won't say anymore so as not to spoil the surprise for anybody.

Towards the end of our first week playing at the Drake centre in Ohio, something happened that has never happened before - the audience member refused. She was very polite and civil about it, but she was also quite firm.

Once I'd recovered from the initial surprise, I cobbled together some vaguely satisfactory ad-lib and then enlisted the help of the person sitting next to her, who happily obliged. Normal service resumed, then.

But as I staggered back down to the stage, I realised that what was really shocking was not that the person refused, but that I'd never even thought to plan for that eventuality. It had never crossed my mind.

What was I thinking? I'd been lucky enough that, in almost 50 performances, this had never happened - but I can't believe I overlooked the fact that there was always a chance it might.

Because, after all, if we're going to be honest in the way we handle this relationship between Edmund and the audience, then anything they do is valid.

We're trying to create a genuine moment of interaction between performer and audience, and that will only work if I respond honestly to what they do - it's not for me to stage manage them into what I expect or want them to do. If the audience member is free to respond to my request however they want, then that includes refusing it.

Edmund and I both hope that they don't refuse too often. The younger members of the audience are usually keen to get involved by this point of the play, and I want to enjoy a bit of mischief with them.

But the episode serves as a timely reminder that, when you engage with the audience that directly, it really is a leap into the unknown.

Shakespeare in a Suitcase has been rolling for a few years at the RSC. When it was announced that the YPS King Lear would tour America it seemed a good time to take out the old suitcase, dust it down, open it up, give it a shake and a clean and refill it with King Lear.

The brief for Suitcase could be allied with the task of packing for a week on tour – you have to bring the essentials, and you have to justify the choices of garments and materials you bring with you. (I, myself, have a very small suitcase, you see. I call my suitcase Tubby because it's always bulging and under pressure as it's been tightly packed, giving it a rotund look).

We are required to pack all costumes, props, equipment into a suitcase – larger than my own personal one for touring – so that we can wheel the show from venue to venue and get in and out quickly. Oh, and the performance should last about 15 minutes.

Tim, Ben Power and I met for a chat about the edit back in July and agreed that Suitcase Lear should focus on Lear and his daughters.

We wanted the gift giving at the start, the banishment, the riotous knights, the storm, the reunion, the hanging, the deaths – in 15 minutes. When the edit came back it was it's own play - and then Tim and I co-directed it during our five week rehearsals back in August. It was not until we got to America, however, that the show founds its audience.

And so…

Shakespeare in a Suitcase has been traveling around people's homes, living rooms, and conference centres since we arrived in New York.

Our first performance was at a beautiful apartment in Manhattan, the second a lavish country estate in Westchester and the third in the magnificent Tiffany room at the Park Avenue Armory.

We typically get an hour to set up, direct it for the space, perform it and then hear the response with the guests afterwards.

The audience participation has been what they have enjoyed most - we get a guest to hang Cordelia, the audience become the riotous knights, the love interest of Regan and Goneril, the attendants at a funeral, etc – and the fact that the actors are in such close proximity to the audience has made for a thoroughly unique experience of King Lear. Let's see how they like it in Ohio…

In the wings, there're two lights on the roof. One's lit, in cherry red and one's about to come on, in highlighter pen green.

If I took two steps in my wellington boots, I'd be next to one of the ushers. She's sat reading The Hobbit in a lollypop stick's width of light.

Stage Manager Robbie Cullen stands watching a monitor. With his headset and top to toe black clothing, he looks like a fighter pilot's shadow. He's looking at a little version of Bart David Soroczynski who, centimetres away, is thrusting around the stage, all tall with slicked back hair. With his French-Canadian accent and groin hugging trousers, I assume there might be some swooning by the women in the audience. I can't hear it though. I can't hear the usher turning the page of her book. I can't hear Robbie clicking his pen.

I'm standing a tatty jumper's arm's length away from the nearest member of the audience. I'm using what I presume to be an old actor tactic of 'If I can't see them, they can't see me'.

The Royal Shakespeare Theatre has quite open entrances to the runways downstage. It means, before I enter each scene, I can vividly experience the buzz of the audience. The creaks in seats. The shuffles of feet. The striving-to-be-subtle pocket searching for sweets.

And, the laughter. The cacophony of jollity, the rippling tides of tears down cheeks and the slapping of thighs. The little tickles which wriggle from their beginning in the front rows of the stalls and then travel and grow until they're as wide and as tall as the theatre itself; bouncing with the rhythm of the women in the upper circle.

Both directors I'm working with this season have spoken about setting up a kind of contract with the audience. In The Mouse and his Child, we're establishing the style of our production very early on so the audience can be comfortable, enjoy themselves and have a laugh or two.

Ahead of The Mouse and his Child opening next week, my experiences of this 'contract' have so far been simply that it's not a comedy without laughter.

There's a relationship in comedy between the performers and the audience which perhaps isn't there in other genres. If done well, obviously, then there's an instant, often vivaciously audible, reaction. Of course, theatre's stunningly, enigmatically beautiful in that it can also leave an audience solemnly, reflectively heartbroken but on the evidence of this last fortnight, there's something sensational about a lion's roar of laughter subsiding and then beginning again.

Just before the giggles gallop through the stalls again, there's a moment where I hear page 76 of the usher's copy of The Hobbit fall on to page seventy-five. Robbie clicks his pen. Above my head, the highlighter green light flashes on and I take a step forward. It's like jumping out of a plane but also receiving the biggest cuddle you can ever imagine at the same time.

And, stood on that glorious stage, the whole thing's a little bit synesthetic. I can feel the laughter. I can hear the happiness.

It's cold. Waking up this morning, I had to fight off a thousand urges to stay wrapped up in bed. Instead, I peel the warm duvet off me and roll out of bed onto the cold carpet and into the shower. I promise myself that I'll forget all about my safe linen cocoon once I've splashed the water on. I feel great now.

Yes. Press night for The Orphan of Zhao was last night. The evening we were hurtling towards has finally been and gone. And it was worth it. What a beautiful evening. A perfect audience and a perfect response.

Now without a moment to breathe we are swiftly on to the next one.

Boris Godunov rehearsals have ratcheted up a gear themselves and as we toasted one another last night, we noted with dazed expressions and exhausted eyelids that 'We open Boris in one week!'

I keep reminding myself of my morning 'force yourself until you like it' doctrine. It's a cold cold floor to walk on when you realise that you can't relax even though press night has happened.

The run-up to a tech week is right up there with divorce and moving house when it comes to stress. And we are most definitely running upwards at the moment. But it will all feel better the minute we get stuck in and splash the water on.

Boris is a complicated play technically. We have four days of gruelling work ahead of us in order to get it ready for our first preview. It's quite physically demanding and involves a lot of quick changes of costume (which is possibly the most exhausting element).

We have 13 previews to get it right before press night on 28 November, then the understudy performance two days later on the 30th, then The Orphan of Zhao understudy performance one week after that on the 7th of December! When will we rehearse for the understudy shows you ask? Very astute of you…

The understudy line learning for Boris has had to play second fiddle to my understudy work for Tuang Gu in Orphan, so I'm quite behind. I have a day off on Sunday and I shall be spending it learning lines. Not quite the day of rest I would have liked.

I find myself thinking back to other jobs over the years to see if I have ever experienced the kind of all-consuming stress one can tend to experience this side of the river Avon. I haven't.

I find myself wondering if I'd have it any other way. I wouldn't.

I decided to become an actor here at the RSC; at the age of 16. I was in the third row of the RST stalls watching Ian Glenn play Henry V, in 1994. His 'Once more unto the breach dear friends…' sealed the deal for me. Working for the RSC today doesn't simply feel good. The memories I have of this place also make it feel right.

You can be overworked breaking rocks, or you can be overworked doing something you deeply deeply love.

The last time I was in Cardiff a slightly (read 'extremely') drunken reveller who I had just met, propositioned me with one of the most bare faced, filthy chat up lines I think I have ever heard. I was outraged. I was disgusted. I was apalled. I have never forgotten her.

Even though she stormed off in a huff when I had to decline her invitation, the lilt of her voice and her delightfully slurred intonation made me ever since extrememly partial to the Welsh accent. My only other memory is of a bouncer being carried out of his nightclub as he sang (beautifully) 'New York, New York'.

But Cardiff is more than late night solicitations and drunken singing. I know it sounds like I have loved every place we have been (not true). But I really love Cardiff. I like the shopping. I loved the digs I had (Kathryn Goding) and I loved the theatre. A beautiful space where the audience comes right back at you and kisses you on the nose.

It was freezing when we were there. Arctic. And I have to confess that there seemed to be more places to go out in Norwich. That was until the last night where we were invited to the Holy Grail of nights out: The House Party.

It started off terribly and ended up being one of the most brilliant nights out I have had in a while. I met a nurse who was just absolutely lovely and planning to leave this country because the health service in this country was too difficult and stressful and poorly paid. And if that isn't depressing enough she was funny, kind (she looked after her grandfather in her spare time), intelligent and pretty. Sigh.

There was also at the same party an Aussie who had moved to this country to further his acting career. Hmm. We lose nurses and gain actors. Maybe Cardiff is on to something. They don't care about sick people, they want to die quoting Shakespeare from their death beds! I jest.

Or do I? There was a demonstration on my way to work. White students protesting restrictions to immigration. How novel. I am not going to drift into some political point. Theatre is politics. Whether we like it or not. Pretending to be other people has been deemed suficiently dangerous to be banned or censored since the first actor got to their feet and performed a 10-minute routine in front of Sabre-tooth tigers and Pterodactyls.

It seems to me that we all ahve something to learn from other cultures. And nowhere on this tour has this been more deeply demonstrated than in Cardiff. Students from different cultures forcing the city to change whether it wants to or not. Passionate people who want to learn and teach.

The show has been a struggle. Not much, just a little bit. People are getting sick and complaining of tiredness just a little bit more now. The end is nigh. I don't want it to end but have already started to leave. I speak only for myself. I don't know why but I think all shows stretch to fit their space. If the tour had been a month, then it would have been after three weeks that I would have felt I had had enough.

I also know I will miss the words and the people desperately the minute we all part ways making pie-crust promises to stay in touch. I had a friend once (truly!) and he said he could not do what I did. I imagined he was talking about learning lines or standing up in front of hundreds of people. But he merely said he could not bear to make and lose so many friends so deeply and so quickly. He had a point. I will miss the RSC. So deeply I cannot speak of it. It is a private thing.

The Brunette will not be coming to Russia. I had visions of her and little Theo in fur (fake?) lined hats, crunching their way through the snow. Red square twinkling with remembered menace. But it is too cold and we are still too timid to put him in harm's way if we can help it. The Brunette is much better than I (in all sorts of ways) but even she too finds the idea of Theo on a plane or in the snow in a foreign country hard to countenance just yet. So she will bravely, beautifully, boldly stay and clean and cook and feed whilst I charm and perform and dance. Doesn't seem fair. But then, so little is.

We will be in Russia soon. I will try and sign off my blog by writing every day (that was always the plan but life, as is it's habit, got in the way). If I fail, don't hate me. I hope that I will be able to tell you about fur lined hats and traipsing through the snow past red square. But it will probably be more about hotel rooms and the cost of alcohol (high, apparently) Any tips will be greatly recieved.

Until next: think no ill of me.

Andrew French

Everyone tells you about the amount of churches in Norwich. And the amount of pubs. Suffice to say there are a lot of both. What they may keep quiet about is the amount of passionate students and theatre lovers.

Norwich is lovely. Some may call it quaint but if you have the fortune to bag yourself a quite lovely self contained cottage one can enjoy some of the lovely sights without too much trouble. 'Such as?' I hear you shout. Well, it has an incredibly large John Lewis. And an even more massive Marks and Sparks. This may not seem like the most important cultural highlight of a city, but when you have been on tour for as long as we have, you start to appreciate the little (or not so little) things.

It occurred to me that Norwich was one of the main places where the Normans landed, and as you walk around the churches and thge stained glass, it is a simple thing to imagine yourself back to those vicious times. Where would my skills in acting (such as they are) have gotten me?

It's all very well charming theatre enthusiasts and drama students with amusing anecdotes and cunning wordplay; but when Swein Forkbeard (real name, nice guy) is bearing down on you with a double headed axe in his hand it is doubtful he will pause to chuckle over my Angelina Jolie story (even though it is a very good one).

I used to imagine that I would be some kind of tribal leader like in the Lord of the Flies, only without the swift reversion to barbarism. But people tend to follow people who have some discernible skill like in the case of our esteemed Prime minister...ah, wait there may be a light at the end of the tunnel after all.

I once worked with an actor named Billy who was so full of angst about his actor's life that he became a bricklayer part time. He was from Norwich.

Maybe all those ghostly halls and earnestly sung hymns remain within the walls of all those churches and judge us: 'What are you doing with your life? We died for what we believed in and all you're doing is making sure that your Marks and Sparks underwear has enough spandex in it! OOOOOhhhhhh!' (Or other ghostly noise).

Anyway, he built a pretty awful wall outside the front of his house. When I say awful I mean that it was a wall in only the loosest sense. It was pants. I hope he doesn't read this. in fact, I'm only pretending he is called Billy because if he does read it, it would be a fight between a bricklayer and an actor. Who would you bet on? Exactly.

Norwich has great shops and I had nice digs. There was a vibrant nightlife and the evenings when we went out were so good that I was briefly tempted to spend an obscene amount of money in a club on a bottle of gin. There is also the moment when this particular company takes to the dancefloor and quite simply, blows everyone else away. Modesty is overrated; we tear up the dancefloor but good.

It is extraordinary to see parts of the country that one would never normally visit. That's the thing about Norwich. There is not much else out that way. If you go to Birmingham from London there are all sorts of places that you are likely to pass through. Not Norwich. That might make it a place that's a little bit special. In both senses.

PS: I am tired of eating junk food. There are several members of the company who text me when they have found a particular brand of fried poultry. It tastes good at the time but one always pays for it later. Much like overpriced gin.

See you on the dancefloor!

Andrew French

This week we found out who would be the president of the United States of America, and Ohio played a major role in deciding this.

One of Obama's phrases 'fired up, ready to go' was a big part of his last campaign and was started by a woman called Edith Childs. It became a rally cry that took the nation of America by storm. One woman who started a cry and rallied a nation to sing her words.

It got me thinking about our play and if one person is really capable of making a difference in this world. When thinking about Lear, I think it is safe to say that every character has some form of help from another human or army to aid them, whether for good or bad. All except Edgar.

Edgar flees his home in terror, he transforms himself to the basest and most poorest shape and takes on the wrath of mother nature. He finds the king in a state of madness and helps him realise that man is no more then flesh and bone. He helps his blinded father rediscover a thirst for life and finally avenges his fathers death by taking on the bastard Edmund. He goes from being a gullible boy at the start of the play, to a strong young man by the end. It is his human spirit and self discovery that aid him in his dark times.

Throughout our history we have examples of one person who has made a difference or started a revolution to bring better times. So the next time someone tells you that one person cannot make a difference, think of Edith Child's cry 'FIRED UP, READY TO GO'.

Well, press night is fast approaching. We're all beginning to work our way out of the initial shock of the first previews and into something a little more comfortable. That much sought after state of  'relaxed concentration' …or 'chilled-out panic' as I call it.

We look over notes. We warm up religiously and exchange knowing looks with the other company of actors when passing them in the corridor. 'What does their play look like,' we wonder as we sneak a peek at the monitors to see a few minutes of a scene or two. We give them smiling thumbs up at every opportunity.

We lock into a constant state of support and encouragement for all around us whether they're in our show or not. If we keep supporting each other, then someone will catch us if we fall right?

To me, this sense of family is what this industry is all about. It's certainly what the RSC has always been about for me and family looks after family. Besides it's a great way to get out of my head and let things flow naturally.

If ever I find myself in the dumps, it's almost always because I've become desensitized somehow to others around me. Checking back in with my fellows usually does the trick. 'How can I help you,' I find myself repeating silently.

Meanwhile the demon mastiff is getting all the positive attention it rightly deserves. Chris, Joan, and Suzi are rocking it night after night.

They've plotted in a crotch sniff and an elbow nudge. It's a tiny movement but a precise one. There are moments when they all three conspire to make the dog do something so simple that, as Greg puts it, the dog 'shivers into life.' It's magical.

I can't help but think that the play is undergoing the same treatment. We've had four previews so far. Each day following the show, Greg goes over the notes he has for us all. We rework, re-rehearse, re-adjust and re-stage. Every preview is different as a result, but it's getting better and better and shivering into life. Every preview enlists the audiences help and every preview unlocks a bit more of the play for us. Every night moves us closer and closer to our final interpretation of the story.

It's funny how much work we do on a show before bringing it to a live audience, considering that it's a live audience that ultimately decides what play will be seen on press night. It's quite a beautiful arrangement actually.

I often wonder if the relationship between performer and audience member is the key to understanding why we actors do this crazy job. If there's maybe something in the ether when someone performs for another human being that makes us return to it time and again…and by 'us' do I mean actor or audience?

New York, New York. If Edmund can make it here, he'll make it anywhere.

One of the most exciting things for me about playing Edmund is seeing how his relationship with the audience changes during the course of the play.

At the beginning, I try to inject a sense of anarchic fun into the proceedings. After the formality of the first scene, unabashed and unashamed, Edmund turns to the audience and tells them exactly who he is, how he feels, and what he intends to do.

In New York more than anywhere else so far, I've felt a really positive reaction to this directness. The young audience members really seem to warm to Edmund's mischievous trickery.

But as the play progress and Edmund's behaviour becomes increasingly more sinister, I can feel a sense of ambivalence developing in the audience.

Edmund continues to appeal directly to them and to share with them the odd wry wink, but as they see other cherished characters suffering as a result of his behaviour, they begin to wonder whether the joke hasn't gone a bit too far.

By the time that he reveals that he intends to hang Cordelia, nobody's laughing any more.

On Thursday morning's performance, with a wonderfully responsive crowd, this shift was more noticeable than it has ever been before.

As Edgar succeeded in gaining the upper hand at the end of the knife fight of the final scene, the audience erupted into spontaneous and elated applause.

If you've never experienced a throng of young teenaged cheering and whooping as you are unceremoniously stabbed and choked to death, then let me tell you - it's quite an unsettling experience. But then, it's just one of the incredibly exciting - and often unexpected - reactions that we've been getting from these wonderfully generous Big Apple audiences.

Is Edmund a strangely likeable and ultimately pitiable character whose actions are a result of the way he's been treated by those around him? Or is he simply a figure of evil, a villain with no redeeming qualities? It's up to you, New York, New York.

Thus Paul Copley comes to the end of his first speech of the storm scene, a spine-tingling and majestic growl to which we have become accustomed over the past few months.

What happens next, however, is something more of a surprise - from somewhere in the room beyond is heard a terse shout of 'cut', followed by a whirring and clicking sound as the crane moves to reposition a camera roughly the size of a small fridge. Glaring light flashes across the face of its vast spinning lens, whilst four crew members appear from the darkness to set up for the next shot.

This week, you see, we've been filming King Lear. This has been both incredibly exciting and unexpectedly challenging. We knew that it would be tricky to complete such an ambitious shoot in three days, but for me as Edmund, the real challenge has been how to take a performance that so often relies on a direct connection with an audience, and translate it into something that could be captured on camera in an empty room.

That's what we've tried to do. Things have been tweaked a bit, reinvented here and there - occasionally, we've thrown something in for the film that simply doesn't happen in the live show - but I think we've taken the right approach.

Just as the Edmund in our play has a bit of mischievous fun with the conventions of theatre, the Edmund of our film does the same with those of cinema (again, this has been trickier for me as I have less experience of working in front of a camera- but boy, have I had fun trying).

So, just as our stage production of King Lear is an adaptation of Shakespeare's play that aims to capture the spirit of the original, so our film is a reworked, but hopefully faithful, transfer of the show. I'm looking forward to seeing how it will turn out, and I'm delighted that the distribution of the film to New York schools will allow us to play to even more of the fantastic audience that we've enjoyed so far.

The little that I've managed to catch on the monitors during shooting looks great; it's reminded me how lucky I am to be working with such a talented group of actors.

First of all, I'm gonna kick off this blog by saying 'sorry'. Sorry that I've neglected you all for the last two months. The show has been all-consuming and (stupidly) once I missed a glut of blogs – I soon found it difficult to catch up.

The Much Ado journey is finished (for now) but I didn't want to leave you all hanging. I felt like we needed closure! One final goodbye before the door closes for the World Shakespeare Festival!

In the coming paragraphs, I'm gonna be quite frank with you about the whole journey and also excavate and re-live the amazing memories we've experienced. There WILL be anecdotes....

The journey
It's been an emotional journey – and I don't use that word lightly – for all of us. There's been some real highs and lows. There's been falling outs, squabbles, tension and drama. You get that with ANY job. But, especially, actors. We're an emotional, neurotic, disillusional, paranoid, anxious and manipulating bunch of people. What other breed of human can be best friends one minute and sworn enemies the next?!

Switches of allegiances have been rollercoaster-like. But at the heart of it all - it was 'much ado about nothing'. The Stratford experience was beautiful and breathtaking. I feel we had our best shows there.

The Courtyard Theatre really brought out the best of the show and it was a pity that certain moments of the play had to change for London – due to the restrictions of the space. We couldn't bring the audience onto the stage at the Noel Coward Theatre. Gutted.

I guess the reason why Stratford felt so emotional was because of the size of the town. It's tiny. There isn't a lot to do, boredom soon settles in and when you're in each other's back pockets for a lengthy duration, things are going to go haywire. And they did. You all say and do things that you wouldn't do in 'a normal context'. People change and do strange things. It's only when you look back and think: Really? Did that really happen? It shouldn't have done.

While we all felt a little bit lost in ourselves and where we were, one thing that CAN'T be denied is the strength of the show itself.

Wow. I mean you've probably all seen it now and read the reviews. But it went rather well. Garnering a plethora of 5 star and 4 star reviews. On many an occasion we were told by critics and audience-goers alike that our 'wedding scene' was one of the best interpretations they'd ever seen. High praise indeed. And it's true.

They are moments in the play that will live with me and some of you all, for life. Moments like the rain falling in the funeral, the crushing termination of the wedding, Anjana's sparky maid and Raj – our sing and dance sensation! Both are not long out of drama school yet shone so majestically. Raj's performance (Balthasar) even prompted Sir Michael Boyd to give him a mention in his farewell bash.

It went a bit like this, Sir Michael reeled off a list of lasting images from plays during his tenure here and Raj 'n' our Much Ado made it onto that list. In fact, let's stop there. I'm going on a bit – so I think I'D better conclude this final blog in the same vein as Sir Michael with images and anecdotes from OUR journey. Are you sitting comfortably....?

I'll never forget...
When a massive hornet flew into our dressing room one night in Stratford. I've never seen 7 grown man (including myself) scream like girls before. Our arms even flailed. 'GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT! NOOOO! DON'T TURN OFF THE LIGHT!'. In the end, the hornet somehow made its way down to the bar and stung one of the bar staff, Isadora. She was in quite some agony. Ouch!

Or the times when I'd walk past Meera/Amara/Chetna's dressing room and hear almost a mini-party before the show each night. One night when I walked past, the sounds of Mark Morrison's 'Return of The Mack' were seeping from their room. Don't know who the culprit was. I think I cringed.

Or the times I DJ'ed in Stratford and London for the RSC. Twice headlining at Stratford's Maison nightclub and once for our press night party in London. All were memorable in their own special way and it was a real honour to bring the worlds of clubbing and theatre closer together.

I'll never forget the all-hands-on-deck moments when a principal actor was off.

Inevitably, it happened on a number of occasions. The first time was when Sagar (Claudio) was off in Stratford and Darren stepped in. Or in London when Amara (Hero) was off and Anjana stepped in. Or when Rudi (Watchman) was off and yours truly stepped in.

But the most dramatic understudy moment was when Chetna (Margaret) came off MID-SHOW. Yep, she fell ill halfway through and Bharti had to step in and frantically go through hair, make-up (and lines!) in the interval and transform herself into someone else. Halfway through a show. That was pretty hairy.

And so there you have it. The end of a journey. An unbelievable job where dreams (and nightmares) have both been realised. Where hopes have been fulfilled and dashed. Where magic has been conjured up every night and each night markedly different.

It's a funny old world, acting. It has the ability to empower you and destroy you. And yet we put ourselves through this emotional treadmill week on week, year on year. But would we have it any different? Not on your nelly.....

Lotsa love and thank you all. Over 'n' out. Muzz xx

I have my sofa positioned directly in front of my living room windows, so I can view the autumn river-scenery in HD widescreen. I make a mental snapshot of the view every morning and let it inspire my day.

The trees and foliage have turned varying shades of red. The temperature is dropping, so everything is taking on that new tint of crisp. Leaves are falling, the mist is hanging ever longer and ever lower, while the sun creates the most spectacular breaks of light on the top right hand corner of my view. Pretty spectacular stuff.

The view past the trees to the other side of the river is obscured considerably. Quite a full picture with all the leaves and bushes. But every day, leaves fall just outside my window. Soon, all there will be is branches and trunks. What used to be a picture of stuffy foliage will soon turn into a spidery weave of sticks that allow the view to penetrate clear across the river and far across the banks on the other side. There will be fewer colours, but there will be much much further to see.

I've been thinking about the great actors I've seen on stage, and how far I have to go if I'd like to be as great as they are/were. What makes them so great? Did they do their homework? What do they have in common?

I spend my time thinking about my Captain of the Guard in Orphan of Zhao. We have our first preview tomorrow night. When you're my height, characters of unquestionable size and questionable moral fibre are your bread and butter: your Guards, Mercenaries, Thugs, Soldiers and even the occasional Chef.

Those parts tend to call for a lot of physical presence and silence. When you do speak, the menace needs to remain. It sounds horrible to say this but sometimes it's as simple a formula as that.

What always happens though is that after a couple previews, the inner life of the character reveals itself and everything slots into place.

I've tried and tried and tried to create a full and complete inner life for the characters I play in rehearsals (before going in front of an audience) but it never works for me. Some can do it that way…I can't. So I plant little seeds that will grow in performance.

A character says a line to my character. I have an instinct to tap my foot when I answer them. 'Why tap my foot? Where did that come from? I don't even know what my character's name is - we've just been calling him Captain of the Guard. I don't know why I feel like I need to tap my foot on this line, but I'll do it and find out later!' - that sort of thing. It always works.

A couple shows in and it's completely clear where I fit and who I am. The leaves fall off the tree and the view goes on for miles. Not as pretty, but I see clearer that way.

And in case you want to know my opinion about the secret to great actors: While they're always clear and resonant… it's actually the stillness. If you pay attention to their stillness it'll take your breath away. It takes very little movement to move an audience!

Keep an eye out for me. The guard, with the spear, at the back, silent…

So we had our first week in New York and in our first show I had an amazing experience where a young person offered me $20 dollars as poor Tom when I asked for 'charity'. It was so shocking I forgot my next line.

It's the first time that I have been offered so much money by a person during a show, in fact, all the shows put together... but it got me thinking about how well we have been treated in the city.

The Armoury will always have a special place for me as it was where we performed the Shakespeare plays with the long ensemble last summer.

The Americans have had a beautiful way of welcoming us on both occasions and it's a shame we can't stay here longer then two weeks. After all who wouldn't want to spend longer in New York doing a job they love?

There are certain rules that we follow when going to the theatre as adults. One of those is the absolute silence when watching a performance, but the truth is that when Shakespeare's company performed over 400 years ago, the audience was not silent. They would comment on the scene, shout at the performance and even throw the odd tomato. But through time things have changed in theatres and the audience no longer 'speak what they feel'.

A young audience is not used to these 'rules' and the truth is they naturally comment or react when things happen on stage, but in America, the reaction is bigger then it's been in England. This is not a complaint but a simple observation.

There is something incredible when hearing an audience react to what we are doing on stage. I'm sure it is something that Shakespeare would be proud of as much as we are because it means that we as actors are telling the story of King Lear and making our audience react the way Shakespeare wanted them to. Bring on the noise.

Well here we are. Stratford-upon-Avon. I'm sat in my living room, in my digs, overlooking the river. It's beautiful. Both the view and the feeling of being here again. These last two weeks have been incredibly taxing on us physically and emotionally. And the shows are looking good!

The phrase 'the shape of things' plays around in my mind. We start rehearsals with no shape in our minds. The director usually begins with a mental shape that he or she will investigate with our help. All actors think they will influence the shape of the play, but it's actually the other way around. We need to fit the play - the play never fits us.

At the end of five weeks we're running the first and second half of the play and a more concrete shape makes its presence known.

'Oh! THIS is the play I'm in' I think to myself. My face starts to change, my beard grows, my hair grows. We've been doing acrobatics core workouts that make us sweat buckets. Bodies getting stronger, tummy flatter…changing shape. I look around on our last day of rehearsals in London for The Orphan of Zhao and I marvel at the beauty in the room. We're from all walks of life. Every colour, every size, every shape.

Matthew Aubrey makes me laugh with every word he says. Adam Burton wields his assassin's sword with the same joy as his wit and camaraderie. Joe Dixon is a force of nature that I'm eager to learn from - hilarious too.

Jake Fairbrother proves every day that he's as beautiful on the inside as he is on the outside. Lloyd Hutchinson is a blast to be around and so impressive to watch work.

Chris Lew Kum Hoi, my boy!, moves us all to tears repeatedly in his final scene at the end of the play. Siu Hun Li has the warmest smile and more charm than I could ever hope to get. Patrick Romer, the fountain of knowledge of all things theatre - I can't begin to tell you how valuable a mind and talent like that is to us young wannabes.

James Tucker breathes pure beauty into every syllable he utters; he could make the phone book sound engaging. Lovely Graham Turner brings a smile to my face the minute he walks into the room…his incredible Cheng Ying breaks our hearts every time he sets foot on stage.

Stephen Ventura has, in my opinion, the greatest laugh in the world and his Emperor of China is a work of meticulous preparation.

I could talk to Philip Whitchurch all day long…about theatre, cooking, movies. I could laugh with Lucy Briggs-Owen all day, forever, while her Princess is a work of heart wrenching clarity.

Nia Gwynne made me weep uncontrollably when she sang her lullaby to a plastic baby doll!

Gorgeous Susan Momoko Hingley works harder and with more skill than I could ever do myself. Her 'Maid' scene will be talked about for a long time to come.

Joan Iyiola brightens up the room the minute she enters.

Will Tuckett's gentle and warm personality make me look forward to every movement session.

While finally Greg Doran our director, whose integrity and decency of character continues to effortlessly receive all our loyalty and love, gently brings our different shapes together to form the picture we hope to present on opening night. A picture where you no longer notice the colours and shapes that makes it up. Courageous. Genius.

We have a beautiful family. Every shape. Each shape, a different colour. Each colour another reason to wake up and smile. The shape of things to come.

Our last week in the UK before setting off for the states saw us perform at St. Mary's School in Hull. Here, we gave four enjoyable performances to responsive audiences made up of local schools, and on the Wednesday afternoon, delivered a workshop.

Matt Sutton, proud son of the city that he is, delivered the workshop alongside us sporting the black and amber of Hull City AFC. Dharmesh and I had tagged along with him the night before to watch the club suffer an underserved loss at the hands of Blackpool, and, neutrals though we supposedly were, had developed a little of the Tiger spirit ourselves.

Whether it was partly as a result of this local pride, or simply because we were on form as practitioners, I don't know – but it was one of the most productive workshops we've given.

The students had not only understood the play (always a relief for us), but showed real flair and imagination in their responses to the challenges we set them. It reminded me that it's the contributions from the students that we work with that make each session unique. The best workshops are the ones in which they offer more than we do.

I understand that St. Mary's are building a new state-of-the-art theatre over the next year or so; judging by what we saw on Wednesday, it's a resource that certainly won't go to waste.

We spent the rest of the week performing at the fantastic Hull Truck theatre. The space is infinitely rewarding to play and our piece fit into its design perfectly. The staff, both front of house and back, gave us a warm welcome.

An idyllic afternoon off was spent walking around the picturesque old town and wandering through the Wilberforce House Museum. Larkin wrote that 'Hull has its own sudden elegancies' - I feel very lucky to have experienced more than a few of these during our brief visit.

Hull = perfect. The school, the students, the theatre, the people. But more importantly, the place itself.

What I was truly amazed at was the multicultural element to Hull city and how well people integrated with one another.

It is something that I am most proud of with the YPS shows. Each one that I have been lucky enough to be in, I have seen a cacophony of colours both on stage and in the audiences. It is something that makes me proud to be a part of, like our ever changing society we represent the different cultures and backgrounds in these shows, just like we see in our audiences and different city's that we visit.

More importantly the fact that the Gloucester family is made up of Tyrone, Ben and myself never confuses the young audience we encounter. Why? Because they are not tainted by society's misconception of what a family should look like on stage.

For one of the first times in my career I have not felt like an 'Asian actor'. For the first time I have felt like an 'actor' where the colour of my skin does not matter and it's a shame I only realised this in Hull.

So thank you to the sea of cultures I see in the audiences that make me proud to be in this company. In the words of the great man himself: 'If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?'

The lighting was curious thing for the people of Hull. The lighting of the show that is. The lighting of the people themselves. You see, in this show the audience is lit - and this, for reasons unknown, became a site of discussion, and discomfort for the audiences we encountered this week. Some liked it, others found it distracting, but all agreed it was something - something curious. They wanted to know why.

And there was explanation. The actors relayed how Tim wanted the experience to be all encompassing, all inclusive. The show extols that we are all seeing and doing at the same time - that there is no illusion, it's not real, but theatre. Therefore we don't fade out the audience, or pretend they're not there - we want to see their faces and see how they share, understand King Lear. It's bold, it's unforgiving, and it's challenging for the actor and the audience.

This week, when I was in watching the show, bathed in the fluorescent tubed lighting of a school hall, and then the house lights of a theatre I found that I interacted with those I sat beside more than I might if I was in the dark.

In St Mary's College there was a young lady sitting beside me whose phone rang during the show, and then she proceeded to answer it. The audacity, was my thought, and my disdainful murmurs and tutting soon ended the phone call.

But I wondered would this have happened if the lights were fully down and we were all totally silent. Is this the liberty afforded when there is no major marker of the lights fading and the show going up?

In the Q & A that night a lady commented that at the start she couldn't quite understand why the lights didn't go off, but about 10 minutes into the play she completely forgot about it and enjoyed the show. Then when we were in Hull Truck a man said that he found it very distracting that the audience were in focus and lit throughout the play and he begged the question of its value to the experience of the show.

Dharmesh reminded him that in fact this was much more akin to how Shakespeare would have originally been received at the Globe, and that there was a choice that the audience had to make - do I look and listen to the play or do I take in the theatrical event. While one is probably more preferable, I think that the fact that we are drawing attention to the making of a live event with the public is a satisfying thing.

And then there is the challenge for the actors - seeing the reactions (and the spectrum of elation to boredom) - and contending with keeping them from answering their phones!

Well, we have two weeks left to go before we hit Stratford. Things pick up a gear at this point.

This is usually the time when the 'outside world' starts to demand attention. Our bodies have taken a beating and we start to become ill. Colds and sore throats are passed from one to another like a rugby ball.

The warm ups start to focus on certain body parts. Sleep begins to look more and more like one of those rising stock prices you see in all those films about Wall Street and the City.

Friends you haven't seen for years, because one of you is always away on tour, are finally in the same town as you and you try desperately to make some time to see them… 'Maybe you can meet me at rehearsals and we can walk to the tube together?'

Theatres all over London are showing plays that star your nearest and dearest and whom you're very eager to go and support. Doctor's appointments, dental appointments, trips to the bank, trips to an office in town…all these things that were put off, because of the initial excitement of the rehearsal process, begin to knock at your day demanding your attention. Sunday, our usual day of rest, now becomes the day to be productive and 'get things done'…which as of today now includes getting life ready for the move.

And that's the precise time the understudy rehearsals begin. The understudy roles are assigned and there are loads more lines to learn….and to be learned by the time the technical rehearsal begins (officially)….and certainly before the understudy performance (open to the public)! The rehearsals have yielded dance pieces and fights and other bits of choreography that now mandate their own rehearsals at any and all hours.

The rehearsal day now comprises rehearsal evenings too, and you're walking home to the tube at the time you used to be getting into bed.

Time, which all this while has been creeping forward, now starts to count down.

I'm going to be understudying the lead baddie Tuang Gu in The Orphan of Zhao, and Boris Godunov in Boris Godunov. They are two whopping roles, and a real privilege to be asked to cover them.

Joe Dixon plays Tuang Gu in the show, and Lloyd Hutchinson plays Boris. They are both terrific performers and are going to smash their respective roles. If you've ever seen them perform, then you know just how great they are. I'd rather play barefoot than fill their shoes.

I can only hope the understudy run goes well…while beginning each rehearsal with the silent oath 'I hereby undertake to keep these two juggernauts healthy, hearty, and operating at maximum immune systems forever and ever and ever…Amin.'

And they say we're lazy…

In Act 5 Scene 3 of King Lear, Shakespeare wrote arguably one of the most powerful of his few stage directions.

'Enter Lear with Cordelia in his arms' has given us one of the key on-stage images associated with the play - a moment so moving and powerful that, for over a hundred years, it was considered too unbearably painful to be performed.

But how does Cordelia actually die? Shakespeare relies on his audience to be quite attentive on this point. When Edmund orders her death, it is in the form of a note that is never read aloud. This is presumably to preserve the suspense for the moment when Edmund, having been mortally wounded himself, reveals to Albany that a captain 'hath commission from thy wife and me to hang Cordelia in the prison', but it also means that if you've never seen the play, you don't know what the note is about.

When Lear enters with his dead daughter, he confirms her cause of death but (perhaps slightly confusingly) uses a term of endearment; 'my poor fool is hanged'. Amid the din of all the double-crosses and deaths of the climax, it's possible to miss this vital info - especially if it's the first time you've seen a Shakespeare play and your bum's gone a bit numb.

This week in Cornwall, we were, for the first time, asked how Cordelia died. Initially, this question really troubled me. We want the story to be clear to our younger audience members, so this seemed a bit worrying. How had we failed to get this bit of the plot across?

But then this hasn't happened often and it is, as I say, a plot point that requires a bit of piecing together. So, whilst I have since taken pains to make sure I'm extra-clear when I deliver the line quoted above, I've also realised that it's probably quite helpful to introduce new audiences to this side of Shakespeare's work.

It's a good example of the fact that it isn't just about what is shown, powerful though those images can be, but also what is said. The language is that final crucial ingredient. I guess it's okay if sometimes the performance leaves people with questions as well as answers.

And some of the questions we've heard this week during Q&As have been so fantastic that there are no easy answers. In Bodmin (where they did actually used to hang people) a young girl asked whether there was any underlying message behind Cordelia's death, or whether it was simply a bleak and senseless waste. I don't know the answer to that - but the question alone demonstrates that, painful though this moment of the play may be, you'd be mad to cut it.

Last week in Newcastle a young audience member asked 'why is King Lear so funny'? There are comic moments from The Fool/Kent and Edmund, but this is the tragedy of King Lear, not the comedy! Or is it...

One of my observations while watching the play this week in Cornwall was about the consistent presence of laughter towards the end of the play.

When Lear carries the dead Cordelia in his arms and cries 'howl, howl, howl, howl' there are always roars of laughter from the audience, and when she is lifted into the grave there is also great amusement.

My question is why is end of the play funny to young audiences? Why is something so sad so funny? Of course there is the whole tragedy comedy symbiosis, but adult audiences don't laugh at this part in the play, and younger audiences do.

I find this fascinating, and this response has been most surprising. Is it that the disturbing image of the dead daughter carried on by a howling father is too much to consider, or is it that Lear is simply a comic character, even at the most tragic moment of his life?

Taking the latter on board, I consulted the writings of comedy expert Henri Bergson about comic characters, and found this quote - 'a character is generally comic in proportion to his ignorance of himself'. Is it too much to expect us to howl and mourn for Cordelia when we know she ended up dead due to his ignorance - his lack of self-knowledge? I wondered could this shed light on Lear, if the young people were laughing at his ignorance?

Interestingly, the laughter usually stops around the time when Lear says 'I might have saved her'. Yes, he might have. There's the rub, and the knowledge. That's the real tragedy - his insight is too late. And that's not funny. It's tragic.

We, the actors, turn up to schools, do a show and get the credit, but it's important to point out that our job is made easy by four people in particular.

Ali our company manager who keeps things organised and in check so we can concentrate on the show, and always gives an amazing hug when your feeling down.

Amy her right hand lady, who always has a smile on her face, cue our music and makes our life easier by always resetting our props.

Miwa who sets, fixes and washes our costumes and has them smelling crispy clean each day. Trust me, I sweat a lot in this show, and break a lot of my costumes - I blame the quick changes for both.

Tom, AKA The Muscles, like a cool older brother constantly keeps me laughing on my breaks and helps take your mind off work.

The four of these put up our set, costumes, lights and everything else that goes with a tough tour like King Lear. They are the first to arrive and the last to leave.

Now I know this might sound weird but I'm going to say it anyway. I was served a beautiful school dinner by some lovely dinner ladies who went out of their way for us, but sometimes it's easy to forget the effort they put into making the meals and serve over a thousand people everyday because we just see the end product.

It's often easy to forget how hard EVERYONE works to bring together the final product... If it wasn't for our Lear family the show might not go on... Thank you for making our jobs easier.

So: In Bradford, the iron didn't go out. In theatre parlance, that means the curtain that comes down onstage during the interval, did not go back up again. Oh, dear. The show, to be fair has been getting a little long but a 45 minute interval really didn't help matters. It was all very confusing back stage. But that was not the amazing thing.

Let me state one thing before I go any further: I love playing different theatres. It's one of the magical things about the job I do. I have been all over the world doing something I love. Lots of places offer lots of different challenges yet Bradford felt surprisingly respectful. Actors always want love. Who doesn't? So, applause and cheers and garlands. We thought they liked us but didn't (crucially) love us.

We were wrong. Because, as we listened backstage to The Director; who spookily had turned up in Bradford just to catch up with the show, (or was he here to fire someone? Just because I'm paranoid, doesn't mean they're not all out to get me!) as he explained why we could not carry on, we thought the show was over for the afternoon.

The flustered, embarrassed faces of the Bradford staff, who were trying absolutely everything to get the show back on. We could hear audience members beg to see the show: Maybe we could do the show in the foyer? How about a reading? With us sitting on the front of the stage?

Were we hearing this right? This respectful, relatively sparse audience were desperate to see the end of the show. The auditorium was by no means full (not empty, but not full) and we had judged them by their size rather than by their passion. Always a foolish choice. We were told to step to the front of the theatre (in front of the seats!) and take a bow. They went crazy. It was humbling and a little embarrassing.

Then, of course, the obvious happened. The curtain went up. Of course. How could it not? When we were standing there, looking sheepish? Expressing our disappointment about not completing the show. We just couldn't even with the best will in the world. We just can't...Oh, maybe we can.

Anyway, it went well. A moment here to mention Ray Fearon. Who ends the first half. Waited for nearly an hour. Then went on and smashed the most famous scene in the play. Class.

Next stop Salford.

Andrew French

Well it's been a tough old week. We're all hurting from a particularly long day of acrobatics, and people riding with Lina Johanson again for Boris Godunov rehearsals.

I find myself recalling the months and months I used to have without work of any kind and without any prospects for work. I would have given anything then to be exhausted after a long day's rehearsal, and the moment isn't lost on me now. I'm glad I can remember those times. Nothing was more painful than those dog days, so I can handle some aching muscles.

Over at The Orphan of Zhao rehearsals, I thought I'd take a moment to talk about eunuchs and Al Pacino. Got your attention? The eunuchs in question are four of our secret weapons within the company. They are Susan Momoko Hingley, Siu Hun Li, Joan Iyiola, and Chris Lew Kum Hoi.

Their functions are extensive and they've been working flat out for the audience's future enjoyment.

In trying to identify what our vocabulary is going to be when telling our story, Greg Doran has found the haunting use of the eunuchs throughout the play (as manipulators and facilitators almost) very effective.

In rehearsal of course, this means that our intrepid foursome are on call quite a lot, especially in rehearsals with Al Pacino - the puppet that will serve as one of the characters in the play, The Demon Mastiff! I don't know who named him Al Pacino. But the part does involve a lot of growling and barking, so I guess it fits.

Now it's one thing to get up on stage and do a bit of puppetry and make it amusing. That takes a bit of practice and some degree of sympathising on behalf of the audience. But to create a living, breathing, menacing being in front of your very eyes takes an enormous amount of time and commitment.

It involves hours and hours and hours of back breaking rehearsal, holding stressful body positions for prolonged periods of time, while thinking about breathing patterns, micro movements, focus and blocking etc. And you know what? If you do it properly, the audience will likely never notice nor realise how much work went into it.

It's very inspiring and impressive to see them happily working as hard as they are. They are all the while in the very caring and capable hands of Will Tuckett our wonderful movement director, whose years of experience with the Royal Ballet (and others) provides the perfect sounding board for actors in physically demanding rehearsals.

Hello from Bradford!

Am typing this on my phone so forgive me if I lack my usual panache.

So. It has been raining. A lot. It seems to always rain when I come up north. Now I know that can't be true. I know there must have been many times when I have frolicked in the summer sun. But right now, I can't seem to remember them. So most of us are spending our time in our hotel rooms watching the rain it raineth every day.

'Not bad work if you can get it.' I hear you grumble. 'Spending your days watching the telly and playing computer chess' (actually I'm playing football manager but I thought you would be more impressed with chess). Well, I'm not complaining (I am) but when you are in a place where you don't know anyone or anywhere you find yourself spending an awful lot of time in Marks and Spencer's.

Bradford is nice, actually. Everywhere seems small when you have been brought up in London. One can get spoilt. Bit frankly, Bradford can't do much about the weather. And the hotel staff are lovely. The nice rooms and the nice hotel are courtesy of the lovely Ewart James Walters. A man with perhaps the most amazing voice since Barry White.

It is a real skill organising yourself on tour. One I lack. Blame my son (yes, still squeezing that for everything it's worth). The brunette says I really should learn how to organise my life, and then very competently does it for me. Lucky me.

But the job is nearing its end now. There are rumours that it might go on. But when? Where? For how long? Am already starting to say hello to my old friend: fear. When will I work again? Will I work again? How much can nappies and wipes cost? Lots of actors are very good at working at other things besides acting. I am not.

Maybe one of the many directors who say they want to work with me will, you know; work with me! I wonder if other jobs have the curious phenomenon of people saying to you they will give you a job and then just forgetting.

Can you imagine going to an interview and when you get up to leave the interviewer telling you that the job is in the bag and then never calling. Ever.

So I'm starting a campaign: no more fibs! If someone intimates strongly that they are going to give to give you something: then they better give it to you or you are allowed, under the new law to go to their place of work and jump up and down screaming, 'WHY? WHY? WHY???' Spread the word, it's a new era.

A drama teacher once told me that actors should only deal in truth. A hard thing to do. But we should all try. It's time for a revolution! It starts in Bradford! Next stop Salford!

PS: I am available for all kinds of work including weddings, birthdays and bar mitzvahs. Rates negotiable.

Be good. And if you can't be good - I don't know, I have not yet figured that one out.

Andrew French

On an odd occasion where the frenetic rehearsals lull, I daze out of the large windows and over at the architect's offices opposite. I consider what we've been doing all day from their point of view. If, from across the street, the shirt and tie version of myself looked up from the pixels on my post-it note covered computer screen and looked in through the windows, to see a seemingly ill-fated fella sliding down a wall using the lyrics of 'My Old Man's a Dustman' as his last words before getting back to his feet and lining up in a ten-a-side game of makeshift volleyball then yeah; my novelty socks from Mum wouldn't seem as fun anymore.

In my pocket I have bits of lolly pop sticks. Rat's teeth - of course - made out of snapped lolly pop sticks, all jagged and uneven. On my hand I have a large patch of the sticky stuff left from masking tape. I can't remember the exact reason why my left hand would've been covered in masking tape but I reckon it was fun. Something I am completely sure of though is the location of my script. Right there. In my bag. On the table. Closed. It's been open but it's not as if the script's been gallivanting around the rehearsal room in my hand, pages flung open and flapping like wind machine hair, green highlighted lines getting more attention than anything else. Nah, this isn't that kind of process.

I'm writing this at the end of the first fortnight of rehearsals for The Mouse and his Child. I've deleted that line twice already and re-typed it- considering if we have actually just finished the first fortnight or if, as it rather feels, we've been working for about double that. We've done a lot with our first fourteen days.

Entering the room, it's perhaps not what those architects across the road would expect to see if they left their penthouse pavement planning projections and spent the afternoon with us, in our ground floor rehearsal room, flanked with tables adorned with tennis rackets, fur coats and everything in between.

Somewhere amongst the emporium of prams, shopping trolleys, suitcases and umbrellas, sits the writer of the stage adaptation of The Mouse and his Child, Tamsin Oglesby. Well, I say sit. She is sitting, yeah, she's sitting right now but it's not always like that. Often she's been up with us, joining in with the frenetic throwing of limbs as we chuck a ball up in to the air, keeping it off the ground. Our success fluctuates between one hit and about 185 hits before it bounces on a wooden floor marked with a rainbow of tape, the skeleton of an exciting and adventurous set.

As I watch Tamsin lean in to director Paul Hunter across a desk of scribbled notes, wind up clockwork toys and Wine Gums, I evaluate the relationship between director, actor and writer in this process so far.

The script given on day one of these rehearsals has rarely been the fixed focus. It's a frame, a fantastic frame, with a fluidity to work in tandem with the discoveries we've cooked up in the space between the tables of creative clutter.

As we're trying different ways to make a swamp out of a potato sack and a bin bag, Tamsin hands over a new draft of a scene inspired by the previous day's adventures involving a fur coat and a piece of four foot rope.

I watch someone leave the offices across the road. He's carrying a briefcase. Just as I have lollypop stick rat's teeth in my pocket, he has drafts for a potential new Sainsbury's in Acton or a block of renovated flats from an old print works in Stockwell, or- something. The early stages. Sketches. Plans. Designs.

As I turn to join the rest of the cast, our five minute break coming to an end, I reckon it's pretty apt that our neighbours are architects. I guess we and them do the same thing; although rather than using a protractor, pencil sharpener, ruler and computer software, we use fur coats, the heads of mannequins, feather dusters and ballerina tutus.

At a certain moment, fairly early on in the show, I walk over to a member of the audience sitting in the front row and enlist their help. I ask them to do something for me. It's something a little bit mischievous, something I imagine theatre-goers are rarely asked to do.

During the pre-show, I usually do a quick scan of the audience, trying to find somebody who I think will respond well to my request. I'm looking for younger members of the audience who seem to have a lot of energy and enthusiasm.

On Thursday morning's performance at Archibald Primary School in Middlesborough, one particular young boy was so lively that he wanted to engage with us right from the off. 'Hey,' he called over to me as I entered holding my tray of refreshments, 'Can I have a drink?'

In fact, he was so full of beans that his teacher frequently had to ask him to settle down. As a result of this, I quickly learned his name. For the sake of this blog, we'll call him Paul. But that isn't his real name.

Anyway, it seemed to me that Paul wasn't a bad kid at all, just a bit restless and frustrated. Just the sort of person, then, who could turn out to be brilliant at drama. It dawned on me that this was a fantastic opportunity to show him that the qualities for which he was probably often chastised could, if put to good use, be real strengths. I decided that I would come to him for help when the moment arrived.

Not only that, I would address him by name. That would really get through to him, I thought. An actor stepping out of the drama and connecting directly with him.

The moment arrived. As I scuttled over to him, it suddenly dawned on me - what if this was actually a terrible idea? What if this was precisely the sort of thing I shouldn't be doing? What if I was not only encouraging him to misbehave, but also suggesting that he should be rewarded for it?

I didn't really have time to properly consider this, and I'm not sure I'm qualified to speculate anyway. I went with my gut. 'Paul...'

For a moment, he was surprised. But, undeterred, he rose to the challenge. He seemed drawn in by this bizarre event, and when I met him in our workshop later that afternoon, he was throwing himself into the work with all the excitement that he'd had to reign in whilst he was sitting in the hall, waiting for the show to begin, earlier in the day. I'm glad I did it.

There is something special about encountering a school for a second time with a different show. The teachers may not have changed but the students certainly have.

I remember very clearly going to a Guisborough School with Hamlet and thinking I had met both students and teachers that took pride in their education, and was slightly gutted that we were not returning to it with King Lear.

But whilst in Middlesborough we had an unexpected group of people turn up who had made an hour journey to watch our version of King Lear. It was a group students from Guisborough School led by a lovely teacher called Denise.

I was once again astonished at the intelligence of the young group of pupils who fired incredible questions at us. In particular a young man called Ewan. Ewan asked the question of whether the demise of Lears' kingdom was due to the fact that Cordelia tells the truth, or whether Edmund tells lies. If Cordelia had lied, would Regan and Goneril try and stage a coup to take Cordelia's land? If Edmund had told the truth then would his treatment by his father be justified?

As human beings we are forced into situations where sometimes we have to choose between the truth and a lie but either way we must accept the consequences of our choices and the outcome they present to us.

After every show there is questions and answer session. As the performers change from character to actor I start the conversation with the audience about the play. With their eyes closed they think of memorable moments, and in pairs come up with some questions for the actors about the characters, the play and the production.

When the actors come back out they sit among the audience and hear their thoughts and questions before we open out the discussion to include the entire room. When we were at Archibald School there was an couple of young people who I spotted and went out to. Here is the conversation I had.

Caroline: (eager) Do you have any questions over here?
Silence.
Caroline: (eagerly) No questions?
Waiting
David: (pointing at his friend) Yes, you do.
A moment
Sam: (suspiciously) Are you the REAL Shakespeare Company - the RSC?
Caroline: Yes, we are. Why do you ask that question?
Sam: We'll it's just that it was set at Christmas and everyone was wearing new things.
Caroline: Have you seen King Lear before?
Sam: We studied the story at school.
Caroline: Were you surprised by this show?
Sam: Yeah.
Caroline: Why?
Sam: 'Cos I liked it.
Caroline: Good. Any other questions we can ask the actors when they come out for the talk?
David: Yeah - why does King Lear go mad?

And that seemed like a great way to start the discussion, and where the Real Shakespeare Company were put to work – and so I turned to Paul Copley, who is playing Lear – and I repeated Sam's question – Why does King Lear go mad? Everyone was listening…

So we have left London.

And on to Aylesbury. It is extraordinary that the RSC do these tours that allow people who cannot get to Stratford or London to see the works of the greatest english writer by the greatest Shakespeare company. Still, I had no idea where Aylesbury was!

It is a lovely little town with the most gorgeous refurbished theatre (great canteen, superb staff, terrible showers).

The auditorium is beautiful. But, oh my God! Big! It is a wider stage but the auditorium (capacity 1100) just goes on and on. And up and up. So Lynne, our voice expert came along just to make sure that we were supporting our voices. Lovely to see her again.

The audience on the first night was much quieter than we were used to in London. A little unnerving. But at the end they were whooping and cheering.

Speaking to some members of the audience afterwards, they loved it. They were listening (rare in auditoriums nowadays) and were moved.

Sometimes, actors can judge success by how many laughs they get. They can think, 'Do they like me? Are they laughing?' It is an easy mistake to make. And a very seductive one. I have seen many a production lost because actors so desperately want to be loved. We are often so desperate for it. Maybe that desperation is why so many of us become actors. Hmm,discuss.

Anyway, read the reviews: we are still a hit. Which is nice. We only do six performances here, so it really is a case of in and out and on to the next place. The touring life.

When I am asked about touring I always say one has to get used to Marks and Spencer's because they are in almost every town and the quality is uniformly good. (I am not sponsored by them, by the way but am certainly open to offers).

It can be pretty hard living form home, and not all are cut out for it. (I have discussed this before in previous blogs.) But it is always interesting to see how towns are different and how they are all the same.

My dressing room equilibrium has been thrown into confusion this week because there are 11 of us in one dressing room! That means there is an awful lot of noise. I can sleep on a washing line so it makes no difference to me but wow, there is a lot of energy and testosterone when you get a group of men together like that. It reminds me of a sports locker room. (It probably smells like on too: sorry Aylesbury dressers!)

Being so close to some of the younger members of the cast makes me feel invigorated and young and also...very, very old. Such is life. I have heard (and I may be making this up) that actors are less likely to get dementia or alzheimer's because they are always learning lines, meeting new people, creating pathways in their brains as they are constantly challenging their minds. Maybe. Still, good to spend some more time with the yoof of today!

See you when I see you.

Btw, I think I mentioned in a previous blog that no one goes to sleep in the play. I, of course, neglected to mention Lucius, Brutus' servant who falls asleep almost all the time! I am an idiot. But then, you already knew that.

Andrew French

'Everyone walks around half naked!' A friend of mine came to see the show a few weeks ago and I was asking her why she never stayed in the business (she was very good). She said she hated the rejection (fair enough), the low pay (hear, hear), and the casual sluttiness of actors. (!)

I took some issue with her comments, as I am tired of people supposing that acting is just one big chance for immature children to cop off with each other. there is laughter, yes. And touching, of course. We do not, however walk around half naked waiting to snog each other the minute we get into the wings.

But. At the moment, I have the pleasure to work with a Mr Ray Fearon. I served him drinks many many years ago in a pub in Stratford called The Dirty Duck. Some of you may have heard of it. I was a goggle eyed student who got the chance to serve some of my heroes drinks. Haydn Gwynne, Simon Russell Beale, Guy Henry and...Ray Fearon. Even then, there were girls who were swooning (and I do not mean this metaphorically) as soon as he walked in. Well, I'm here to tell you people, the intervening years have done nothing to lessen his magnetism and there are times when he does walk around backstage in a severe state of undress. It really is a sight to see.

But that is theatre. I was once in As You Like It with Sienna Miller and she had a change where she had to go almost naked before slipping into her final dress. Being the gentleman I am, I averted my eyes. As much as one could reasonably be expected to.

I always turn my head away if another actor is changing. But it is impossible not to see something. Sigh. When I was at Drama school, I assumed that there would be no men's changing rooms or women's changing rooms in professional theatre: we were all just actors. Does it not suggest a slightly immature way of looking at the instrument that is our body? Or presume some archaic sense of attraction depending upon...I don't know. I do know that I have seen more people in their pants in this show than I care to see for a while.

By the way: should dressers knock? I was wondering, as we have had several dressers since Stratford. Most knock, some do not. They are busy, hard working people and they often have their arms full of clothes, and I can see how it would be dull for them to knock all the time.

But. What if I am standing there naked, admiring myself in the mirror? I know, this sounds like I am now arguing against what I have previously said. Strange to have my pants known by relative strangers though.

Andrew French

This week during a Q&A were asked a question on whether or not we dumb down our shows for young audiences...

The answer is no. Regardless of what age you are, you still understand human conditions...

It is Shakespeare's greatest gift in my opinion. He understood the human condition and could articulate it in ways that many writers still find difficult.

Some of the most intelligent and challenging responses I have ever experienced have come from our young audiences and even after the third show I am still amazed at how I am challenged by the people that are 20 years younger then me...

So thank you to all the young people that help me wake up and know that I will be challenged because it is something that I find only a handful of adults do for me: 'Speak what we feel not what we aught to say.'

We began our first week at Bitterne Park School in Southampton. Their impressive new theatre provided a perfect space in which to test out our ideas about connecting with an audience that flank the stage on both sides as well as out front. The whole room is lit.

The relationship between performer and audience in this setting is incredibly exciting and immediate. We're all part of one shared space. It offers Edmund so many opportunities to engage with the audience and to enlist their help with his scheming.

This dialogue continued into the workshop that we ran during the afternoon, at the end of which, the students were discussing the ethics of Edmund's behaviour, and wondering whether the blame lies solely with him, or also with his upbringing. It's their first week of term.

At the Nuffield, things are slightly different. We're playing completely end-on, with our platform set a few feet back from the edge of a raised stage, and the audience sitting below in a darkened auditorium. As such it's been slightly harder for me to break through that barrier at the front of the stage, but it's been a fun challenge that has led to the discovery of new means to activate the audience and involve them in what's happening on stage.

When we succeed in this aim, the results can be extraordinary. Several times this week, when I've turned to the audience and asked them which of Lear's eldest daughters Edmund should choose, they've shouted their thoughts back to me. 'The one in red!' - 'The one in green!' - 'Just stop kissing people!'

During Thursday afternoon's show at the Nuffield, when Edgar entered leading his blinded father towards an imagined Dover cliff and asked him, 'Hark, do you hear the sea?', a young audience member somewhere in the first few rows responded by quietly making a drawn-out swooshing noise, emulating the sound of waves crashing onto a beach. There was nothing passive about this person's engagement with the play; he or she wanted to help Edgar by providing the sound effects. How great is that?

The second two weeks were devoted to Boris Godunov. Again we delve straight into a history that is unknown to most of us. Russia!

A history as vast as its nation. Michael begins working on individual scenes quite quickly, while we do our best to learn about the time period.

To help us in this, Michael brings in Martin Sixsmith. Martin was a BBC correspondent, most notably in Russia, from 1980 to 1997. He came in, shook hands with us all, sat down, and began to speak.

After a couple of hours we were so clued up on Russia that our heads were buzzing with ideas. We ran out and bought his book too, Russia: A 1000 Year Chronicle of the Wild East. It's huge and daunting, but it reads so easily and is incredibly informative…and most importantly, is proving itself tremendously useful to us in our research.

We also had a 'Balance and Stability' workshop with Lina Johansson of the theatre company Mimber. I'll leave out the details so as not to spoil things, but suffice it to say we did things people don't normally do everyday. Who needs a surfboard when you have a real person instead? And sore the next day? You don't know the meaning of sore until someone's standing on top of your head.

Well it's my second blog, but it's been four weeks since we started. The workshop section of rehearsals is now over, and we now begin rehearsing both plays at the same time.

Our first two weeks were spent on Orphan of Zhao. What a play. In order to understand its origins, we delve headfirst into Chinese cultural history and particularly Chinese (or Peking) Opera.

The play is basically a traditional Peking Opera known all throughout China, and to the Chinese probably as well known as Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet and King Lear all rolled into one.

As part of our research Professor Ruru Lee came in with her husband David and gave us a fantastic day long workshop on Chinese Opera. We watched videos and furiously wrote down copious notes as Ruru (a former Peking Opera performer herself) revealed as much of the history and traditions as a day would allow.

We spent a couple hours raising our arms in traditional poses, walking around the room traditional ways, doing our best 'Lotus Pose', 'Cloud Arms,' and 'Hammer Fists.'

What was painfully obvious to us all throughout the week was that the history and traditions of Chinese Opera are so extensive, involving so many specific movements and ways of performing, that to put on our play traditionally would involve a vocabulary that would be understood by a Chinese audience, but not by an English one. When you translate a play with as much history as this into English, how do you present it to a Western audience? Especially when so much of the play relies on a vocabulary that is reserved specifically for Chinese Opera?

As far as the translation is concerned, the play has been brought to life in our ears by the incredible James Fenton. (He read from his book of poetry Yellow Tulips for us one afternoon…. we all rushed out to buy it… incredible).

In fact it's not so much a translation as it is 'the Chinese story, re written in English… in James' way!' How does it fare? We read the play from beginning to end three times within the two weeks… we were all in tears by the end, every single time.

One in four people were killed in the plague that hit Stratford upon Avon two months after Shakespeare was born. The Shakespeares had already lost two girls aged six and a half and the other two years old. Imagine. Imagine also the joy when he was born, a son, an heir. Healthy and loved. St George's day 450 years ago in Henley street. They must have coddled him to within an inch of his life!

I mention this because there is a lot of death in our production. Sometimes, as an actor you can go through the motions a bit. Holding huge daggers casually as you pretend to slice someone's throat. I bet Shakespeare's company didn't. He himself had been in court for being involved in a sword fight where he had to settle out court or go to jail.

Death was there all the time. People carried daggers and swords, ready to protect and provoke. I probably won't ever fight in a war. I probably won't have to get up close to someone and stab them repeatedly, blood gushing over my fingers and in my face. But if I ever did, I probably wouldn't act it quite so casually afterwards.

They say that children hear things better, see things better taste things better. Life is... better. More vibrant, more clear and true. Children of six laugh 600 times a day whereas people of 60 laugh six times a day. I may have made that statistic up. 'The young and the innocent have no enemy but time' said Yeats. Indeed.

If you thought you might be dead soon, of the plague or stabbed in the eye in a bar brawl, or from anything else; wouldn't life now seem sweeter?

I feel more alive when I'm in a theatre. Almost as if time slows down. I am of an age now where I know acting in hit shows in great theatres with great actors for great companies isn't a given. It could all be taken away. just like that. Gone. I never used to worry about not working. I always have. I never used to worry about car crashes and sickness. I am incredibly hale and hearty. But I do now. It can all change. Just around the corner.

Caesar thought he was secure, until 23 stab wounds proved him wrong. Apparently he sat still, with his face covered as they tore into him. He had no children.

The play brings thoughts of power and language and death closer to me. I am reading everything on Caesar I can find at the moment. To think: they really did live. Imagine killing the greatest man alive and one of the most incredible men to have ever lived.

In our production, there is a moment when Paterson (one t not two, as would be proper) and Cyril Nri help flesh out my character by helping me play the fact that I suddenly become too terrified to flatter him onto staying. I think of myself as quite brave, but I bet there would have been a couple of sleepless nights. (Indeed, there are several suggestions that no one gets any sleep in the play). I may have faltered if I had to kill Caesar. To quote from the Clint Eastwood movie Unforgiven:

The Schofield Kid: [after killing a man for the first time] It don't seem real... how he ain't gonna never breathe again, ever... how he's dead. And the other one too. All on account of pulling a trigger.
Will Munny: It's a hell of a thing, killing a man. Take away all he's got and all he's ever gonna have.
The Schofield Kid: Yeah, well, I guess they had it coming.
Will Munny: We all got it coming, kid.

Yup. We all got it coming.

Next time, I will move on to more cheery fare such as: underwear and nudity. (Ha! That's got you interested, hasn't it?)

Bye.

Day 1. Drinking my cup of tea, staring into the Styrofoam cup and wondering why it tasted so good. Why my mouth was locked in a semi-permanent grin.

That funny first day of school feeling that actors know so well is usually accompanied by various other nuisances… uncontrolled sweating, fidgets, and repeated journeys from one corner of the room to another staring at the pictures on the wall… anything not to look lost.

But day one at the RSC has you doing all that with a smile on your face. Weird.

The company files in one by one. Handshakes to unfamiliar faces, hugs to ones we know. The director has walked in. Exciting. The box with the model of the set is ushered to a back table. We stare as it passes as if it were a movie star.

We're here for day one of rehearsals for Gregory Doran's The Orphan of Zhao, but most of us, myself included, will be in the other two plays of the season as well - Boris Godunov directed by Michael Boyd, and A Life of Galileo directed by Roxanna Silbert.

Michael's play is due to start rehearsing in two weeks' time. Roxanna begins rehearsing in December. It's the RSC's system of priority scheduling. On one day, one director will be given priority on what they'd like to rehearse, and the other director will rehearse what they can with the actors that are available. Then the next day, priority will shift to the other director.

This is my second season with the RSC. I was in the last Swan winter season doing Written on the Heart, Measure for Measure, and The Heresy of Love. I know how intense the process is, how much work is involved, and how close you become to all the people that are in the room on day one.

On the first day you 'don't know who these people are.' By the time the job is over, we will all know each other better than most people in the world.

I find myself looking around and wondering who we will all become by the end of the 7-9 months. Trying to foresee what kind of bond we will all have by the end. 'Who will you be to me?' I keep wondering.

It's bittersweet of course. Last year's company feels like family to me now. Can I go from one family to another just like that? Shouldn't I be feeling a bit guilty or something?

After initial introductions with everyone in the group, I'm delighted to find myself thinking 'What a lovely bunch.' There are cracking actors in this year's season, and more importantly, they are all genuinely lovely people. It's going to be a pleasure getting to know everyone.

This is the very tangible consensus in the room as Greg gathers us all into a circle to begin introducing ourselves. I find myself shifting weight from foot to foot very quickly… I'm not the only one. Flicks of fingers, and rolls of necks, deep breaths, and lots of smiling. Here we go…

Yesterday was a significant day: we had our press performance, and the last performance with director Tim Crouch at the helm.

It was a day marked with cards and kind gestures. I was caught off-guard as I seemed to be the only person who didn't have cards for everyone - and I deduced that this was press performance etiquette, and something I will chalk down to another lesson learned on my road to professional directing. Give cards - don't just receive them! I'll know for next time.

There were thematic Christmas cards, King Lear cards, charity cards. All beautiful.

I was unaware of the tradition of giving production themed cards, and was thoroughly impressed that the actors creativity was not bound to acting, but also to graphic design.

We also said goodbye to Tim, and to Lily Arnold, the designer of the show. Now it is in the hands of the cast and the remaining company to maintain the show, while allowing it to evolve and adapt and to be absorbed by the actors.

The goodbye with Tim reminded me of the moment when I got the stabilizers taken off my bicycle and I took to the pavement. I remember thinking 'concentrate on the steering, maintain your pace and keep one hand near to the breaks... forget about where you are going and enjoy making ground and going forward. Oh, and use the bell when coming round the bend!

No more metaphors for now - I think I'll get started on my own bicycle themed cards and give them when least expected.

Still in London. Wish it was cheaper to get around though. It is eating into the actor's wage that won't be enough to buy Theo his new pram (yes, he needs a new one already) and my Macbook Pro Air that seems so essential for my writing needs.

Sigh. I was feeling grumpy as I came into work. The Brunette had stated quite clearly that I could not and should not get said computer. My artistic genius is being crushed by the mundane simplicity of not being rich. It is so unfair.

Coming up through Leicester Square tube, I tripped over a homeless man. Literally, tripped over him!

I used to have a superstition that if I was on my way to a meeting, I would give money to everyone who asked it of me on that day. A way of keeping good with the Gods. Sometimes, it even worked!

Anyway, he looked up at me as I made my excuses and said, 'Be lucky, mate!' Luck. It plays such a large part in my life and I thought of that quote in As You Like It:

Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy.
This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.

By the way, anyone who suggest his plays were not written by a man of the theatre should avail themselves of the numerous references to theatre there are in his plays:

How many ages hence
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over
In states unborn and accents yet unknown.

Says Cassius in Julius Caesar.

Anyhoo, I realised that my life might not be ruined by having to scribble notes on pieces of paper as inspiration comes to me. Or living as an actor. Or by having a son. A family. Friends. A roof. Food. Laughter. London. Sport. Shakespeare. Life. Indeed, it seems quite full.

I gave him a pound. (Shamefully, I still worry that I am only giving money to make myself feel better or encourage a drink and/or drug habit). But it's only a pound. And he inspired today's blog. thanks, pal. I will try and stay lucky. I really will.

Andrew French

We had our final week of rehearsals in the safety of our rehearsal room. In many aspects it's like the classroom - a place to share ideas, try new things and and know that you are in the safety of your company or ensemble who support you no matter what.

But this week we saw around 30 young people see our show during a rehearsal week prior to us entering the school doors to see what works and what doesn't.

No matter how long you do a job for - no matter how long you practice or rehearse, the moment an audience is introduced a performance changes.

You shift to try and give more energy to a performance because you feel an audience want to see you work hard.

It's similar to being in a school team - on the day of the event you give it your all but we always forget the fundamental thing of our job as actors - simply tell the story and let Shakespeare's words do the work.

Time and time again you forget because you feel you need to impress more and more. And the more experience you gain the more confident you become to try new radical ideas.

It's amazing how much I'm always reminded by people that are younger then me that keeping it simple is always best.

I went for a meeting for television yesterday. Never sure why, but I always feel more comfortable in theatre meetings. Maybe it's just practice, but I think it's because I suspect that television work is more based on looks. And, I'll let you into a little secret: I hate my looks.

And here's another secret; most actors are dissatisfied with their looks. Surprising isn't it? Not that I lack confidence. I most assuredly don't. But in theatre, I believe that you can convince casting directors etc. that you are right for the part. Perfect for the part. That they would be foolish to even look at anyone else.

Sometimes they just want you to talk. But if you are at my level, then you usually have to prove yourself. Bring it on. I feel like I have been proving myself ever since my first scream. I think you need that chip on your shoulder, that desire to prove over and over again. It must be insufferable to live with. So says the Brunette.

Some people have faces that are perfect for the screen. Something magical happens. I once worked with a famous actress. I met her first in the canteen in a very dusty part of Namibia. It was one of my first films.

She was very pleasant and a little flirtatious even, but no great looker. Which was a surprise because she was well renowned as being one of the most beautiful women in the world. She was very, very smart. And opinionated but she actually looked unwell. Stick-thin and pale to the point of translucence.

I watched her do her scene after lunch. It seemed like she did very little. I was a little disappointed. Then I watched the playback (when the director and others can huddle around a monitor and see what has just been shot). She was beautiful. Kick yourself in the crotch for not being near her beautiful. Lump in throat and kiss me kiss me kiss me beautiful. It was magic. Twenty-four times per second.

Anyway, I don't have that. I have character and brains. It will have to do. What else am I good for?

Beautifully,

Andrew French

So, the time has come. Over the course of tomorrow afternoon, the cast and production team of the YPS King Lear will make their way to Southampton, in preparation for our first public performance on Tuesday afternoon.

We're looking forward to sharing our version of the play with audiences, some of whom will never have seen it before (or indeed any Shakespeare), some of whom will know it well. We hope it'll surprise and excite both.

This is my first time working with the RSC. I'm incredibly excited about the opportunity. Edmund is one of those parts that, when you're invited to audition for it, you're desperate to secure. Then, when you finally get the job, you wonder how on earth you'll ever actually be able to play it.

Over the past five weeks Tim and I have created an Edmund that bears almost no resemblance to the rough sketch I brought in with me on day one. We've had a lot of fun exploring the ways in which he can be an enticing but inscrutable figure for the audience, and ultimately, a pretty unsettling one. It'll be fun seeing what they make of him.

Tim's rehearsal room is an incredibly exciting, tremendously enjoyable and endlessly creative space. There is a lightness of touch and a sense of fun that could conceal just how much work is being done.

No idea is too crazy or too irreverent to explore. It is a room within which we have all been deeply moved and, also, rendered utterly helpless with laughter (often all within the space of a few moments). It's enormously productive, but with just the right irresistible hint of anarchy.

In addition to performing the play, we'll also be conducting workshops in the schools we visit. This is, again, something entirely new to me. However, we've spent a substantial fraction of the rehearsal period developing material, and our cast includes some really experienced and skilled practitioners, all working under the guidance of the superb Jamie Luck. If you're going to find out how theatre can be used as an educational tool, these are the guys to learn from.

Within my workshop group alone we've got Tyrone Huggins, who is a titan of alternative theatre, Matt Sutton, who has led workshops in just about every conceivable scenario, and Dharmesh Patel, a YPS veteran who brims with the most infectious enthusiasm you will ever encounter. I am in safe hands, to say the least.

The final week of rehearsals was transformative for the show. We invited an audience.

On Wednesday and Friday we had two dress rehearsals for a young and adult audience.

Tim reassured the company that it was to be treated as a run, and not a fully fledged performance - but I couldn't help feel the palpable nervousness in the room, and get whisked up in it myself.

I was indeed nervous too. The pre-show of King Lear helped ease the actors into the performance, and the audience had time to adapt and buy into the world being created and the characters living in it. Seamlessly the play began.

I was glued to the audience. What would they think? Having seen it so many times I was now consumed with the new bodies in the space with us, and how they would read, or not read the event unfolding before them.

In no particular order I saw laughter, surprise, tears, blank faces, more laughter, shock, communal sighs, interest. When someone looked puzzled or inexpressive I wondered what were they thinking about.

Matt Sutton reminded us before the run that 'there is no art to find the mind's construction in the face'. (Macbeth). And that was a good idea to hold onto as I perused the faces in the room. Let them be - and let them enjoy the show. You cannot sum it all up from reading their faces.

Relieved of my studying, I was sucked back into seeing King Lear again, and hearing and feeling the story. I forgot about the audience - I joined them.

Hello.
Before you start complaining about my poor upkeep of this blog; I would just like to highlight two salient points:

1. There has been no internet at the theatre for the last two weeks.

2. I have a three month old son who, although he is now over colic, (thanks very much for asking) is keen on reminding me that he has a very healthy pair of lungs and that he actually is the one in charge. (I will happily continue to use Theo as an excuse for the next 21 years so you may as well get used to it now.)

Now, onwards. Am writing this on the tube on a matinee. How cool of me. There is an advert for match.com opposite me and it has me thinking as to the changing role of communication in the modern world.

Backstage, there are many people staying in character and doing vocal warm ups and stretches and pretending to be trees. Just as all actors should. But I have to tell you, there are a few who are on their phones. All the time. Playing games, answering emails, looking at photos, taking photos.

No actor would take their phone on stage with them. I can only imagine the effect on Antony's oration speech if a phone rang just after he asks the mob to 'lend me your ears'! Though I was seriously considering it before Theo was born. The idea of being out of contact for 20 minutes. Gives me shivers just thinking about it.

But I could do it once. I was on tour the first time I had a mobile phone. I called my sister first (a tradition we still keep to this day with each new phone) my agent and my mum. I used to leave it in my bag. It helped to know I could be contacted in case of emergency.

But now, it seems we all expect an emergency all the time. Backstage, nothing causes more consternation than a member of the crew saying 'I can't find my phone'. What could be worse? Losing your camera, address book, computer and phone all at once. Another shiver. Touring without one would be unthinkable.

But I think about the conversations we miss out on as we email or Facebook our friends in Papua New Guinea (I don't have a friend in Papua New Guinea, but I'd like to.) When I see someone backstage texting I wonder what nugget of information about them I am missing out on. What joke have I now not been told? I'm voracious.

On tour, in Newcastle I was able to receive daily pictures of Theo. We intend to take a pic of him every day for the first year so that he will have 365 pics of himself to chronicle why his parents have grey hair and stooped backs in their forties!

Have just realised that is the third time I have mentioned my son. He is away this week (which negates my excuse at the start of this blog). And I miss him. There is an empty cot in the bedroom and a discarded, lonely playmat in the living room and as I play my PlayStation and eat my favourite takeaways and drink my ice cold beer served to me by my personal bikini clad waitresses, I stop to consider how empty my life now feels when he is absent.

Truthfully, I wonder how I will cope when he goes to university. Or school. Or nursery. How the hell do people cope when their loved ones go on tour? It's hard to leave. But it can be harder to stay. They fight too who stay at home. Luckily, I will have my phone.

I challenge anyone reading to leave their phone at home for a day. Those over 30 must remember what it was like. See how you do and then email me back. I'll be able to pick it up on my phone!

Until soon,

Andrew F

Cameron Mackintosh has totally refurbished the Noel Coward and Wyndham's theatres. He is to be congratulated. He can afford it, but so can a lot of other people and they aint doing it.

I worked at the Wyndham's in an infamous production of As You Like It. And the dressing rooms were pretty rubbish. I decided to cover every inch of wall with posters. We were there for nearly four months, and by the time I left, the room was absolutely covered!

I shared a room with two gay actors and so there was a rule that we could not just have pictures of Tyra Banks in a bikini. It had to be interesting and sexy. Not my sexy. Our sexy. So there were semi nude men and Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt and quotations from Shakespeare plays and pre-Raphaelite prints and Rothko. It was quite a sight.

I loved being in that dressing room, because I was privileged to share with two men who I probably otherwise would never have met, who were charming and kind and witty. The room was shared. We swapped tips on everything from verse speaking to the best place to buy underwear. Heaven.

I tell this story because it illustrates the politics and diplomacy and luck that all goes into a happy dressing room. I am sharing with Mark Theodore and Ricky Fearon. God help me.

Occasionally, in a large cast, it is not possible for everyone to have their own room. We have to share. There is a politics to the rooms. In general, actors of the same level of experience are put together. Even if they have a different level of parts.

I used to wonder at older actors who were still performing in relatively small parts. I used to think 'why the hell are you sharing a room with me? Surely you don't still need the money? Shouldn't you be at home watching tv?' But I understand it now. It's addictive this stuff. The comraderie, the arguments, the laughter, the tears and tantrums. The love. 'If you want to be an actor', I used to say to my students, 'don't bother. But if you need to be...' It is in your blood, and once it gets hold of you it is devilishly hard to kick.

My current room mates are lovely. I have just realised that we basically always sit in the same order no matter what room we are in (we have been in three so far). Humans are creatures of habit.

A good dressing room needs a healthy mix of understanding, humour and good air conditioning. Am not sure what I would do if I was told that I would have to stay with someone else. Ricky and Mark are my friends now. I know their rhythms and they know mine. They hid my phone charger yesterday. What larks! They know how much I hate to lose things and we have been so tired recently that I figured I had just misplaced it. I suspect their prank backfired once they saw me on the floor crying and pleading with God as to why he had done this to me! I only exaggerate slightly.

Most dressing rooms are a bit of a mess. A mixture of comfort and practicality and take away food and costume. Messy is overstating it. Let's say extremely comfortable.

There are bottles of champagne from press night that are yet to be consumed and dying flowers. Newspaper articles that are hanging around begging to be read and recycled. Never enough place to sleep. There used to be beds when I worked at The Globe. Much fun. Perhaps too much, because I heard they got rid of them.

Anyway, I guess in these old theatres there is not enough space so you can often find actors curling up sleeping in the most surprising places. Even in Stratford a lovely new theatre, I used to sleep under the tables, with a towel as a pillow.

So, I love dressing rooms. They help remind me of where I've been and where I'm going. A permanent place to stay. For a little while.

Andrew French

So, a few apologies and queries:

Apparently, one spells our lead actor's name 'Paterson Joseph' not 'Patterson'. I blame my editor. One cannot get the staff nowadays! But doesn't that make his name PATErson, as in the PATE of his head? I think he should change his name to make it far less confusing for all of us. Surely it's more important to him to make all our lives easier? I'm just saying.

Do write back with any comments or thoughts on this blog. I am still trying to work out how to comment on my own blog. Sorry. I am a little bit of a luddite when it comes to technology. But truly enjoy hearing other people's views and comments. Particularly theatre goers. Actually, if you don't go to the theatre, your opinion doesn't count! One has to draw a line somewhere.

I should have published my Twitter account for those of you who are interested in such things. It is afrenchact. Clever, eh? I should also point you in the direction of the RSC Twitter account. I know some of you have no idea what I am talking about and some of you don't want to know, I felt the same.

But you should give it a go as it is a great way to keep abreast of what's going on and when. The Brunette has nothing but distaste for it. Which I admire her for. But she doesn't need to know every single football transfer rumour. Nor does she have a burning desire to know which actors are going to be in which film before the film has been even made. Statements by Prof Stanley Wells and Stephen Fry? I must know now! Facebook and Twitter may be strangling the art of conversation, but maybe we just need to adjust our way of thinking about how we regard conversations! It can be an evil beast but as Iago says about alcohol:

'Come, come good wine is a good familiar creature if it be well used.'

And I feel like I'm talking to you now. Use it just to keep in touch with me, if you like. Facebook. Twitter. Blogs. Stage. TV. Radio. Film. There is no escape. Andrew French in your pocket. Isn't that a nice thought?

Andrew French

In Tim Crouch's edit of King Lear the storytelling is pacy, and he applies a similar momentum in the rehearsal room.

It's the end of day 3 of the first week and rehearsals are bouncing ahead – with big scenes and events examined already. I want to share some of the exchanges in the rehearsal room that I have found particularly interesting or that I have learned about as a budding director.

As the assistant I'm witnessing the process of opening out the text and making decisions. These decisions are based on a marriage between what the actors offer through their improvisations and performance and what Tim's ideas for the show are – and it's a happy marriage.

From the first day there has been generosity in the rehearsal room that enables collaboration and encouraged creative choices from the actors - all the while being molded and contained by Tim's beautiful direction.

It's exciting to put myself in the position of seeing the play for the first time, and in many ways this is true – and it is apt given that a major theme in the play is sight, the lack of or the regaining of insight. I did watch the play once in my early teens, but I never investigated it practically – which makes for a far greater understanding of it.

Here are three ideas from the King Lear production I want to write about:

1. Holding off, and ask question:
Tim is unpacking all the drama and encouraging the actors to hold off on play the tragedy of the play. He adds that the longer we can hold back on 'telegraphing the plot' the more it will invite the audience into the argument and to consider decisions the characters make.

He urges the cast to ask questions, and find out. As a result there have been lively debates about many of the scenes and the choices that the actors play. For instance, in the opening scene there have been questions such as – is Lear's decision to test his daughters premeditated? Why does Cordelia say nothing, and is this decision responsible for the tragedy that ensues? Through active analysis we find out what suits this specific production. I don't want to give too much away at this stage!

2. What's in, what's out:
During pre-production Tim mentioned that he needed to set up the principles of the performance, and that when the show was on tour I would maintain those principles. I wondered what this meant – and this week has clarified for me what Tim's principles are. The rules that guide the performance, the language of the show, what's in and what's out.

The main principles of the play are established as rules about the performance space. The design, by Lily Arnold, is a beautiful boxing ring-like space presents challenges for the actors, as there is a clear playing space and a clear off stage space. The actors can look toward the performance place when they are outside, as though they are looking in at a snow globe.

The set and style is like a game, an experiment. However, the actors are always seen. Tim worked on entering the space, and exiting the space – he called it 'de-powering the performance and re-powering the characters'. When an actor is animated and on they are encouraged to identify and point to actors off stage when they are referring to them or their behavior – making it clear for the audience to follow their argument.

Characters such as Edmund and Kent are using the four posts surrounding the playing platform to observe the action and propel their own narratives further. For example when Kent is banished and given five days to leave Lear's kingdom. Matt Sutton and Tim found that circling the terrain and looking in on Lear was fitting. He therefore sees how events spiral out of control, which motivates him to disguise himself and serve Lear in his journey toward enlightenment.

Edmund's transitions from scene to scene are also moments where the characters comments non-verbally on the action. When Edgar assumes the guise of Poor Tom, we see Edmund return to the raised platform and watch how his hatched plans have taken affect. Tim uses these meta theatrical moments to explore character's motivations and journeys.

3. The Umbrella Effect:
This morning Tim and the cast tackled Scene 5 when Lear is catapulted out into the stormy night following both Regan and Goneril's refusal to host his riotous knights. This scene introduces us to an important element in King Lear – the stormy turbulent weather. Storms reveal and change and in this storm Lear is forced to confront himself - unaided, unsheltered.

I was interested in how Tim and the cast would keep an eye on what was brewing outside.

When Goneril and Albany visit Regan's house during the scene, they are both carrying umbrellas and coming out of the storm. A simple but clear gesture of the weather outside. However, not only do the umbrellas indicate the bad weather they are used as symbols throughout the scene. When Lear storms out Gloucester takes the umbrella's to shelter Lear. When he returns for help he offers the umbrella to Goneril as an appeal for her to find her father out of the storm – but she refuses.

The umbrella was an indicator of the storm but soon becomes a symbol of care and comfort. It was satisfying to see the actors use the umbrella creatively - it reminds us of what is taking shape outside their domestic comfort and directs us to consider Lear's upcoming battle with the elements. It leads us into the storm.

End of scene 5 and the rehearsal room is abuzz with new discoveries, incites and we are all excited to plunge into the eye of the storm – where there will surely find stillness.

I'll let you know.

So, after a week off, we are back to the world of the play. Lovely to see the Caesar family again. It is a little like a family. There are tensions and laughter. And love.

We are at the theatre that used to be called The Albery and is now called The Noel Coward.

I wonder if it is in The Director's mind to find the RSC a permanent home in London as in days of yore? I used to get lost at The Barbican and I suspect I wasn't alone. But I loved the feeling of going to a place that had Shakespeare by the RSC happening everywhere. You never knew who you might bump into in the pub. I once was on the fringes of a group of men who were all in thrall to the many charms of Frances Barber. She wasn't even in a show that night but had just popped in to see what might be on! Marvellous.

Write to Gregory Doran now! The revolution starts here! We demand a London home for the RSC! We demand more Shakespeare! We demand Andrew French in permanent residency! Oh... sorry, maybe that last point might not get universal approval. But I'll vote for it.

Anyway, back together again. The sun has been out and one can enjoy my favourite pastime: people watching during breaks in the Tech (The Tech, for those few who don't know, is a period of time before a show goes into a theatre where the technical aspects of the show are adjusted according to the needs of the new space and the desires of the Director).

Realise how nice it is to be working in London. To be working full stop. Shops and crowds and fashion magic as well as fashion disasters make London an extraordinary city. I wonder if Scofield felt the same when he worked in this beautiful Grade II building. Or Olivier. Or Ashcroft. Maybe. They might have got a drink from round the corner, like I did on my first morning. They may have picked up a paper, said hello to the lovely staff at stage door and climbed up the steep stairs to their dressing rooms (actually, they would not have climbed ANYWHERE. In general, the bigger star, the closer to the stage. And in these old theatres some of the rooms are very very close to the stage indeed).

Tech goes marvellously and The Director has this wonderful knack of moving very quickly, not sweating the small stuff. I am still hearing lines that I never heard before and this is after nearly 60 performances! I have rarely worked with a cast that laughs so much so loud and so hard. Truly. Every day there are guffaws echoing down the corridors or from the stage. Nice work if you can get it.

The tension rises again as we realise that there is a London press night. I think the London press isn't as pressurised as the Stratford one as I am not sure all the press can be bothered to review a show twice. Which is a shame, as it is a significantly different show. Which do I prefer? I'm not telling, but I will say that I understand my character more now.

Being in London means that we don't spend as much time together as a group as most of us are based here and rush home to our beds (or in my case, nappies and wet wipes and overwhelming love). I do miss the slightly siege mentality that comes over a company when one is on tour. But that will all return soon. And with a vengeance.

In the meantime there are restaurants and in particular, the superlative J Sheekey's and their wonderful staff. There is the cacophony of accents and the pleasure of paying as much for a bottle of water as one would for a small car. Fashion magic and fashion mistakes. The thrill of trying not to spend an actor's wage in the sales (by the way, I firmly believe it is impossible to save money in London on an actor's wage, unless you are the male/female lead or rich already!) and failing miserably.

Ah, London! He who is tired of London...? Not yet. Not yet.

Andrew French

With our first couple of shows out the way, our second week in Stratford kicked off with the arrival of the guru. The greatest voice coach of 'em all. The legend that is, Cicely Berry. What an honour. I bought all her books whilst at Webber Douglas over a decade ago, so it was humbling to finally put a face to the name...(!) She's nearly 90 years of age, so we're lucky to have her here. What a trooper.

I didn't know whether to bow, shake her hand or kiss her feet. I think, in the end, I just dribbled in awe. Slightly embarrassing. She was incredibly incisive and said that she thought our production of Much Ado was 'a very joyous one'. She then (naturally) told us that we had a little bit of voice-work-polishing to do.

'But you can do it'. She said. 'You can. Well. You've f***ing GOTTA do it, haven't you?!'.

Cue hysteric laughter from everyone.

Cis then proceeded to put us through our paces with some exercises and sharpened us up. We're still in previews and – inevitably – our work isn't finished yet.

It's press night this week and it's probably worth pointing out that nerves are sky-high and people are sweating bucket loads. Not least because of the mini-heatwave we're experiencing in Blighty at the moment! In our dressing room, there are seven men. Count 'em. Seven fully-grown(ish), adult men. I've never shared a dressing room with so many blokes before. And, I'm quite ashamed to admit that, it definitely STINKS!

I'm gonna be holed up in a room with six other men for a very long time, with a stench twice as bad as THAT Tim Robbins sewage pipe moment in The Shawshank Redemption. Tim was lucky. He only had to endure the smell for an hour or two on a stormy night in Ohio. We're gonna have to endure 'boy smells' in a confined environment for the next two months. Not even Raquel Welch can save us now...

As we continued to turn Stratford-upon-Avon into a miniature India, the gang in the marketing team added this little beauty into the mix.

Oh yes. Our very own Much Ado About Nothing tuk-tuk. Pretty damn cool. It got paraded in front of The Courtyard (where else?) throughout the week. But it's purpose isn't just for show. Oh no. If you're coming to watch the play then you, the public, get a FREE tuk-tuk ride from Bancroft Gardens to right outside the theatre. I can't tell you how much I'd love to go on one. But I can't as I'll be doing the show.

Actually. Hang on. Don't I have an understudy?...

Wow. We've arrived. We've got excited chills. And they're multiplying.

Arriving in Stratford-upon-Avon at the start of the week was a dream come true. Every time I've been up to Stratford in the past, it's always inspired me profusely as a theatre-goer, as an actor/writer and as someone who loves woodbeams and thatched roofs(!)

On the first day, we were called in at 10am. Knowing that a 12-hour day beckoned, I decided to go up to the RST staff canteen and have a humongous breakfast. Being the proud owner of an RSC staff card – we all have one and almost every single one of our photo's looks like it's been stretched out with a rolling pin, we look well weird! – I wanted to use it straight away. Once up on the third floor, I swiftly ordered and (as it was sunny) went out onto the little, unassuming outside terrace. I'll never forget the sight that lay before me and feeling of 'wow' that hit me. Have a look...

That's the magic of Stratford. What a view and what a privilege to enjoy it at work! But there was no getting away from the fact that work is exactly our purpose here and we had a very arduous, physically and mentally exhausting week ahead. Thirteen-hour days will be the norm from Monday right through 'til Saturday. 10am-11pm.

But, of course, as an actor your brain doesn't switch off. You get home, grab some food and continue thinking about the play, the tech rehearsal, your character and generally worrying! So despite finishing at 11pm, you don't get to sleep 'til 1am/2am. This continued to be the case through the whole of the week! Knackered.com.

Continuing on from my comments in previous blogs about the RSC being an all-inclusive (I don't mean holidays - even though it feels like we're on one!), collaborative, community-spirited company, it was heart-warming to see everyone mucking in and turning the foyer of the Courtyard Theatre into an Indian haveli.

I managed to catch our assistant director Kimberley Sykes painting the walls. Here's some photographic evidence!

In Fringe theatre, people often muck in and do jobs that aren't in their job description but it's great to see that even at an organisation as esteemed and revered as the RSC, the same principles still apply. People are encouraged to really immerse themselves in the company. Things like the Artists' Forum, which is traditionally made up of two members of each acting company (Amara Karan and I are the reps for Much Ado), are there to ensure that any concerns, issues or worries are addressed and seen to. Everyone has a voice here.

My initial time on stage is spent up on the balcony in the first scene. This week it felt like I was up there for most of the week! Why? The opening of a play is crucial and it's important that you set the right tone and set the scene. So, as a result, there was a ton of stopping-and-starting the opening section. A lot of fine-tuning. I think – by the end of it – I left the balcony with a full-grown beard and my hair was twice as long. Result.

Our previews this week went really well. Thursday (26th), Friday (27th) and Saturday (28th) were ALL sold out. The first show was inevitably rough-and-ready and lasted three and half hours. We have some shaving to do.

Both the beard and the show....

I love Newcastle! Love the people, the shopping, the sense of fashion (or at least the brevity of it!). People make a place. And they are some of the best. Though they are cursed to support a team which can never match their undying love.

I talked to some Friends of Theatre Royal recently. Their enthusiasm and wit was wonderful to experience. They were supposed to have Ray Fearon but he was indisposed. They got someone not as attractive, shorter and not as famous. I wonder if they felt they were just a little short changed. I hope not. I was thinking of juggling to make the talk entertaining. But then remembered I can't do more than four balls!

It's a lovely theatre which has had a recent refurbishment. Beautiful. It is, of course, far too small for our show. Any theatre that was built more than 50 years ago would be. We have all got bigger. We have become supersized, theatrically. Huge sets that sometimes are a squeeze on other stages. So, we were used to a LOT more space. But things work out. They nearly always do.

In theatre, much like life, things usually turn out the way they should. People get sick, real life intervenes: the show goes on. Because... it does. It is wonderful to watch people adjusting and moving on. No matter what happens...

So I went on in Newcastle. As Cassius. I played him in front of a paying audience who were expecting to see someone else. It was... thrilling.

I found out I was going to play him about an hour or so before we went on. But I had a hunch it was going to happen. It was... magical.

I was pretty appalling in the matinee. At one point, Mark Theodore had to prompt me. I could have married him there and then. The evening show was... better.

I mean, I know I can do this part. I know the lines. I have worked hard running lines with The Brunette and scribbling notes. I think about Cassius all the time. I have some talent. But there is still a world of difference between thinking and doing.

There I was, talking to Patterson Joseph! And there's Jeffrey Kissoon and Ray Fearon (him again). And they were all helpful and lovely. But all the time I was thinking: 'Bet they wish Cyril was back.'

Anyway, I did it. And they cheered at the end and someone wrote a letter saying how great I was. Which was nice. But I beat myself up about it all the way through the rest of the week. I wanted to be perfect. I wanted to be more than perfect.

The Director says that we shouldn't carry baggage. If something goes wrong, we should just forget it and move on. Good advice. Almost impossible to follow.

I. Want. To. Be. Perfect. And I know that doesn't exist. Any wonder I got drunk that night?

I do the understudy run in London. It may be my last chance. I suggest you come and watch.

This is it. Today is the final day of performances and on Monday it's time to fly back to Mexico.

Since this is my last entry to the blog from England (I might do some entries when the play travels to Mexico) I just wanted to reflect a little, and say 'thank you'.

This has been one of the most demanding processes I've had in my career. First was the whole excitement of coming to Stratford-upon-Avon and working with the RSC, than realizing what it implied and starting to work in a second language.

It confronted me with the studies I made 17 years ago in London, with the actor I had become. It made me question how I approached acting, it made me reevaluate why I had made the choices I had in my career. It pushed me to better understand the English language and its delivery.

In the end it helped me to grow and come to terms with a lot of what I am as an actor and as a person.

So thank you, thank you to Roxana Silbert for her direction, thank you Stephen and Anne for all your hours of work with me, for that special rehearsal in room 3 when it all started to make sense.

To Luke, to the whole company of actors, but especially to the guys playing my family (John Stahl, Mark Holgate, Susie Trayling and Neil Barry) for all the intense work and all the discussions we had after each performance to make each performance better.

To the fabulous girls of the wig and make up room for all the laughs, to costumes, to our stage managers, Alix, Mark and Julia. Thanks to Nimah, Cath, Jeremy and Jondon.

And thank you Nada and Danny for offering me this chance to write this blog, that has helped me understand this whole experience. I leave with the hope of returning one day after this AMAZING experience. Thank you, and see you soon...

Hello.

Our tour goes from Stratford and ends in Moscow. Yes, Moscow! that means, apart from a rather pleasant time at home with family and friends in London, we are on the move. I know, this sounds glamourous. Drinking in different bars all around the country. Trying local foods and... other delicacies. Text, Drugs and Rock n Roll. Lovely.

Let me enlighten you. At some point during the rehearsal process (usually when you are trying to finalise learning your lines and costume and a million other things) you will be handed lots of pieces of paper. On them will be a list of various places to stay whilst on tour. This is the Digs List. There is a legend that there was a time when landladies were INCREDIBLY accommodating to actors passing through. but those times are gone (sadly?) Now we have a few lines of description, a price and a phone number. How to choose?

When I was younger I wanted to save as much money as I could, and so always went for the cheapest option so that I could save money which I could spend on necessities like velvet trousers (don't ask). This seems logical except if your digs are: (deep breath) smelly, damp, noisy, distant, infested, unfriendly, racist, small, cold, dark or just not nice, you spend more time in pubs and clubs and shops drinking, dancing and buying velvet trousers (seriously, don't ask!).

If your digs are nice and have the added luxury of wifi, you can spend most of the day in your bedroom, saving money, watching films, sending emails. Lovely. But is that what you want? Some actors don't like socialising, just like real people! Some find large groups of certain people difficult. If those certain people are loud, boisterous actors, then some people can literally hide away from their colleagues. And who can blame them?

But seeing the people you work with socially is one of the best things about touring. I missed most of that in Stratford due to Theo being born. And though I do enjoy watching films and sitting at home; I will be out a little more too. So. Which digs?

There is another problem. Others may get the place you want first. Damn them.

There is another problem. I am allergic to cats.

There is one other problem. I really like luxury! I just don't want to pay for it.

The rule I think is actually quite simple: get the best you can afford. Life is too short. But it's far too long when you are paying for the privilege of being too frightened to use your own bathroom or kitchen! It's not glamorous. It's not horrific. It's somewhere in between. Or rather it's both. When you have a family...well, sometimes it's torture. Then again, depending on your family sometimes it's bliss! Like I said, it's both.

Last note to landladies and landlords: Cleanliness is next to Godliness.

I am delighted with all the digs I have booked but have only seen one so far. (which is my all-time favourite digs ever! Thanks, Sue!) I notoriously always pick the worst worst worst digs so let's see if my rule works. Will let you know.

Til we meet, think no ill of me,

Andrew French

And now, the end is here And so I face the final curtain... Hang on, actually its not the end, it's not even the beginning. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.

In which other blog do you get quotes from Frank Sinatra and Winston Churchill? I am far too good to you. I refer, of course to the end of our Stratford run. But although it feels like the end because we are leaving what has, in effect been our home: it is actually just the start. The show will change. Sometimes dramatically. Hopefully, always for the better. But we will lose some elements that will be sorely missed.

We really felt at home at the new RST. (By the way, I always liked the old theatre. I never played on it so my opinion may not count for much; but it was the first place, as a seven-year-old that I heard Shakespeare. It was dear to me.

Especially since we have had it all to ourselves for the whole of the run. Normally shows go into rep (repertory) so you perform in one space one night then another play or space the next and then have a break for a day or two. We have been in that wonderful new space every day except Sundays. It has been home. But all things end.

I will miss Stratford. It is an incredibly pleasant size to get to know in a short amount of time. Beautiful in an almost picturesque way with the soft river and the noble, greedy swans and the luscious trees (50 shades of green).

Stratford seems to make one speak in iambic the minute you roll into town. I lived on Waterside so I saw the wonderful moment as people made their way into the theatre. As joggers steamed in the chilly morning air. As the market slowly built itself on a Sunday morning. I loved it. Some, I imagine found Stratford a little... small. When used to the bustle of London, the gentle pleasures of Barry the Butcher can be lost on the young. Maybe that makes me old. Maybe.

Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: (in Stratford town)

Forgive me for the cheesiness. That was the first of Shakespeare I ever memorised. The brackets are mine, but I believe it still scans!

I wish I could remember everyone's name who I met whilst there. Especially those who work in the theatre. Gosh, they were extraordinary. I wonder if they miss us? There is so much history in Stratford. After an evening's performance, one can invariably meet someone who saw Olivier or Scofield or Gielgud. One cannot help but wonder where one ranks. Do we drift into the deep fog of the past or will the staff of Carluccio's say with pride, 'That was a great production!' One can hope.

So bye bye Stratford. See you soon. You were good to us. You were where my son was born. Bless you.

This is it. This is the last week of rehearsals. How is it possible that six weeks have passed by so quickly? It's the end of the road! There's no turning back now. S**t.

It felt like such a luxury on day one knowing that we had six weeks and yet – as is ALWAYS the way – we spent the last week fretting, panicking, pulling our hair out (those of us that still have any hair left!) and chain-smoking like there's no tomorrow.

The PR and media spotlight has been thrust on us this week with a plethora of press and a mountain of media coverage across the board. The interest in the play is flattering. It's always an honour to be part of something that people are enthused about experiencing – and it certainly WILL be an experience! I can tell yer that for nowt!

We spent the majority of this week fine-tuning the play and running it as many times as we could. The run at the start of the week was a bit like a train wreck. The run at the end of the week was something you'd actually pay money to see! Phew. Iqbal went through each run and gave us all notes on how to better ourselves, how to really make sense of what we're saying and how to make sure we can say the lines and not trip over the furniture. Or maybe that was Noel Coward?

I said in the last blog why I was determined to work with Iqbal again. I don't often mince my words (or adjectives) so here's why: Iqbal was at his inspiring-best this week. He commands the space and grabs your attention with verve and gusto. It's mesmerising. He has a very calm way of working. He's very generous. He gives every single one of us attention regardless of size of part or CV and has an innate ability to speak to every individual actor 'on a level'. It helps that he doesn't take himself too seriously and socialises with the cast, too. If there is a director-actor hierarchy, he dispels it with immediate effect.

This week, he urged us all to be loose, to live dangerously, to be free, to take risks, to think outside the box, to not make it easy for ourselves, to never be comfortable with one another and to not go for the obvious choices – wherever possible. Sublime words of wisdom and echoes of a certain Henry V speech are felt!

Our production of Much Ado will have a live band on stage and this was the week they came in and we got introduced. And they jammed. And HOW they jammed! What a great band. Strings, a dhol, keyboards, a drum kit, a double-bass, a baja (harmonium) and a singer who sounds just like Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan – a beautiful, searing and haunting voice. We were in awe.

As Friday arrived and we all waved goodbye to Clapham, we inevitably felt sad. Set, props, costumes and instruments were packed away in cases 'n' boxes and loaded into a lorry. Sob. The rehearsal room was cleared out and all the etchings, brainstormed ideas, historical and geographical references – which we'd blu-tacked across the four walls – were taken down. Memories and ideas shared all removed. It's now time to meld everything together and take it up 100 miles north of here. Next stop: Stratford-upon-Avon...

Week 7. And the previews started. As I mentioned in the previous entry, in Mexico we don't have previews, so it was a difficult concept for me.

Of course the play continues to grow with each performance, it is not as if everything is written in stone once you open, but we arrive at the opening night usually without having tested the play before in front of an audience.

So it was hard for me at first to understand that there were still things to change every day in order for the play to work.

Each day we would get notes by our director and then use the rest of the morning an the afternoon to work on those notes and incorporate them to the evening performance.

To be honest for my character there was only one scene were there was a major blocking change, we had some trouble finding the exact line to begin scene 8 and the rest were little tweaks here and there.

I also spent a day working with Stephen Kemble on my little monologue to the audience. But I talk about this resistance because it was there, and you could see the tension building a bit because opening night was near, and we all wanted to be at our best.

I guess the other thing that I hadn't taken into consideration is that audiences over here are used to previews and there are some people that like to see the process of the play instead of the more finished production they would see after opening night. I say 'more finished' because I don't believe a play stops its growth until the last performance.

And I can see now how having an audience really helps a production - it's a great luxury to have. You can afford to relax a bit more and play certain things slightly different because it is still part of the rehearsal period.

The director has the opportunity to rethink some of her proposals after seeing how the audience reacts or how we as actors react with an audience. So even though it was exhausting, it was a week in which I learned a lot about the way theatre is done in England.

Each day the play would get a little better, the characters would be more fleshed out, we started to relax into the scenes and really play with each other.

It was during this time that we also got to know how the backstage theatre works over here.

The staff are amazing, and very supportive. Every department is watching over every detail.

Did you put your make up on right? Are the shoes hurting you (mine were at the beginning)? Do you have everything in place before you enter? There is a warmth backstage that gives you confidence and makes you feel protected.

One little detail that really surprised us were the cue lights. In Mexico we don't use them and we had never heard of them. To be fair we never have to cross so many doors to get to the stage - our theatres are mainly proscenium theaters, so you stand in the wings and listen for your cue.

And finally it was time to do our press night. After a whole week of previews, press night seemed easy. But you could feel that everyone was slightly more nervous or excited. It was the end of six weeks of hard work, this was it.

To add a little pressure, our artistic director from Mexico came to the show, and we really wanted to hear his opinion of our work. He was very proud of us.

It was a fun night, with drinks at the Swan Bar afterwards. I was very happy that we had finally opened. Now we would start the next process, enjoying the play and letting it grow.

Konstantin Stanislavsky once famously said: 'There are no small parts, only small actors'.

I learnt that at drama school and it soon became my mantra. It particularly resonated at drama school when you had to fluctuate between playing the lead to playing the third spear-carrier from the left! It's always important to never let your ego (and all actors have one) get the better of you or have an holier-than-thou attitude in this profession. You're only as good as your last job. Humility, amiability and kindness. Carry and possess those three qualities and you'll have career longevity. You'll last the distance. I think so anyway.

And so it is with me. Having played the lead in Iqbal's last play (Snookered), I was determined to work with him again. (I'll tell you why in the next blog!) I knew I was never destined for a big part in Much Ado but I just wanted to be a part of the company. Who wouldn't? A great play with a great director at one of the greatest theatre companies in the world.

I was thrilled when I heard I'd made the cut. Being assigned with Hugh Oatcake, I knew I'd be set with a whole new challenge. How do I make him alive? How do I make him fit into the world we're creating? How do I tell my mum I'm playing him as a cook?

'You are playing cook? A bloody cook? You can't even make the fried egg!'

She's right. My fried eggs end up looking like omelettes.

But I'll endeavour to summon up three years' worth of trauma at Webber Douglas and miraculously turn into Rene Redzepi before your very eyes.

I was also assigned to understudy Conrade and then later asked to understudy Antonio, too. Two very contrasting parts. Played in the principal cast by actors of varying ages. (NB: For 'varying'; read 'older'. A lot older).

I've never ever understudied before and – as I'm sure any actor will tell you – it's a mountainous challenge. It's hard enough learning your own lines, moves, blocking, prop-striking, cue lines, entrances, exits (et al) but then you have to learn somebody else's! And then somebody else's on top of that!

The temptation is to truly make it your own. To put your own radical spin on it. To a degree you can. But you've got to grasp and virtually adhere to the principal actor's emotions and intentions of the scene. Otherwise you'll completely throw your opposing principal actor off their track. Your blocking must be identical to theirs. Needless to say that your lines, prop-striking, cue lines, entrances, exits must be identical to theirs, too. Again, fear starts kicking in and your brain begins to melt.

We've been doing understudy rehearsals every night this week and while the principals left at 6pm, we're required to carry on until 9pm to truly get our understudied parts in our heads. In our bodies. In our psyche.

Doing line-runs. Going over blocking. Making sure we understand exactly what every last syllable means. It's vital we keep this stuff as fresh as possible – as you never know when you'll be called up to the stage when an actor is suddenly 'indispositioned'. But surely that won't EVER happen. Will it......?

Week 5 and 6. Ok I'll do them both in an entry otherwise I'll never reach the opening night.

Week 5 was for rehearsals of the second act, since I'm not in it (sorry for the spoiler) I had plenty of time off. So it was my turn to try the tattoos and get a bold haircut. They shaved funny shapes into my skull so I started to get very weird looks on the streets.

By the end of the week we were ready to stumble through the second half, and the next days we did our final run troughs of the whole play in the rehearsal room. We finally got a sense of the whole play, and we were all really excited. Some members of the staff were there and actors from the other productions and they all seemed to like it. Of course there was still a lot of work and adjustments to be done, but we knew we had a good show in our hands.

Now comes the exciting part, TECHS. Oh, I was really not prepared for them. Of course every time you enter a theatre some adjustments have to be done, and you have to adapt to the scenery and the lights, but I didn't expect the changes to be so many.

Don't get me wrong it's not like we changed the whole play, but entrance and exits changed, the timing for entering each scene. Now that the play was running we noticed that there were parts that needed some more explaining. In order to get the rhythm right, some scenes needed a tweak here and there.

It was a slow process and at one point I was really scared that we wouldn't get a chance to do a dress rehearsal before our first preview. There was also the notion that once you had been over a scene you wouldn't have the time to look it over again.

Maybe I should explain that in Mexico we don't do previews, for us, once there is an audience, that's it, that is your opening night. We sometimes do one or two rehearsals with friends or drama students but it is not open to the general public, so it was quite hard for me to understand how you could open a show, but continue to work on it for the next week. But I'll talk some more about previews in the next entry.

The point is we managed to do a dress rehearsal before our first preview which was a relief.

The first preview was very exciting, it was our first opportunity to see how the audience would react. Would they understand it? Could they follow the story? Those were my main concerns.

And acting of course, one thing is to do rehearsals and to act in English in front of your peers, but now, the bar was raised, so I must say that in the first preview I was really worried and wanted to get everything right.

And so the curtain was raised (metaphorically speaking). It was exciting, there was a lot of raw energy and surprise. I have a few moments where I speak directly to the audience, and finally having them there, connecting with them, being at the Swan, was a complete joy. Of course it was nerve wracking, but in a good way. The performances had started.

It's a funny thing, fear. You can assemble some of the finest actors in the business, actors with a CV as long as your arm, actors with a wealth of enviable stage 'n' screen credits and yet would you believe that we're all still terrified?

Week four was definitely the week that fear started kicking in. We ALL start asking the questions:

Do I know my character well enough? Will we be ready in time for the first preview in two weeks?! Are we getting the right message across for Much Ado? Are we telling the story we WANT to tell?

Actors even started to question their abilities. Doubt them, even. Actors asked other actors, 'Was that scene okay?'. 'Do I make sense?'. 'Do you understand me?'. 'Do I sound Indian?'. 'Does my bum look big in this?'. The answer to all of those questions is - of course - yes.

Alarming comments are blurted out of our mouths. 'We only have two weeks left to rehearse - s**t!' 'We open in two weeks - s**t!' 'I don't think I know my lines'. 'I don't think I know the part that I'm supposed to be understudying's lines!'. 'I can't remember the blocking'. 'I can't remember my name'.

Dangerous declarations indeed.

The general public opinion is that actors, particularly those performing for the likes of the RSC (et al), are all uber-confident in their abilities; that they surely CAN'T be full of self-doubt or suffer from a crisis of confidence. Regardless of the length of the CV – we all go through it. It's all a part of the process and that's what goes into creating a piece of art.

The panic - and fear that sets in - happens to us all and it's inevitable. The conclusion will, of course, be a happy one. Particularly if the director's done his job properly. And (to be honest) we're in the hands of a quite superb director in Iqbal Khan and, believe me, there's no one capable of being more supportive and reassuring than our Director saab! He'll stitch everything together and slot it all beautifully into place.

Speaking of beauty, we worked a lot on the Claudio-Hero wedding scene this week. I've gotta say, I'm VERY excited about what we've got lined up for that. It's pretty cool. Hmmm. Can I give you a word that'll explain it but not give the game away? I probably can. Immersive.

We've got our own magical take on the masquerade ball, too. It's kaleidoscopic. It's intricate. It's a bit like synchronised swimming. Synchronised intricacy, if you will.

'Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into hey nonny, nonny.'

'...Hey y'all! How YOU doin'? I could sure moider a cuppa cawfee...'

Okay, so nobody ACTUALLY said that. But, yep, Monday of week three kicked-off with the arrival of The Wooster Group. The whole building was very excited and bodies were a-trembling! (Definitely NOT just me this time!) The last time the Woosters were here, I was at drama school. That was a decade ago. Where DOES the time go, eh?

Although we won't have much to do with the Troilus and Cressida company (apart from pleasantries and gossip in the Green Room), it's still electrifying and galvanising to be in the company of superb theatrical talent.

Something I've been really excited about is the wealth of great programming for the World Shakespeare Festival.

Whoever it was that curated the RSC/WSF programme gets a big tick from me. Whether it's getting the cream of European or South American talent, or bringing in The Woosters, or setting Julius Caesar in Africa, or setting Much Ado About Nothing in India or broadcasting I, Cinna (The Poet) as a LIVE webcast – I've been impressed by the levels of creativity and ingenuity that's helped to shape it all.

It's incredible. I was a theatre-goer first and an actor second, so all this stuff still gives me the quivers.

But back to acting, this was the week that tiredness kicked in. In abundance. Most mornings kicked off like this:

'Morning! You alright, mate?'

'Yeah... tired.'

'Me too.'

'Well, masters, we hear our charge: let us go sit here upon the church-bench 'til two, and then all to bed.' - Hugh Oatcake, Act 3, Scene 3.

It's been a full-on three weeks. We've had a Kathak master in to teach us some moves. It's good to get that style of movement in our bodies. It helped to ground us – as well as giving us Moves Like Jaginder...(!) We've also had a former Indian Army General in to give us a talk about the regiment and the naughtiness soldiers get up to. Aye. There will be LOTS of men in uniform in the play.

*feel free to swoon HERE*

Joanna Lumley dropped by this week and said 'hello' to a couple of the cast members as she was passing. I thought it'd be an absolutely fabulous(!) idea to get her in and do a cameo in Much Ado. I then realised that this was a very stupid idea and my mouth remained closed.

As well the usual voice calls with Lyn and Budgie, movement with Struan and the costume fittings (which – by the way – look phenomenal), we started staging the opening of the play. Very exciting. We're finally getting down to the nitty-gritty now.

At the end of the week the heat in our rehearsal room (which is situated at the top of the building) is becoming pretty intense. Intolerable is too strong a word but it IS pretty roasting. Ah well, at least it's giving us a taste of Indian weather. We won't need to act it as we've all felt it in Clapham! (Who'd've thought?)

I think we'll have ALL lost a good few stones by the end of rehearsals. If you see a cast of skeletons on stage when you come up to The Courtyard in Stratford - that'll be us.

With my first blog out of the way, I can now breathe a huge sigh of relief. Thanks to all of you who've read it so far and thanks for the kind comments made via social media (likes, retweets etc). It's much-appreciated!

'I thank you. I am not of many words, but I thank you.' – Don John, Act 1 Scene 1.

So, Monday kicked off with a trip to Stratford-upon-Avon. We all met early in the morning at the Clapham rehearsal rooms and boarded a coach. Our names were ticked off a list and a head count was undertaken. There were packed lunches. The cool kids sat at the back. The eager ones sat at the front. I was in the middle. (This feeling of being back at school isn't going to go away, is it?)

I jest, but admittedly, this was all incredibly exciting. It was great for us to bond and gel further on the trip – after all, we ARE going to be spending the next four and a half months together. I think someone even did a little 'whoop, whoop!' upon arrival. (That was probably me). The purpose of our visit? To scope out the space (Courtyard Theatre) and get a real feel of how we'll be operating within it.

News also spread on the coach that Michael Boyd had JUST been knighted and that Vikki Heywood had been made a CBE. (Congrats to you both!) This put me in good spirits! A great day for the RSC.

Once we'd arrived, we met the Stratford office team and had lunch. (More names to remember. Still failing miserably). What struck me about the way the RSC works, is its real sense of advocacy and encouragement. An ethos of collaboration. We met people from various departments; all eager for the Much Ado company to come in and lend their expertise. If we wanna help out or chuck some ideas in the areas of costume, education, social media, design, workshops, events or anything else for that matter – then we should pop in, chat and get things moving. A 'can do' attitude.

This was also evident on the 'Welcome to the RSC' DVD that we got with our Welcome Pack. I failed to mention this last week, but – essentially – it's a 10 minute piece-to-camera and introduction to the Company by Mr Boyd, Ms Heywood and other members welcoming you in. There's also instructions of a secret RSC handshake and details of a private underground bunker. Okay, so that last sentence was a lie.

Whilst in Stratford, we all had our measurements taken for costume (probably the most rigorous, intricate and precise measurements I've ever had). We then spent some invaluable time with Struan and Lyn in the theatre. Wow, what a space! The photo I've uploaded is the sight that greets us actors when we tread those boards! Struan is very hot on this notion of actively using your body in a 360-degree way. Not just seeing, speaking, breathing and living 'front-on', but seeing/speaking/living/breathing through your back and your sides. Having a real sense of periphery and an active awareness.

Walking on onto that stage before the exercise, it felt like a vast space. Engulfing. Exciting. Intimidating. It felt like we shoulda packed a spare pair of undies(!) But after the precise work with Struan and Lyn, the theatre didn't feel as intimidating. We felt like we were 'in control' of it and had the power to really command it. And be in it.

Useful stuff.

With that finished it was time to go home. We all grabbed some snacks for the journey home, while some got a few exciting souvenirs from the RSC/WSF souvenir shop (Only me. Again. What a loser.)

Meanwhile, Ernest Ignatius (Antonio) treated us to some of his crooner-tastic singing. That man's got QUITE a set of lungs on him. And a darn good voice. We all suggest it'd be a great idea to get him doing a nice Sinatra number in an Indian accent for the show. He hesitates. Iqbal is nowhere to be seen.

So, will he? You'll have to wait and see.....

All of us are missing home a little. Stratford is lovely (I would quite like to live here) but there is no place like home. So it is natural to try and find some comfort in food.

Actors can go on about food ad nauseam. There are always a few foodie actors who pronounce whether the canteen food is acceptable today or how one should rustle up a salad dressing with a twig and some black pepper! Or what they have just picked up in the farmer's market etc.

When you are away from home, food becomes even more important. A taste of home. Comfort food. Most actors I know try and eat healthy on tour. They fail. But we can get away with it, because: ACTORS NEVER PUT ON WEIGHT WHEN PERFORMING. It is a freakish fact but true.

You can put any kind of rubbish into your body. You are almost certainly drinking more when performing than when you are not. Late night meals with Agents and Casting Directors. Yet somehow the Gods of theatre (Apollo, Dionysos and Bacchus, if you must know) allow you to stay almost the same shape.

There are some extremely fine physical specimens involved in our show. Just the thing to make you feel like you really should get down to the gym. But then one remembers that nice pickle you picked up yesterday and Barry the Butcher has some lovely pork chops that would go great with yesterdays leftover mashed potatoes and... sorry, was getting carried away there.

For the record, I try and stay away from heavy meals before the show. I stay away from dairy if I can help it. And I like to get a big carb load for energy. I have a penchant for fried foods so I try and keep those as treats.

Of course all of this goes out the window when a member of the Community Chorus tells us that her Mum is a cook and we can order some food. Damn. Now I have to fight the urge to eat some five minutes before going on stage. Terrible. Coming off stage and wondering whether I could have a little nibble before getting changed and going back on. Could I? Should I? I decide the answer to both is yes.

See you on the ice,

Andrew French

I'm gonna start this with an ethos. A mission statement, if you will. All the other (rather fab) blogs talk in length about the art of acting and an actor's trial and tribulations with The RSC. I'd hate to repeat or tread on familiar territory. Instead, this little blog will be kept quite light. If the other blogs are the Guardian or the Financial Times, I'm probably Heat Magazine or Grazia. Or maybe that supplement you get from The Mirror on a Sunday.

Anyway, back to matters at hand...

It'd been a long time in coming. For many of us. Whether it's the likes of Iqbal Khan (the director) or Meera Syal (Beatrice) who knew about this for about a year. To people like Peter Singh (Sexton) and I, who knew about this back in October last year and were eager to get on board. All of us, here at The RSC were uber-excited for this to finally kick off.

The first day of rehearsals – regardless of its magnitude or prestige – is like the first day of school. Nervousness. Excitement. Fear. Anxiety. All rolled into one. Everyone had donned their finest attire and was looking their Sunday best. In fact, the next time we'll probably be looking anywhere NEAR this dapper will probably be Press Night!

So here we are. In the middle of Clapham and in our rehearsal room. All 21 of us. And that's just the cast! Add all the creatives and some people who work in the RSC offices and that's QUITE a meet 'n' greet. How many names did I remember? Barely my own, I think.

If you know what actors are like then you all know we're suckers for free food. An impressive selection of cakes, coffees and croissants are laid out for us to scoff. I notice that most of our initial pleasantries and conversations are slowly moving and gravitating towards the aforementioned breakfast buffet! How predictable we are....(!)

It was a real honour to be in a room full of such talented actors. Seriously. When I saw the cast Iqbal had assembled, my jaw dropped. And everybody's so lovely and welcoming. Whether we'll all be this nice come 11pm after a 13-hour technical rehearsal remains to be seen! ;o)

The rest of the day – once food scoffing had concluded – constituted of a gentle introduction to movement by Struan Leslie (RSC Head of Movement), a read-through of the play and a look at the model of the set. It looks a bit 'WOW!'.

The remainder of the week comprised of a lot more movement from Struan (really putting us through our paces), voice work by Lyn Darnley, a 'rhetoric' masterclass by Benet Brandreth, going through the script line-by-line and figuring the meaning (this took a couple of days) and THEN finishing off the week by discussing weddings we'd been to (NB: Claudio/Hero); Muslim, Hindu, Tamil and Sikh – culminating in an epic piece of improvisation around the various faiths and backgrounds.

There wasn't a 'Come On Eileen' or Pachelbel 'Canon' in sight. Phew.

Due to popular demand, my son. Looking at him, there are lots of rather dark quotes that spring to mind:

'This before all the world do I prefer,
This before all the world shall I keep safe.
Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.' Titus Andronicus

'This thing of darkness, I acknowledge mine.' The Tempest

'How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child.' King Lear

You see my point? It all seems a little portentious. Maybe that's the way parenthood is. Ho hum. If anyone can think of any other quotes about children or parenting (no cheating by using Wikipedia or Google, please) do let me know.

I cannot as yet see any of my partner (The Brunette) in him. Or any resemblance to me (he may have been born on a fortuitous day after all). Indeed, I am seriously questioning whether he is ours at all. I had my eye on him the whole time. I cut the cord. Still, was there a nanosecond when he could have been spirited away? You never can tell. There are faeries everywhere, especially in Warwickshire.

Could he have been switched by devious nurses and replaced by an adorable, demanding, LOUD bundle of gurgles and half smiles? Maybe.

He feels like we own him and at the same time are just looking after him until we can give him to the world. We feel very powerful.

And, for those of you unfamiliar with Marvel comics, 'With great power comes great responsibility.' which leads me neatly to the fact that a young member of the audience saw me yesterday after a matinee. He was about 8 years old. He told me he had been watching me as much as he could because...He liked my name! No other reason was forthcoming. He told me that he might read the play now as I was 'quite good but should move my arms less.' He had not been to the theatre before but thought it was almost as good as TV. Praise indeed.

He will probably be running the RSC in 20 years. Hope he gives me a job. One can only hope. I must go. My faerie child is calling and The Brunette is clearly not one of my blog followers.

I will talk about cheery stuff like best food on tour etc next time. Promise.
Andrew French

Week 4. This week we started polishing the scenes of the first act. Now the work became more precise and we entered deeper into the relationships between the characters.

This work brought up some questions for me about my acting in a foreign country. Stephen Kemble told me in one of the sessions that I had a tendency to put the emotion first and then the argument. That the emotion was right but that I had to trust that it was there, and occupy myself with the delivery of the argument, and not over stress the dialogue with the emotion.

In Mexico the work we do with the emotion is very important. We don't usually hide emotions, they come to the forefront. Of course the argument is very important but in the work I've done it was in the mental process behind the words that you put the focus - if the mind is in the right place the words would be too.

I wouldn't worry to much about the delivery of the line as on being in the situation. I must stress that I'm not talking about acting in Mexico as a whole but about a certain school of acting, as I suppose that I can't count this acting experience in England a to encompass all of the English ways of acting.

We continued talking in the Ferry House of what it means to act in another language. We noticed that it is not just about learning your lines in a foreign language.

In Spanish we stress the words not the vowels. And sometimes if you put the stress in the sentence as you would in Spanish it doesn't convey the same meaning in English, so we have to learn where to put the stress even though it doesn't sound natural to us.

So to sum up. Acting and theatre are a reflection of a society and so acting in another country is not just about changing the language  - it's about understanding the idiosyncrasies of that country.

This project in particular is about the merge of the two cultures, so you just have to take that step in certain occasions, but I couldn't help reflecting on it.

And back to the week's work. At the end of the week we had our first stumble through the first half of the play, we were really excited and didn't know what to expect. I'm happy to say that it was very successful and we were all encouraged by it, we had fun doing it and the story came through, there is still a lot of work to be done, but we started to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Week 3. On Monday we finally got the revised script, more changes would come later on but we didn't know then.

We continued blocking the scenes and we started working in the prologue, the rituals, and combat. In dance we did a workshop were each actor proposed a step ( we had had a talk a few days before were we Mexicans made an exposition about mexican culture and rituals and we showed them some videos), so we ended with moves called the Holten, the Stall stomp, the Mariana and the Simon.

For combat we counted with the collaboration of Terry King, and let me say that staging the fight has not been easy.

Since the weapons and the fighting style were supposed to be different to what you usually require in an English production we all had to chip in with some ideas or moves, especially the Mexican crew.

One of us, Israel, is an acrobat teacher in Mexico, so he would encourage us to try more challenging moves.

The hardest thing was to define what was going to happen in the fight scene. We started with one tribe going after the other tribe, and than there were some scenes in the middle with negotiations, one tribe marrying into the other, another tribe dissolving the just arranged marriage and then we would start fighting again.

The thing was that those scenes weren't quite working, so at the end of the week Roxana decided to cut them. As a result the concept of the fight had to change because it wasn't about a fight anymore, it had to tell the story that we were missing from those scenes, at least the most meaningful. It has not been easy, but I think we are finally getting there.

Every session we elaborate a little more in each individual fight and that would change what you were previously doing, so it could turn a bit frustrating.

Apart from the fights we started blocking the second act, but since I'm not in it I would go through my lines and we would help each other in the Ferry House to go through our scenes.

By the end of the week I knew my lines so I took a small trip to Birmingham. It was nice to be in a city after all this time in Stratford.

In a review of Julius a scene that I am in (indeed, MY favourite scene) was noted as being perfect. Isn't that nice? They loved how it was played and pitched and I felt a brief spark of pride.

But then they got my name wrong. And to make matters worse; they called me a different character's name. They then went on in the next sentence as to how this character was wonderful and great...in scenes that I am not in!

They made a mistake. They thought my name was something it was not. Oh dear. But it got me thinking about the importance of names.

I was taught at Drama school to make names sing out when speaking them in Shakespeare. That it was important that the audience knew quite clearly who you were talking about. This sounds like common sense but in modern speech the subject of a sentence is often taken for granted or assumed. We often don't know who we are talking about! We make educated guesses.

In this business we call acting, no two actors are allowed to have the same name. I suppose this is to prevent one actor making money from another actor's name. Indeed, my name is actually a stage name as there already was an actor who had claimed my true name.

I used to have nightmares that I was at an Oscar ceremony and was waiting to find out if I had won only to hear my real name called out and this... stranger walk up the steps to claim his prize. MY prize!!! (By the way, every actor worth their salt has practiced their Oscar acceptance speech. I might put mine in this blog, you never know.)

There is a scene in The Crucible where John Proctor screams, 'Because it is my name! Because I cannot have another in my life!'

There are lots of superstitions and fairy tales about true names. Names. We have just done an understudy run, where most of the cast gets the chance in front of a paying public, to play other parts that they have learned.

I had to step into the sizeable shoes of Mr Cyril Nri who has just got rave reviews for his Cassius. But the hardest thing was not inhabiting his impressive energy on stage or learning the very many lines. It was remembering everyone's name! And nothing throws you quicker than being called the wrong name. No one who knows me ever calls me Andy. It just doesn't fit.

I have been thinking about this because we have just named our baby boy:

Theo(dore) Cassius Kofi

A nice mix we think of Africa and Shakespeare and loveliness. He seems like a very old, dear friend that I have only just met. I imagine he will have plenty of fun explaining those names to whoever asks. Explaining that there is a history behind his names. That they somehow define him, create some type of history. I hope so.

Andrew French

Sorry I have not been attending to your needs. I have been a little busy recently. More of that later.

So. Where were we? I have noticed that my blogs tend to be quite rambling and long so I will try and be concise and still retain my trademark wit and verve.

We have opened to rave reviews (so far) which is nice. Lots of actors say they don't read reviews. I am never sure if I believe them. Even if they don't there is a swagger or a slump in the shoulders of actors depending on what the critics have said. Which is crazy, really. as critics are likely to be as insightful or as mistaken as anyone else.

Press night was a wonderful experience. I thought I was terrible but it was wonderful to watch the rest of the cast rise above the nerves and really enjoy it. The Director does something clever so that the pressure is off the cast on what is usually the most unholy of nights. But still, the tension ratchets. Little by little. Bit by bit. But the Director somehow makes it seem fine. With heartfelt speeches and wit and decisiveness. And casting well and having a great team around him. I miss rehearsals though. just the pure fun of it. Of trying to get it right and mostly failing. But trying anyway.

For those who don't know, press night is not just the night where the press come in and pass judgement on what you have held most dear for 6-8 weeks. It is also when friends and family often come to see the show. And agents. And casting directors. And Directors. And you have to act like you are as free as you have ever felt.

Flowers come to stage door. And cards. Lots and lots of cards. Cards that you mean to keep. And maybe you do. But we beat all that pressure by... performing a matinee! It is unheard of to mess with that unholiest of days because you need to conserve your psychic, emotional and physical strength.

You need to rush out and buy all those lovely cards that you have to give to all those lovely people that really do intend to keep them. When we were told that we would be performing, several of the more experienced actors raised quizzical eyebrows. But what do we know? The Director knows. And that's why he has his job and we have ours.

So it has been quite a busy time what with moving from London, moving into your new place in Stratford (Waterside! Bliss.) Finding out how many times you can make a trip to Marks and Spencer's seem justified (Or Carluccio's!) And learning understudy lines (yes, I know: still!!) And there was something else that has kept me occupied...oh, yes: On the 8th June at 15:12 my partner gave birth to a beautiful baby boy.

I am a Father and although I know they are expensive and demanding and loud and messy; I cannot stop smiling. Am looking at him now, and through the window I can see the new RST building and behind that, the river Avon. Life can be hard but sometimes; sometimes it is just absolutely perfect.

Bye for now. Will tell you name of new member of the company soon (suggestions?)

Til then,

Andrew French

Second week. Maybe this is too English, but what a nice weather we had, the sun was shining, people were always on the streets and the whole town came to life.

Which brings me to another nice custom they have over here, meeting in the pub after the performances. I really liked meeting the company after their performances, in Mexico we don't usually have pubs or restaurants so close to the theatre, so you might go to dinner with friends, but there is no meeting point were the audience can talk to you as well if they want to.

But, back to work, we slowed down with movement but we continued Boot Camp for training every morning. A lot of changes were done to the play during the weekend, and Luis Mario and Gary Owen were working round the clock to have the scenes on time.

Maybe I should explain the process: Luis Mario wrote in Spanish, then our Assistant Director Luke Kernaghan translated it to English, and than Gary worked on it to give it a sense in English.

That said, we were getting the translations just before the rehearsals, knowing that some of it might change after it passed through Gary's hands. Still we had to move forward and start blocking.

In Mexico when we start blocking, at least in our company, we usually have worked a long time with the text doing table work (rehearsals in Mexico can sometimes take more than 12 weeks), so at this stage of the process we know it by heart.

Here we did it script in hand, which gives you other things, since you're integrating the text with the movement.One might argue for one way of doing things or the other: when you are doing table work you are taking acting choices that involve mainly the mind, the decisions are conscious and more determined and sometimes it can be hard to translate that into the body, but you can also get a deeper insight into what is going on in the scene. I guess it is a directors' choice, and a time issue.

The point is we started blocking, I was amazed how easily some of the actors got into their parts, how it came to life so quickly. Better to ride the horse and not get left behind we say in Mexico.

We Mexicans also had a few sessions with Stephen Kemble. In private we would each work with our breathing, on a particular piece of text, working on our placement of the tongue and delivery of the lines. We had two big group sessions in which he explained to us some basic principles of the Linklater method.

The session we all enjoyed the most was the one we had in the Swan theatre, were he guided our voice through every corner of the space. It was such an amazing experience to finally stand there and feel how the theatre embraced you.

And on Sunday, David Fielder, who is playing Huexotla, invited us to his house and made a very nice lunch for all the company. We sat in his garden on the Avon's bank, and had scallops, cheeses, gazpacho and Pimms. It was a nice afternoon where we got to bond and just know a bit more of each other. That was the siege of Huexotla.

Ok. First week of rehearsals. There was a lot of hugging involved.

In the mornings we had movement class with Ane Yee, the idea was to create a bigger sense of union within the group, and what better way to do it than by hugging: first in conventional ways, then in unconventional ways, and then we went extreme.

We also danced a lot, from little dances to big dances flying around the room. We started to create our own way of moving in the Aztec universe, we found new ways to approach each other, to salute, to fight, we explored the relationships between the characters of the play through movement, and boy did we have fun.

In Mexico we have done this kind of work, but every individual has a particular way of moving, and every culture has its strengths, so all these workshops really developed the communication between us.

The other half of the day was spent reading the text. You can imagine how frightened we were in our first reading, and God, do English actors read fast. But, we dived into it with gusto.

There was a lot of explaining to do, we had the opportunity to share some historic information about Mexico, and about our customs. Luis Mario, the play-writer, shared his view of the play, and how it spoke to him not just about our past, but as a reflection of the political tangle we are immersed in at the moment in our country.

We read through the whole play and it was clear that it still needed more changes, some severe cuts were going to be made, and some serious rewrites on several scenes.

Eloise Kazan shared her costume designs, and you can take a peak of some of them in the website, let's see if you get as excited as we did.

Since all our colleagues were performing in the evenings, the RSC arranged for us a class with Cicely Berry. Boy, were we excited, we read Shakespeare in front of one of the masters. We did some exercises with the text and she just kept feeding us new information which took a while to sink in completely.

So, all in all it was a good week, full of excitement, and everyday we returned home exhausted. But we took the time to go and see our colleague perform, and they were great.

I'm a Mexican actor who was born in Germany, studied for a time in London and at the moment is working in the production A Soldier in Every Son with the RSC. I'm a full time member of the Mexican National Company of theatre.

Last year Roxana Silbert went to Mexico and had us read a play by a Mexican play writer, Luis Mario Moncada, about the rise of the Aztec empire and the disputes between the different kingdoms in the Mexican valley in the beginnings of the XV century (100 before the Spaniards arrived, in case you were wondering).

The play is based on three of Shakespeare's History plays, Henry IV, King John and Richard III; taking the scenes that were similar to our history from the plays and adapting them to the Mexican universe.

I was very excited about the project and the possibility of coming back to England (I left in '97) but since the play was about indigenous people I had little hope. Thankfully Roxana's ideas of the play were really open minded about casting and I got chosen with other 10 actors of our company as a possible candidate.

After that it was a long wait since the text needed a lot of work so no final casting decisions could be made. The play went from being three autonomous plays to a single play. Finally in December they gave us the name of the six actors who would travel to Stratford.

Our grasp of the English language was very different so we started working with an English teacher. We started work with an early draft which was just a literal translation from the Spanish text. We didn't have any assigned roles but the idea was to practice our English and getting into the world of the play.

I have to say that this period of history is very obscure to us as Mexicans as well, because we just glide over it at school, and a lot of it is lost between fact and myth. So it was a great opportunity for us as well to get to know our roots.

Trips to the museums, talks with anthropologists, walks through the ruins,etc. My take on it was, well if my English is not going to be spot on at least my knowledge of Mexican history should be.

Our anxiety grew as the weeks went by, and we didn't have definitive roles, the play kept changing, and we felt an urge to learn our lines.

We didn't know how the actors prepared for they roles here, but we had heard that you had to start rehearsals knowing your lines (this proved to be false in this case, but it had us going from feeling anxious to terrified).

Finally Luis Mario made a final trip to the UK and came back with some information about the roles, but with the announcement that there were more changes to come for the text.

On 11 May we flew from Mexico to Stratford. We arrived on a sunny day at the Old Ferry House, facing the river and just a few steps away from the Swan Theatre.

We were amazed with the landscape, the river, the swans, the little rowboats with Shakespearean names, the houses, and it would take us a few days to get our bearings on how to live in our new home.

On the 13th we had a greeting at the Swan with the other actors and we got to meet them. We didn't know what to expect, maybe they would be nice, maybe they would be snobs, who knew, but they welcomed us with open arms. And now it was time to start.

In the next entry I will start to talk about the rehearsal process but I felt the need to make an introduction to the road.

Apologies again for my appalling cyber silence over the last few weeks! They have been manic to say the least!

In the run up to press night the company fizzed and hissed with anticipation and nerves. After two weeks of previews, we just wanted to get it out of the way. Thankfully, it was great show that everyone could feel proud of and produced some well deserved reviews.

After a fantastic opening night party we all left Stratford - in various states of hangover- for a week's holiday.

Of course, for me, it was less like a holiday, and more like the week before you start going to big school. As the Assistant Director it was my job to return to Stratford to lead a week of understudy rehearsals, culminating in a public understudy performance.

One of the hardest parts of an assistant director's job is negotiating the transition from a largely observational, auxiliary role, to actually being left in charge.

The thought of being left alone in a room full of actors suddenly sent shivers down my spine: the panic of the lone sheep abandoned to the wolves...

But once we got started it was like a breath of fresh air, and, after having assisted for so long, it was nice to re-engage with my director self and remember: Oh yes, I am a director after all.

So. Have I been preachy recently? Not my intention.

Several thoughts: when you are trying to learn your understudy lines, does your main part suffer a little from the split focus? I think it doth. And when you are far from home, does loneliness, excitement and, conversely; boredom make you drink more than you should? I think so too.

We are in Stratford and it is all getting heady and exciting. Looked at the set in the RST yesterday and... hello butterflies.

I am not by nature, a nervous actor. I love this profession and think I am very lucky to occasionally get paid for doing something I love and enjoy. Most people don't ever get that chance. But the focus in Stratford on the RSC gives you a weird feeling of power and helplessness. And that can express itself in a slow creeping of nerves as each quick second ticks by.

As a sidenote, I am noticing more and more that I am using antithesis in my everyday speech. Now, why would that be? Hmmm...

Anyway, all very exciting. My car tyre got slashed the night before I was supposed to drive down to Stratford. Or is it up? Across? Anyhoo, it meant a panicked dash across south London as I tried to find a replacement. Which meant I committed the cardinal sin of being late for a rehearsal. Horror of horrors. And joy of joys. Because that rehearsal was in the Ashcroft room! Named after some middling actress who you may have heard of (if you don't know Peggy Ashcroft, Google her. She was amazing).

All I could think of as I raced down the M40 was: 'Am late! For rehearsals! At the RSC! In the Ashcroft room! Above the Swan! And they pay me!' (No more use of exclamation points. I promise!!!)

The RSC, it seems to me is very good at adjusting to slight adversity. All the stage management team were lovely to me. Especially my awesome company manager, Ben Tyreman. And I got there an hour late, but safe. Ben even helped me unload my car. It's the small things that count.

Talking of small things. We filmed Caesar as regular readers of this blog will know (are there any regular readers of this blog?).

Whilst we were filming, which was an extraordinary experience: there was a moment when I overheard a discussion about death. Specifically blood and costume. They were talking about suicides and how were the two suicides in the play going to be done.

My ears pricked up (along with, I confess, my hackles) Two suicides? Really? Are we sure there are two? Cassius. Yes. Brutus. Yes. But isn't there someone else who makes a speech? Someone else who throws himself on his sword in the Roman fashion? Who could that be?

I will just say here that the man who really turned me on to Shakespeare, Prof. Peter Smith, was thrown momentarily when I asked him this and he knows Shakespeare pretty darned well. I was furious. Titinius is small, granted. But what he lacks in size he makes up for in heart! He dies for one he loves. Not with honour. But because he can't bear life without the one he loves.

How could they have forgotten? Even the fight director apparently had apparently forgotten the fact that he had choreographed my death. Livid was I. Was I really that bad? Apoplectic. What was the point of acting if the people you were working with didn't appreciate what you were doing?

But hold on. The fight director had been a model of skill and professionalism since I had met him. Polite, amusing, and knowledgeable. How could he do this to me? The costume person in question is quite simply, one of my absolute favourite persons connected with this show. Intelligent and resourceful. Incredibly, ridiculously hard working. Cordial and clever. Just lovely. How could she do this to me? Well, the answer is: they didn't. They just forgot. For a moment.

We were all working very hard (especially the costume department, who were just heroic) and a small thing slipped through. So what? Big deal. Once I had mentioned (as calm as I could) this oversight, everyone bent over backward to accommodate me. Which is always nice.

Why was I so angry? A wise person once said to me that fear and anger are the same. They create the same reactions in the body: heart rate, sweating, adrenalin. The same. So what was I frightened of? Not being deemed good enough to be noticed. Nothing to do with anything or anyone else. My fear. Mine. But I think that sometimes it's good to be frightened. Reminds us that we live. And that we care. We are all scared. All of us. There is at least some comfort in that. Isn't there?

Best,
Andrew F

Monday, a wet April day. Texts from our new Company Stage Manager Alex Constantin. She has arranged temporary membership for us to a number of clubs - The Groucho, The Ivy and Century.

We are called to warm-up and to sing the Gaude at 6pm. As it is a Press Night the performance is at 7pm. We are invited to a post-show dinner hosted by Bill Kenwright at the Waldorf Hotel and can bring a guest. We are told to dress up a bit.

Tonight we will be reunited with the people who have left the show since Stratford. For economic reasons we have had to lose the beautiful singing performed live by our hugely talented quintet. This is now a recorded performance in the show. It is still terrific. Also the gorgeous Laura Darrall, who did some fine understudy work at Stratford, but did not understandably want to just do Written in London. I'm looking forward to seeing them all.

Gifts, cards, champagne and flowers arrive from friends and agents. A wooden heart, carved with best wishes from Thelma. A framed poster of the show from Bill Kenwright.

The performance went really well. No sign of press night nerves anywhere. Cheers at the curtain calls. Though these always seem false, partisan and a bit frenetic on these special nights.

Drinks, warm greetings, reunions, and much loud chatter in the overcrowded bar front of house. Then to the Waldorf Hotel with some of my family for a late supper hosted by Bill Kenwright in the spectacular ballroom.

This is a high ceilinged, beautifully pillared room on two levels. One of the staff tells me that scenes from the film 'Titanic' were shot here. We all sit at large round tables. Talk to Nigel Hugill the new RSC chairman and to former chairman Sir Geoffrey Cass and his wife Olwen.

Bill Kenwright mounts the stairs and makes a very good speech, remembering to thank all the right people. He lavishes much praise on the play, cast, design and direction.

Then, some surprising facts. He tells us that in order to bring this costly production to the West End, Nica Burns the theatre owner has charged no rent to the production, that David Edgar has taken no writing fee, likewise the RSC took no fee. He speaks warmly of Thelma Holt and her enthusiasm for the piece and how she can always persuade him to get involved with her projects. Heart warming stuff.

It is good to have my daughter and friend Jackie there to share this marvellous evening. I get home at 1am, very tired and end up watching Episode 2 of the new Scandinavian thriller The Bridge.

Now the run begins. We await the notices. We are all very proud of this production of this very fine play and look forward to playing it in the coming months.

I'll finish these blogs with special thanks to Sam Marks, Ian Midlane and Youssef Kerkour for letting me use some of their rehearsal photographs and of the Duchess frontage. And thank you to you if you have been reading these pieces.

Wednesday we tech the whole show. Greg is unavailable, as he is directing his African Julius Caesar.

Tom King, our Assistant Director, takes over and handles the tech very well. Jamie Ballard playing the young Launcelot Andrewes is rehearsing Antigone at the National and misses most of the day. His understudy Sam Marks fills in for him effortlessly.

At 6pm, Jamie dashes across Waterloo Bridge to us and we go straight into a dress rehearsal. Must be disconcerting to work on Greek tragedy all day and then leap forward to the reign of King James I.

Tom King has to call out the boy prince Charles' lines from the stalls in the final scene, as he has had to be released. Strict time rules apply for child actors in the theatre. We have three new young princes to rehearse and they will alternate performances.

Thursday we do another dress rehearsal and then our first preview. Very good performance to a very good and sizable audience. Strong applause at the end.

We are adapting to the space, although we all now 'play out front'. Surprisingly the play seems to work better in the pros arch stage. Perhaps because in a play of such rich language, exciting ideas, torrid argument and word play the fact that every word is now going in one direction seems to impact more effectively on the watchers.

Backstage, all are making the dressing rooms more cosy. Actors bring in pictures, lamps, cards etc. Bill Kenwright has sent us each some exotic, beautifully presented orchids. Much appreciated.

Joe Kloska in our dressing room fixes a Vietnamese propaganda poster attacking Richard Nixon to the wall. Paul Chahidi unpacks a cafetiere and some coffee. I bring some chocolate fingers. Fruit appears. We purchase wine and beer for after the show. Things are looking up. Dammit, the place is looking miles better.

Saturday, both shows are very well received. Afterwards, tired but uplifted we all retire to the pub. The 'Nell of Old Drury' just up the road opposite Drury Lane Theatre where 'Shrek' is playing is a fine pub and much frequented by actors and staff from four nearby theatres. Lots of laughs. Monday we face the press - again.

Sorry sorry sorry. Have been filming and desperately trying to learn lines. And failing. So will catch up you all up with what's been happening.

Well, I died a couple of days ago. It was not as painful as one might think. At least, not in the end. Let me explain: All work places are about hierarchy. An office. A film set. A theatre rehearsal: they all want to be inclusive. They all want to be places where everyone has a voice. But at some point someone (the BOSS) has to say, 'You don't get that!' or 'We cannot do that.' or 'I was thinking something different.' And on a film set in the cold and damp those denials feel like personal slaps in the face.

I read somewhere that the main source of most people's stress is not being listened to. Feeling ignored. Feeling like they don't have a voice. And us, stupid actors feel like we should be listened to all the time. Maybe that's why we do what we do.

Anyways, I wanted more time. We are on a tight budget and so we were filming quickly. And in the rush I forgot to breathe (see previous blogs) and just go with it.

I wanted to put my hands up and say, 'Hey! This is my death scene! MINE! And I think I am not a bad actor. I think I want someone to give me the time, the space...the LOVE to do this right!!!' But I didn't. I tried to just get on with it. And in the rehearsal before we shot, I was rubbish. Bad. Poor. Not very good.

But then Paterson Joseph requested very clearly that he felt rushed (he is very good in this by the way, you might want to try and get a ticket to see what might be a definitive portrayal of a part that is larger than Prospero, Titus and Macbeth. No pressure Paterson.) and could we go a little slower. I could have kissed him! I just love actors sometimes. That is, when i don't want to wring their necks. It's a love hate thing.

I counted 15 people around or behind camera. 15! In this country we don't really get a chance to do as much camera work in our drama schools. Early in my career,I stumbled and bumbled around most of the sets that first foolishly gave me a break (RIP and thank you, The Bill). 15 people who are watching and waiting and hoping you get it right.

And there are marks on the floor and a lovely lady who tells you when you get your lines wrong (sometimes). And an even lovelier lady who tells you when you get your accent wrong (more times). All looking at you. And I have to tell you: I love it. All actors do. Because now we are the definite centre. The eye of the storm. And we either knock it out of the park or we go home.

And that's why we got into this business, isn't it? So we swing and swing hard and swing true. And...I started to feel very sad. An ache hit my heart. And I thought of this bloody sad play. And how terrible I am. And all the people I have hurt, and will hurt. All the mistakes I have made and will make.How sorry I am. And all the goodbyes. And the tears came rolling down and I couldn't stop them. I thought about death and all the things I would hate to leave. And how my character knew all this but just couldn't couldn't couldn't bear to stay.

How embarrassing.

How magical.

Bloody love Shakespeare!

Andrew French

Tuesday we move to the Duchess, one of the youngest and smallest of the West End theatres, to tech the show. We will do our first preview on Thursday.

The Duchess was built in 1929. In the following year it hosted the shortest run in West End history. The show was titled Intimate Revue and it closed without completing its first performance. Must have been a shocker. Audiences are kinder nowdays. Though I remember when I first acted in London in the late Sixties it was not unusual for displeased audience members at many a new play to cry out 'Rubbish' etc.

The set looks terrific in the new space. But it is a different story backstage. The wing space is almost non existent. I am told when the distinguished playwright JB Priestly was shown the new theatre in 1929 he expressed his admiration for the building and then enquired 'Where are the dressing rooms?'

I can well believe the story. The auditorium is below street level and the dressing rooms are on the roof, approached up a narrow and extremely shabby brick staircase. I counted the interminable steps up those stairs to my dressing room. 69 steps. The whole backstage area is very badly run-down and more than mildly depressing.

Welcome to the West End. Costume changes one did in the dressing rooms will now, due to the journey, have to be done in the non-existent wings. With a cast of 17, as well as wardrobe staff, dressers, wig dept, stage management, crew etc. we must number nearly 30 backstage.

Given the size of the stage, the smallness of the dressing rooms, where our Jacobean costumes fill the room I suspect the Duchess was built for smaller shows and much smaller casts than Written On The Heart.

We moan a lot about almost everything but within a day we have adapted to the building. The show despite all the discomfort will work very well here. The younger actors whose West End debut this is are really excited.

Monday 16th April we gather at the RSC rehearsal rooms back in Clapham where we started work on Written over eight months before.

My bus journey takes me to rehearsal along St. John's Road in Clapham Junction where I witnessed the damage the rioters had caused back in August. There is now no evidence of the broken windows and fire damage along the length of that street. All is back to how it was. Life goes on.

In the company two large events have happened since we last met. Greg Doran has been appointed the new Artistic Director of the RSC. I, among many others, am extremely pleased at this. He is hugely talented, a great Shakespearian, a man with deep commitment to and long experience of the RSC. A very popular and wise decision by the Board.

The second event is news that our writer David Edgar has got married. Lots of congratulations all round. At the tea break David presents us with delicious slices of the wedding cake. Then Jim Hooper unwraps two cakes he has baked for us all. I love cake. A great tea break.

It is five weeks since we left Stratford. Owing to the rare luxury of continued employment most of the actors have been globetrotting. Stories of visits to New York, Vietnam, Seville, Turkey, Morocco and Southwold.

We have been emailed some alterations to the text which we now rehearse. Small changes to clarify some confusions which became apparent in performance. It will now be much clearer that Launcelot Andrewes is played as both a young and older man by two actors. Also that the young Catholic priest who visits Tyndale in his cell in Flanders, becomes fifty years later in the Yorkshire Church Scene the now somewhat Puritan Archdeacon played by my good self. Also the time changes will be signalled by projecting the dates onto the set.

The Duchess is a wider but much shallower stage than the Swan so we begin to alter the entrances, moves and positions accordingly.

I want to now move forward and write about the move from the Swan to the Duchess.

On the 16th February 2012 before a performance of Written we were called to a meeting in the Swan with Greg Doran and West End producer Thelma Holt.

We are going to London. Given the subject matter of the play, the large cast of sixteen, the costs, etc. Greg introduces Thelma as 'a certifably insane woman'.

Thelma, with her great cheekbones and red hair wrapped in a turban, then spoke fervently about the play. We are, if we all agree and no large obstacle appears, going to the Duchess Theatre which has a 482 seater auditorium for a twelve week run, with an option for a further two weeks.

Unlike the subsidised theatre, if we do poor business the management has the right to close the show giving us two weeks notice.

The Duchess has a different configuration to the Swan. It is a small proscenium arch theatre, therefore the production will retain the same intimacy as at Stratford. Nica Burns 'our generous landlady' has given us a very good deal.

Bill Kenwright, former Coronation Street actor, current Chairman of Everton Football Club and a very successful West End producer is Thelma's co-producer.

She says 'We can't make any money on this project and will be very lucky to get back what we put in'.

We will rehearse on Monday 16th April and do our first preview on the Thursday. We are all extremely pleased with the news. I thank Thelma for making the transfer happen. Without her passion, drive and commitment the play would finish at Stratford in three weeks.

Afterwards one of the actors takes the mickey out of me for my 'arselicking' comment. But I think what Thelma has brought about for our play, given the current state of West End theatre, is astonishing and should be celebrated.

At the after-show party Thelma Holt, both a highly respected West End Producer and an RSC Associate Producer is extremely enthusiastic about the play and says she wants to 'Take it into Town'.

'It must be seen in London' she says. Very flattering, great to hear. 'Fat Chance!' we all say to each other. A play about the making of the King James Bible, with a large cast? Yeah, backers must be queuing up to grab this one.

The notices appear. Most of us try not to read them. We will wait until the run is over. We have strong willpower. Within a few hours the word is out. The notices are extremely good. Four/Five stars. I don't look. I'm past all that these days.

Then I get a text from a friend. He tells me that not only has The Guardian loved it, but, I 'get a nice mention'. This is hard to ignore. The Guardian is the paper we all want to be mentioned in.

Michael Billington is the most respected and knowledgeable critic in the country. Do I rush out to buy a copy? No, I do not. But, four days later browsing online, I surrender and read Billington. Nice mention. But, I ignored all the other papers. Honest, cross my heart.

Unlike no other night in the run Press Night is nearly always edgy. Nerves emerge. Big displacement activities are put in motion to assuage them. Usually a speech from the director exhorting us to forget/ignore the press - 'don't read the notices'!

We've worked hard, we now have a show we can all be proud of. Good or bad press can influence the future performances.

We do a big warm-up - no pressure. We then spend hours buying, even making Good Luck cards. More time writing individual messages to our colleagues.

No matter the relationship, turmoil, lack of respect for their work etc. etc. we write warm wishes. Flowers and gifts from loved ones and agents clog the stage door.

Suddenly it is time to prepare. Despite the fact that these nights invariably begin late we are ready far too early. Knocks on doors. Strong hugs. Best of Luck. The High-Ups flit through. Another visit to the loo, just in case. Then, long silent minutes until 'Act One beginners please'.

Eyes brighten, the corridors throng, 'Have a good one'. We are in the wings. The buzz from the 'house' seems so much louder than in any of the previews. The house lights begin to fade, the heart pumps, the beautiful voices with their sacred music start.

Quiet emotional admonitions to oneself rattle around one's head. The door opens and you're on! A very, very good performance. Terrifically warm applause. Huge relief. Backstage and dressing room corridors very noisy and full of 'We've done it'. 'Thank God, that's fucking over.'

More hugs, strong handclasps. Faces, in and out of the dressing room. Then the ban on alcohol backstage is blatantly ignored, at least in our dressing room as room-mates Paul Chahidi, Jamie Ballard and I begin a one-off celebration.

Within a few nights this becomes a ritual on most Written performances. Once the play is finished - and never before or during - we explore some of the finest wines and spirits Stratford can provide.

We change out of costume. Glasses, limes, even ice come out and we sit and laugh and talk for twenty minutes. It is civilised. It is comradely. It is a fine full stop to the evening.

I don't enjoy techs. Some actors say they love them.

We go over entrances, exits, technical business, again and again and again. We can spend an hour changing from one scene to another.

As a scene ends and the lighting dims, furniture has to be removed, a trap in the floor opened, a platform has to rise through the trap, the live singers have to sing, doors have to be opened, actors have to time their entrances.

Dozens of lights have to change. If one tiny element of this incredibly complicated manoeuvre is slightly out of time, the whole shebang has to be done again. The platform has to go back understage, the trap close, the lighting change, the singers retreat etc.etc.etc.

It can take a day to stage an hour of the play. Acting takes a back seat. Technical work is all. Hence 'tech'. Of course.

We usually work until 10pm on these days. Everyone gets exhausted. Sometimes a brilliant and inventive hysteria erupts. Fantastical and very funny repartee, breaks out. Discipline falters. We are admonished to 'focus' - a theatrical term I first noticed in the 60s, but now commonly used by football managers and businessmen. But we theatricals claim it as ours. Original.

Suddenly the dress rehearsals are upon us. Sometimes this is reduced to the dress rehearsal. And sometimes in my experience, due to the tech proving fiendishly complicated we face an audience for the first time, sans dress rehearsal. This, I'll secretly confess, can be both bowel-loosening and fiercely exciting at the same time.

We step forward into the light to fly by the seats of our trousers, or even sometimes, our breeches. But we 'dress'. We preview. And then, comes The Press Night.

On the 23rd of October we moved to Stratford, which would now be our homes until 10th March the following year. I rent a small Victorian cottage from the RSC which is a mere six minutes walk from the theatre.

In London it took me forty minutes each way to get to rehearsals. I have always enjoyed my seasons in Stratford. I grew up in a small town in County Cork called Mitchelstown, where the main entertainment was going for walks in the country.

Next day, Monday, we immerse ourselves in a very dark and then a very bright space for four days, and at 7.30 on Thursday the 27th we face our public.

So, I rise early on Monday. Get dressed. Go to the theatre and at 9.30am undress. I don the costumes, boots, wigs, beards etc. which feel stiff and uncomfortable.

Waiting to start, we spend a lot of time looking at ourselves in mirrors. We hope to see the characters we have been working on for all these weeks looking straight back at us. Yes, he's there! - a little strange and awkward, but definitely there. Do we like that hat? Yes, it's good. We try on the second hat for Character Two. We hate it. We later observe other actors in the Character Two Scene. Most don't have hats. It is a Summer Scene, we say to each other. Would we wear hats?

Those of us with hats we hate, begin to plot to get rid of them. This can start with not wearing them in the Tech. The designer notices. Wardrobe reminds us to wear the hats. It has been known for actors, who strongly dislike a particular garment, who feel it is 'not right' for their characters, to, in a fit of pique, throw the offending piece of costume out of the dressing room window into the depths of the passing Avon.

Well, the shallows really. We walk the corridors getting used to the long cassocks, soutanes, vestments, cloaks. We twirl, we gesture. We do sudden 180 degree turns. Suddenly we discover how to 'use' them. It is exciting.

We try a little makeup. Under the eyes, to 'bring them out'. The younger actors notice and scoff. Makeup is rarely used in the theatre by young actors. But we know it works. We were taught how to apply it at drama school. My God we've been doing it for decades!

We go on stage. We pace about, claiming the space. Walk the entrances and exits. We go through pass doors and are told where to wait to make front of house entrances. We clock the lighting. We are shown our cue lights. We go and handle the books, props etc. The furniture looks great, so authentic, all made with great care and craftsmanship. We love it. Suddenly I am aware that I do not sit down in this play. But then one rarely does in period plays.

How many Coronations, Trials, Battles, Speeches from Monarchs, Entertainments have I ever sat down in? None. Think about the opening scene in King Lear, and I won't even mention Julius Caesar. Stand. Stand. They had furniture in those days. They probably sat down all the time. And I'm sure they never walked about in steeply raked rooms. We are called for the first scene. The Tech begins.

Sorry it's been so long since my last blog! It is getting quite hectic now, as is normal in rehearsals as more new ideas are thrown about and more roles are being cast.

I am now playing Titinius as well as Decius Brutus. Delighted. So, now am trying to imagine a life for this character who only really speaks in one scene and that scene is also the scene where he dies! A rather quick character arc, that.

Have been working with the fight director on death scenes and the assassination scene. I do not think I am giving anything away when I tell you that there are a few moments of quite shocking violence in the play.

It got me thinking how we often think that violence is a relatively modern thing. Well, the Romans could do violence awfully well. If any of you have seen The Hunger Games (the blockbuster teen movie with an element of violence), you may be aware of the Ancient Roman influences in that film/book.

There are the obvious ones like there being some kind of arena and gladiatorial element. But there is also character names in the film which are characters or referred to in Julius Caesar! Cinna, Portia, and Cato. The place where it is set is called Panem, which is a reference to Panem et Circenses which is a latin expression meaning, Bread and Circuses. This refers to the techniques utilised by the Roman Empire to keep the people happy and docile. The Romans are still with us. Reaching up from the past and tapping us on the shoulder.

There is the feeling as we work on the play, that we are doing a play that is very current. Our production is set in Africa. With all the references to violent political turmoil. This also means an accent. Which means Penny Dyer, our accent coach has become everybody's new best friend. To be truthful and clear is the aim and we are all working hard to achieve it.

All actors are wary of spending money, because we never know when the next job is coming. So we have all been mostly bringing in our own lunches, saving money and time during our break. What this also means, is that there are nigh on 20 actors and crew all talking and shouting and laughing and eating.

It is sometimes chaotic but also invigorating. It is like a little street party in the middle of the day. By the way, if anyone thinks that it sounds like, 'Hi diddle dee dee, an actor's life for me' let me remind you that most of the cast are dripping wet from dancing in the morning, one of us has to learn to play a new instrument, most of us are learning not only our lines but understudy lines as well and we are doing this all in a foreign accent! In addition: voice calls, costume calls, fight calls... Ok, I admit it, we are all very lucky!

Am off to learn a few more lines. I have loads of post-its with my lines written upon them stuck up all around my flat to help me learn it. Am not sure it helps but it makes me feel better when I start to panic. But the only way to learn is to be tested. Which I hate. Because the first time you do it, one invariably sound like a slacker who has done no work at all and are a bit rubbish. Sigh. Ah well, as the Romans would have said: 'aut viam inveniam aut faciam' (I will either find a way or make one).

Time for a little more humiliation on the road to acting glory!

Til next,

Andrew

Nearing the end of rehearsals with complete acts and longer sections of the play being run, the company work rises to a new intensity.

What actors have learnt and worked on in individual scenes, is now suddenly enriched by the running of a whole Act, and shortly after, of the full play.

This accumulation of playing informs and fills out both the performances and the production in a very exciting way. Though actors get nervous as a 'run' approaches, their performances get better and better each time.

We go on a trip to Stratford. This visit has a number of uses. We do some warm-ups and scene work on The Swan stage, which for actors new to the space is very useful.

While this is going on we are each at some point whisked away to a number of departments in the building or across the road for various fittings - costume, wigs, boot and shoe fittings. To the Armoury Department for swords, scabbards and belts.

We have a voice session with the Voice Department. Later we get a tour of the RST and then Greg leads us up through the riverside gardens to Holy Trinity Church.

Here again his love and knowledge of the Bard come to the fore. We are shown Shakespeare's gravestone, a rare copy of the King James Bible kept in a glass case, but opened for us. Greg gives another sparkling talk on Elizabethan and Jacobean Stratford and English history.

We are offered tickets to see Greg's well-received production of Cardenio in the Swan that evening. This is billed as Shakespeare's 'Lost Play, Reimagined'.

'What we get - wrote Michael Billington in The Guardian - is an extraordinary and theatrically powerful piece, adapted and directed by Greg Doran from a variety of sources'. I found it fascinating and had a really enjoyable evening.

Greg employs a much-used RSC device. We are each asked to pick some aspect of 16th and 17th historical life and events that are relevant to the production.

We are to research it and do a fifteen-minute presentation about it to the company. These prove very valuable in enriching our overall knowledge of the period. Jodie McNee spoke passionately about some of the women martyrs and introduced us to Foxe's Book of Martyrs. She showed us some grisly woodcuts that illustrated some of the burnings and executions.

Annette McLaughlin spoke on the way the English Reformation, ineffectually opposed by a population cowed by the new and crushing force of the monarchy, eradicated a thousand years of tradition and ritual. She drew heavily from Eamon Duffy's magisterial work Stripping of the Altars.

Duffy also came and gave us a terrific, indeed an astonishing talk sans notes (of course) about the subject. Jim Hooper gave us 15 minutes on the Separatists who wished to separate from the Church of England and form independent local churches.

Bruce Alexander spoke very eloquently on the context of the Catholic Threat in the years up to 1610. All these were a part of a fascinating number of contributions from most of the company.

I spoke on the Hampton Court Conference, convened by King James at Hampton Court in 1604, to commission the new translation of The Bible. This was a meeting in which my character and his followers were hotly abused by the King.

Coincidentally, my home is only a mile across Bushy Park in Teddington from Hampton Court. I have been walking in that park for nearly forty years. One afternoon away from rehearsals, walking in the park and banging some lines into my brain, I happened to look up as I repeated a speech about the Conference. Right in front of me, past a small herd of deer, I could just see the roof of the Palace chapel. This tiny and unimportant coincidence brightened what had until then been a rather dull learning slog. As an actor it is gratifying to point out that a number of details from our presentations made their way into David's final text.

Greg has arranged a tour of St Paul's Cathedral for us.

We are met by the canon chancellor Giles Fraser, a warm open-faced, balding man, fizzing with energy and the exact opposite to the kind of modern cleric I had expected to meet.

He later resigned with much controversy in October 2011 in protest at plans to forcibly remove the Occupy protesters from the cathedral steps.

He first regaled us with the history of the building and with some lighthearted gossip about the rivalry between St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey.

He then led our group of about twenty to the Library way up in the building. This is a very large room situated in the Triforium level behind the south-west tower.

A chamber designed by Wren and not open to the public. It has a high ceiling and a gallery half way up running round the walls. The large windows have the blinds permanentally drawn for conservation reasons The walls are covered with massive mahogany bookcases groaning under weighty tomes.

All available surfaces are covered with busts, bibles, ledgers, liturgical texts and documents. There is some dust.

We are introduced to the Librarian, Joseph Wisdom, a name that comfortably suits his occupation. He gives us a brief history of the library. He then shows us a very rare edition of a Tyndale Bible. We huddle round it. Somebody, I think Stephen Boxer, reads a few lines from it. It is a quietly moving moment.

We are then taken up some more stairs to see Wren's original model of the cathedral. This is a huge structure made of oak and plaster, which is raised on a platform allowing access to the inside. It was rejected for political reasons for appearing a little too Catholic. Giles tells us it cost £600 to complete, the equivalent at the time of a good London home.

On we go along quiet corridors giving access to parts of the building not seen by regular visitors, with the beautiful interior of the cathedral unfolding below us as we walk. Afterwards we gather in Paternoster Square and Greg takes us on a short local tour.

We visit the site of Stationer's Hall where the twelve scholars revised the final version of the KJB. Shakespeare would have registered his plays here. Sadly, though the present Hall is very attractive, the original was destroyed in the Great Fire in 1666.

We then walked to what was the former site of Launcelot Andrewes' Ely Place, the London home of The Bishop of Ely and where most of the play is set. Again little remains of the original, though the chapel houses some simple statues of local people martyred for their beliefs. I find them very moving.

We then moved on to Smithfield Market in the ward of Farringdon Without. Originally a broad grassy space, it was known as Smoothfield.

Along with Tyburn, Smithfield was for centuries the main site for public executions of heretics and dissidents. Fifty Protestants and religious reformers known as the Marian Martyrs were executed here during the reign of Mary 1. These, together with further executions earned her the nickname Bloody Mary.

As we stood in groups at these sites Greg regaled us effortlessly with stories, dates and events of topical historical information. I really envy him his scholarship. I can barely name all the London clubs in the Football Premiership.

Rehearsals are now in full swing. The production takes shape. We break now and again to watch TV drama documentaries related to the subject, some good, some not, which arouse much laughter in the room.

All the music our composer Paul Englishby has written for the production is for the voice. It is sacred music in the style of Tallis and Byrd and we are lucky to have a small choir of five singers.

When they first come to sing at rehearsals the sound they make is astonishingly beautiful and when they finish the whole room bursts into wild applause.

There are tears in my eyes. The full company are to sing a three-part Catholic Gaude Gloriosa for the Virgin Mary which Paul has composed.

Unlike the professional singers it takes us many rehearsals to learn the tune and the harmonies, but eventually we make a pretty good sound. Even Paul is pleased.

We watch an episode of a documentary series in which actor and former chorister Simon Russell Beale explores the flowering of Western sacred music.

I have worked with Simon who is a terrific actor, extremely intelligent and is now effortlessly presenting this series. My God, he'll be compiling cryptic crosswords for The Guardian next.

Rehearsing the opening scene and having a lot of bitchy fun.

We have three older and heavily bearded clerics in long black cassocks and ornate collars, Jim Hooper is John Overall, the Dean of St Paul's. Bruce Alexander is George Abbot, the Bishop of London. I am Laurence Chaderton the Master of Emanuel, Cambridge.

Overall is an arch conservative and fiercely attacks any change in the English wording of the Bible.

Abbot, with the expected demise of the current but gravely ill Archbishop Bancroft, is a possible future Archbishop and hence is treading a central ground and is jealously watched.

Chaderton is seen as a Puritan and a radical and hence dangerous.

The young stuttering Master Ward, who is also in the scene, is one of the twelve scholars revising the latest draft. He is caught between us, is attacked and is seen by the others as an ally of mine. He is extremely well played by Joseph Kloska, one of the young actors in the production.

Young actors always amaze me with the ease and confidence with which they perform. God, I hope I was like that in those long ago years!

We are currently two weeks into Julius Caesar rehearsals at the Clapham studios in balmy South London and things are moving on apace.

Costumes are starting to be placed and we have seen a model of the set. (All closely guarded secrets, I'm afraid. I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you!) I will just say that it is quite a lovely company to work for. Still time for that to change, though! Lots of laughter and helpful ideas.

We examined the play in some detail in the first week. So much bouncing around the room. It is perhaps my favourite time during the whole process. When so little is set in stone. When all the possibilities are laid out before us. Maybe villains are simply misunderstood. Maybe heroes are fools. Maybe.

Working for the RSC, you realise yet again how many people work so hard to get the show on. And everyone cares. I think people forget that there are far more secure lifestyles. Far more careers that are more conducive to happy relationships and fatter bank accounts. Most do not do it for fame. Indeed, I have not yet met a stage manager, or costume designer who expected the next show to make them household names. They do it because they love it. Love to create and enable. Which is quite humbling, really. But make no mistake: the RSC is big time. There have been, in the rehearsal room IN TWO WEEKS this many voice/movement creatives:

1 fight director
1 movement director
1 head of movement
2 text/voice coaches advisers
1 accent coach
1 voice adviser
and, last but by no means least, the legendary...
John Barton!

No excuses for not being heard or understood, then! This, you understand does not include lighting, sound, stage management, directing, design, costume. The RSC really do mean business!

I had an awful day last week. Which I think is necessary. I think to create you have to go past a point where you admit you do not know anything. Come face to face with your fear and embrace it. But it is horrible.

One wants to be perfect in front of one's peers. Perfect and pristine. Words and action in wonderful harmony. At one point, I spoke to the wrong person and called them by the wrong name. My brain went into deep freeze and all I wanted to do was drop to the floor and confess to all onlookers that I was a fraud and very, very tired.

But actually, it was not that bad. And I really learnt something: don't forget to breathe. Amazing how often that one slips by. But Shakespeare helps, if you let him. The quotation that started this inaugural blog was not about me (amazingly) but was said in the rehearsal room about Shakespeare.

Each and every time I come across his work I am blown away by the humanity of it all. The keen sense of drama. If you do not believe me, pick up any play of his (except, maybe Merry Wives of Windsor) and turn to any page.

There will be a line that most writers would kill to have written. A moment of drama, or levity and truth. He really could write. But I suspect he couldn't act very well. God doesn't give with both hands.

Am eating tons without putting on weight. This is called the 'thank God, I am employed diet' where your body is in such delighted shock at working every day, that it's metabolism speeds up and you can basically eat a small horse with little or no consequence.

I will have to start learning my understudy part soon (Cassius). Which brings with it a whole new set of challenges. Will let you know how I get on.

Until then,

Forever and forever farewell.
If we do meet again, why, we shall smile.
If not, why then this parting was well made.

Andrew French

I notice that the front page of the text we are using says - Sixth Draft, first version. David Edgar is continually making changes to the play.

A kind of one man mirror image of the many clerics in the script toiling over the new King James Bible. Sometimes we are given new speeches. Sometimes tiny alterations.

David realises that characters using the phrase 'Of course' is too modern and he substitutes it with 'Indeed'.

Sometimes he makes small cuts, but nothing so big as to depress an actor. Cuts are on the whole never welcome. They unsettle an actor, break his rhythm and breed insecurity.

As I mainly do 'old' plays where everything is written in stone, these rewrites and changes are novel and always for the better.

But as we near run-throughs and the fast approaching opening night I find myself saying under my breath 'Enough, David. Enough!'. In the last stages of rehearsal most actors, especially we older ones, want the security of scriptural constancy. Nerves.

Rehearsals are moving fluidly now. Greg decides to start the opening scene with the entering characters soaked in rain.

I am the first to mention the rain so will appear in a very wet floor length cloak. 'Masters, forgive me, I have ridden here from Cambridge in the rain'.

I then remove the cloak and selfishly shake the water off it on to the other characters around me. It is suggested by some that this bit of 'cheap business' is my idea and inserted for the purpose of getting an easy laugh.

I have to assert loudly that the idea came from our distinguished director and not me. Obviously I am an actor who tends to look down on such low tricks.

The prison scene takes place at night and is suitably gloomy. Sun does not intrude until the Yorkshire Church Scene which takes place on a sunny summer's day, when the light coming through the stained glass windows throws beautiful coloured patterns on to the plain floor, contrasting starkly with the inquisitorial and sombre nature of the scene.

Oliver Ford Davies and Stephen Boxer are bringing the Ely Place Scene to tremendous life with Oliver as the high intellectual Launcelot Andrews debating, arguing, often in deep frustration with the ghostly, earthy and obdurate William Tyndale. This long and intricately argued scene is proving to be, as it should, the key scene of the play.

They stand surrounded by and delving furiously into the many versions of The Bible, throwing rough printed loose copies of the latest text around the room. The intellectual ferment is blistering to listen to and a joy to watch.

Being the RSC all the 'books' and especially the printed documents are stunningly printed and have even at close inspection a truly authentic look and feel. They need the period detail and ornamentation, as the Swan audience will be sitting close to the action and easily able to detect fakery.

An added bonus for the actors is how much these book and documents, not to mention the beautiful painstaking work gone into the set, furniture, props, costumes etc. provide the solid and true world of the play. It is the same with the quality of costume the RSC provides. The actor walking on stage each night is assured that he looks perfect. You cannot guarantee a good performance, but you know you look right.

Photo: Bruce Alexander talking to Joseph Kloska in rehearsals.

After a number of days we reach the momentous occasion when we 'stand up'. No more readings of the play, no more discussion, no more delay, it is time to put the play on its feet.

The set design is beautifully simple. The main feature and background to the action is a wonderfully decorative wooden rood screen. In the horseshoe-shaped auditorium that is The Swan, there are a number of warm pine balustrades on each level.

On a stage which will have a bare wooden floor surrounded by the balustrades this ornate screen will look very beautiful.

Having done a fair number of productions in The Swan I think Francis O'Connor's design is very fine. But for now in the rehearsal room we rehearse not with some semblance of a 'rood screen' but with a strange steel and wire six foot high 'crowd barrier'. It looks like a set for a gritty prison drama at The Royal Court.

Ironically the 'prison scene' between Tyndale, the Flemish jailer and the Jesuit priest set in a tiny 6ft x 6ft cell with the important wood-burning stove in one corner is rehearsed on a rather boring plywood platform. This is pushed on by Stage Management for each rehearsal, which when we get to run-throughs of the play brings proceedings to an undramatic and frustrating halt.

In performance the platform will arise from the floor accompanied with appropriate music and with no apparent delay.

Watching three actors perform on this dark, tiny but atmospheric 'cell' where they share the space with a small table and two stools as well as the forementioned stove is fascinating. It is the smallest acting area I have ever seen. But it works mightily well and conveys the claustrophobia, the sense of cold, of dirt and of the fear which any inmate of it would have gone through.

It also is mightily helped by the playing of Stephen Boxer, Mark Quartly and Youssef Kerkour. A terrific scene.

Most of the actors in the play have to 'double' ie. play more than one part. This can be fascinating, exciting, frustrating, annoying, depending on how good the double is in terms of the quality of the parts, how much of a transformation one has to make and importantly how much time in performance the actor has to manage that change. Usually it means a full costume change, as well as the donning or doffing of a beard or a wig or both!

In my case Greg and I decide that Chaderton, as in his portrait, will have a beard. And I will play The Archdeacon clean shaven.

Greg has a belief that if you wear a beard you should do so for your first character. I presume to stop the audience - should they recognise you - from thinking 'O, look here he is again, and now he's stuck a bloody beard on'.

Over the next twelve weeks we rehearse Written in St Anne's Hall.

Very swiftly the periphery of our high brown-beamed Victorian room fills with groaning tables bearing history books, biographies, documents, DVD's etc. related to the world of the play, with biographical information on the 'real' characters.

Adam Nicolson's God's Secretaries which I had read a few years back was there, also Greg's Shakespeare Almanac published in 2009.

As the play shifts historically back and forth from 1610 to the fictional meeting between William Tyndale and the young Jesuit priest in 1536 and then forward fifty years to 1586 in the Yorkshire Church we become very aware of the physical and doctrinal changes along the way.

All this demands much research and reading to familiarise ourselves with these very different periods.

The walls fill with Bayeux-style rolls of lining paper with the dates, pictures, illustrations etc. of important rulers, clerics, Gunpowder Plotters, etc.

Tom King our Assistant Director with much internet delving unearths copies of engravings and paintings of some of the main protagonists. We actors find this extremely useful in helping to imagine and flesh out our characters.

Tom finds a colour photograph of a stained-glass portrait of my character Laurence Chaderton from a window in Emanuel College, Cambridge. Although very attractive it is a very anodyne portrait. Apart from the fact that he has a beard I don't find it particularly useful. There is no sense of the man in the portrait.

Photo: Annette McLaughlin in rehearsal for Written on the Heart. Photo by Ellie Kurttz.

Greg has been talking about the play and showing us the model and costume sketches along with Francis O'Connor the designer.

We are introduced in miniature to the physical world we will inhabit for the coming months. We all crowd around the model-box as the designer with tiny scale models of the furniture and props explains the settings for each scene.

The set design is excellent. Perfect for The Swan. At the end of the presentation we all show our appreciation with loud applause. I have been going through this ritual for decades. We always applaud the design - whatever. Sometimes the design is just plain dull. Sometimes the actors can quickly see how difficult the set will be to work on.

Perhaps it will have a very steep rake ie. a heavily tilted stage, perhaps with an uneven surface hard to walk on etc. etc. But we always applaud and always murmer appreciative comments.

Greg suggests a little competition. He asks us to name all the books of the Old Testament in order. We are hopeless. He asks us to name the Seven Sacraments. We manage five. He asks about the Articles of Faith. We are totally flummoxed. We have a lot of research to do.

We are interrupted by Jondon. He tells us that he has been advised by the police to send us home early. There is a serious threat that the riots of the previous night in Tottenham where there was much looting and buildings were set alight will spread to Clapham and other areas this evening.

We all think this is an overreaction. But Jondon insists. So, we reluctantly break and make our way homewards past shops beings shuttered and barricaded. People look worried and there is a mild sense of foreboding in the streets.

Next day as I arrive at Clapham Junction Station I can see smouldering buildings with the fire brigade hosing them down. We are all diverted round the backstreets.

As our group come round a corner we are passed by a large crowd of mostly young people all carrying numerous brushes and buckets on their way to help with the clear-up in St John's Road which is full of phone shops, sportswear outlets, white goods stores etc. and has been badly damaged. It is uplifting to see this public-spirited group heading off to help. How they got together I have no idea. The Blitz comes to mind. This is a small ray of sunshine on a gloomy day.

For some weeks after, as my bus takes me up and down St John's Road to and from rehearsals, I notice virtually every store in the road is damaged and boarded up with large sheets of plywood. It is both funny and sad to observe that virtually the only shop untouched is a large branch of Waterstone's.

On Monday 8th August 2011, which seems a long time ago now, I set out from my home in South West London for the first day's rehearsal of Written on the Heart about the making of the King James Bible.

The RSC has a number of rehearsal rooms dotted along Clapham High Street, where I have worked on numerous occasions.

Perhaps because of the subject of the play I arrived at St Peter's Church Hall on time only to discover I had gone to the wrong room. The building was deserted and I soon realised I should be at St Anne's Hall 300 yards away and which incidentally is not attached to any church.

Three minutes later - and three minutes late - I enter the thronged and loudly buzzing hall. I am immediately confronted and roundly admonished and abused for my tardiness by the company manager, Jondon, a shaven-headed bull of a man. This he does, very deadpan, his tongue fixed firmly in his cheek. He and I have known each other and worked together over thirty years. His default position is Attack Dog. So naturally there is only one course of action. I immediately insult and abuse him in return. We enjoy the game. So began the first day's rehearsal of David's fine play.

The hall was full of that peculiar and loud buzz that attends the early rehearsals of any play. A mixture of nervousness, excitement and apprehension which soon dissipates within a few days and is replaced by exploratory chit chat, banter, irreverence and insults.

On the first day every actor hopes to 'know' some other actor or actors in the room. It helps relieve the tension. If we do, we greet each other like long lost comrades - even if we worked together only months before.

Sometimes one works with an actor one worked with decades before, and if you liked them then, the rapport and warmth you shared all those years ago is instantly back. I greet Oliver Ford Davies, Stephen Boxer, Jamie Ballard, Paul Chahidi, Annette McLaughlin, all of whom I have worked with on other plays over the decades.

The laughs, the banter start. The Director Greg Doran, with whom I have worked with on a number of productions comes over to welcome me. I have worked on a number of productions with him over the years - The Winter's Tale, Sejanus and Antony and Cleopatra.

Greg is an actors' director. Not obsessed with concept and showiness, but a director who likes to delve into and illuminate fine texts with a group of actors he carefully chooses and admires. He also loves actors, a quality not always evident in some directors. His CV is sensational. A long list of mostly classical productions that have been extremely well received over the years.

His love of Shakespeare, his breathtaking knowledge of the Elizabethan and Jacobean worlds and his ability to articulate and share it with the company is astonishing. My God, he's clever. It makes you sick!

We all drink coffee and after introductions from actors, designers, composer, stage management, the press office, the education department, development people, etc etc. we gather around a number of decorators tables pushed together and the work begins.

So with a week to go before we move up to Stratford, we have started running the whole play.

Tensions are starting to mount as the cast are exhausted, but I live in the hope/ delusion that once we get to Fairyland (Stratford) the adrenaline will combine with the fresh country air to give us all a well-needed kick of energy!

The show is in fine shape and looking very exciting! If Starkey billed it as one of Shakespeare's dullest plays, and can confidently bill it as one of theatre's least dull productions ever!

Think party poppers, balloons, and even karaoke! The plot jumps farcically between enemies and allegiances, parties and battles, so where else to turn for aesthetic inspiration but to the world of celebrity, where marriage, divorce, family feud and overdoses are all in a day's work?

When you come to watch, look out for glimpses of the glitterati - think Kate Moss' wedding or the gossip pages of Tatler - who knows, some of them might even come and see the show!

In the run up to International Women's Day some of our female cast and creatives have been interviewed for the RSC website, to talk about women and theatre. (No, I wasn't invited, but who's bitter about that?)

Most Shakespeare plays (and most plays in general, come to that) contain far more male parts than female parts. And the women are always 'the women roles': Leading Lady, Mother, Wife, Daughter, Sister, etc. Even Shakespeare's meatiest women are not a patch on Hamlet, or Richard III for dramatic material.

I often hear the pseudo-feminist line of 'We need more women in x industry because women bring caution, collaboration, conflict-solving skills' etc.

In our version of King John, the roles of Cardinal Pandulph, and the Bastard have been cast as women. And do you know what the best thing about this is? It's that it doesn't have any conceptual implications for who those characters are.

Women are equally capable of wielding power in a direct, articulate way, of being adrenaline-thirsty, loyal fighters, and game for adventure. This is not a play about women, it is a play about power and leadership, the women are simply part of the fight.

International Women's Day video

Photo: Pippa Nixon playing The Bastard with Director Maria Aberg in rehearsal for King John.

As the room of seven actors began the week, prepared to interrogate parts of their cultural and ethnic make up, their skills as performers were also mined through the intrinsic work of Struan and Lyn, filling the space with more of themselves as the week progressed.

We had conversations with the actors about their personal experiences of India and made connections between this and the play: Classes living on top of each other, everything being very public and the importance of rituals. Observations like, 'Where would they put their shoes as they go inside?' excited Tom (designer) and Iqbal, as they search for ways to make this production more specifically environmental.

We had a great session with Greg Doran on tackling Shakespeare's language. Iqbal then explored specific scenes, encouraging the cast to let the technicalities we'd learnt be there and then submit to the reality of the scenes, as we tried out different versions in smaller groups. There was a real moment of excitement and relief as it became very clear that this works! The context didn't feel forced in any way. From that point onwards, the revelations came thick and fast…

The peace-keeping aspect of the military in the play and in India's history, cross dressing at the masked ball and having Balthazar as a Hijra, Margaret as a contemporary aspiring wannabe of the higher class. Every character became three-dimensional. Nobody felt expositional. Scenes that might usually be considered extraneous became integral to the story.

Perhaps the biggest revelation of our workshop week was just how many doors have been opened and choices exposed as a result of exploring the placing of the play in contemporary Delhi.

So... err, ahem. Yes, I have been rather quiet of late. As soon as rehearsals kicked off proper, it became clear that things which were once everyday occurrences (watching TV, replying to emails, updating my blog!) were now rare luxuries that time would not afford me.

So, to bring you up to speed:

We spent the first half of rehearsals focussed on 'tablework'. In theatre-speak this means studying the text, and, when it comes to Shakespeare, working out what the bloody hell it means!

Discussing characters' backstories, relationships, motivations, etc. We did some historical research into the family of King John - the Plantagenets- including a visit from David Starkey.

Having made a strong track record of controversy, I suppose we ought to have expected nothing less from Starkey than kicking the session off with conversation killers like 'King John is Shakespeare's dullest villain' and his going on to berate the play in general as boring.

Experience, however, is a wily beast that often abandons us at key moments, and Mr Starkey was faced with a room full of rather peeved actors.

But you know what they say about research, it's like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get...

And when our Trainee ASM Polly brought Starkey his tea, mid-flow, our guest politely requested 'a little more milk' without so much as the bat of an eyelid. This instinctive and automatic exercise of status proved very useful in developing King John's role of the leader...

After this we moved onto the next stage of putting the play up on its feet, and began to watch it take shape...!

We started rehearsals with a meet and greet and then got stuck in to our first two weeks of workshop: improvisations, games, team-buliding exercises, etc.

The real luxury of this, is that, as well as allowing the cast time to get to know each other before diving straight into scene-work, it allows us to create a shared experience of the world of the play, independent of the text.

The thing about Shakespeare, is that it is very easy to get caught up in an awe-filled reverence of the magnitude of the text. Creating a 'let's pretend' world of games and improvs, with the actors in their French and English teams from the play, sets up a more relaxed and playful relationship to the story and the characters.

We also discover that asking the cast to speak a made-up, gobbledy-gook language is a really effective way of helping this to happen, as it switches off the temptation to look for psychological justification, and allows them to improvise more freely.

At the end of the two weeks, we finally come to the text itself and have a read-through. After this, the cast will go to work with Roxanna on Richard III full time for a fortnight. Maria's off to Sweden, Stage Management rub their hands in glee at this pleasant tonic of an early holiday, and I'll be left to... oh God - ruminate about the role of the Assistant Director...

Job 1: Pre-production research
In the run-up to Christmas I head down to the British Library. It takes them some convincing of my worthiness of a permanent reader's card, and in the end I have to bring out the secret weapon (RSC headed note paper). This done I can get down to work.

Maria is interested in looking at King John through a thematic lens, namely the theme of power. So I research a whole range of texts on power and politics, a smattering of everything from Plato's Republic to Blair's New Labour Manifesto (a worrying polarity, I know). (Also notice that the British Library seems to be the haunt of choice for the 'resting' theatre director, bumping into at least four of them in less than a week... maybe there's some sort of secret society I could get into...)

Job 2 - Casting the young company
Also pre-Christmas, I make my way from the snowy peaks of the West Yorkshire Moors to Stratford-upon-Avon, for a first round of auditions for the two child roles in King John: Arthur and Henry.

For those of you who are not familiar with King John (and being one of Shakespeare's more obscure plays, it is rarely taught or performed) the plot's axis turns on the threat to John's claim to the English throne from his nephew, Arthur. Arthur is captured by his uncle and comes face to face with a warrant from the King to burn his eyes out with hot irons.

Hmmm, I wonder, how shall I broach torture with a group of 8-12 year olds? Perhaps I had better take the edge off with some sort of festive treat? But I needn't have worried- the boys were already fully entrenched in the story of Arthur, and as for eye-gouging, well... it was like water off a duck's back. (Surely that's one of the Bard's?)

'And what exactly is an assistant director?' is the usual response when I try to explain to people what it is I do 'for a living'.

In what seems like my annals of time spent assistant directing, I have had (possibly too) much time to contemplate the nature of that role itself.

As a young, aspiring director, one inevitably turns to the greats for guidance: John Caird's bible on Theatre Craft encourages the young assistant to make a pot of undrinkable tea very early on in the rehearsal process, so that from then on you will avoid being treated as tea-maid, and get more of a stake in the creative process. So you know it's bad, when, as with my first assisting job, you find yourself jealously guarding the tea-making facilities, lest anyone should bereave you of your one and only activity/role in the rehearsal room.

Since then I have performed all manner of assistant directing duties, thankfully incremental in their level of creative responsibility: from scheduling, to doing line-runs with actors, to leading warm-ups, directing parallel rehearsal calls, and noting performances.

It is a quite singular role, peripheral, with no clear allegiances - depending of course, on the project and the team. I have been lucky to work with Maria on a number of projects, so we have a developed a certain rapport, and a solid working relationship. But, when one of my peers told me that a director had recently 'shushed' his sneeze in a rehearsal, I was reminded that, when it comes to assisting, there is little you should take for granted.

When one finally arrives at the Pearly Gates of assistant director heaven, however, (that's the RSC for all you Muggles out there), help is at hand, as you are presented with no less than three pages detailing your role and responsibilities. Yes! At last! Someone has been explicit about what is expected of me in this bloody job! So here goes!

It's time to get back to the hotel. As it is not very far away we decide to take one of the little tuk-tuk taxis, known here as hop-hops', for the way they lurch and jerk along like a rabbit trying to escape a fox.

There are six million taxis in Beijing, and who knows how many of these improvised motorbike cabs. As we cram in the back I feel as if I am squashed into a mobile hot dog vendor's trolley. Xu manages to close the door, but I fear we are going to need a can opener to get out.

We lurch into the notorious city traffic. Congestion is so bad here, that each day, 20% of cars belonging to the city's 20 million people, are banned, according to the last number on the registration plate. Nevertheless the traffic seems to be in an almost permanent state of exhaust fuelled gridlock.

The hop-hop drivers don't seem to obey any traffic rules, and at one point we head back to the hotel by going the wrong way up a one way street.

I am glad when we spill out onto the forecourt of our hotel in one piece. It's been an inspiring morning. I shall be sorry to leave China, but I shan't miss the traffic in her capital.

We have one more appointment this evening: a visit to the Peking Opera.

We wander down narrow alleyways jammed with stalls selling mechanical birds singing in cages; the tiny silk embroidered shoes which presumably used to cover the bound feet of Qing dynasty ladies; bronze Buddhas and bamboo chopsticks.

This stall specialises in heavy silver necklaces and head gear from the northern ethnic tribes bordering Mongolia; and this stall is crammed with blue and white porcelain vases and rare pale green celadon ware.

There are endless replicas of terracotta warriors, and pottery camels from the Tang period. There are old clocks, and Bakelite radios, and painted fans.

I come across a stall selling leather shadow puppets and cannot resist buying a particularly fretful dragon, shimmering with red and green scales. And I decide I must buy a delicate jade pendant in the shape of a melon for my sister. But while I am being seduced like any other tourist, Niki is hard at work landing deals.

I come across her at a stall loaded high with embroidered fabrics. She has found some silk squares embellished with cranes, carp and qilin. 'They are probably for cushions, she says, but these would make wonderful mandarin squares, you know, the official badges in the Imperial court, which denote your rank.'

I am distracted by a tiny little puppy with black curly hair which the girl on the stall strokes and teases, and which flops on to the silk squares Niki is trying to bargain for.

Niki can't quite get the girl down to the price she wants but I am so enchanted by the puppy that I blithely proffer the extra cash. If the puppy was a vendor's ploy to charm the client, it has done its work. But as Xu says, 'If you like it: it's worth it!'

As we head out of the market, Niki makes one final purchase, a large bag to carry all her goodies onto the plane tomorrow morning.

It's the last day of our short research trip to Beijing.

One of the students who has been showing us around is Xu ('you can me Sue') Yaning. Xu is a stage designer herself and has promised to show Niki a huge 'antiques' market where she herself always goes to buy props for any show she is doing.

The Panjianyuan Market is a great sprawling metropolis of junk. Even the vendors admit that 80% of the antiques on offer are fake, and haggling is expected. Luckily Niki used to run a stall on Portobello Market so she is armed for the challenge, and Xu won't allow us to be ripped off.

We are not supposed to be visiting the market to buy props for The Orphan of Zhao; as we are flying economy we have a very limited luggage allowance. But Niki wants to get inspiration, and she can always take photos of anything she likes and get Xu to send it via the mail later on if necessary.

One of the particular props Niki is hoping she might find is a medicine chest. In one of the most famous scenes in The Orphan of Zhao, a country doctor smuggles a baby out of the palace in his basket, among the herbs and potions. Wherever we have travelled Niki has snapped photos of woven baskets, of all shapes and sizes.

But although this is not strictly a prop buying mission, this great noisy emporium of tat is full of beguiling goodies and I'm not sure that Niki will be able to resist.

Almost the very first stall we pass bristles with calligraphy brushes, of every size, each with different handles made of porcelain, lacquer or plain wood.

The moving denouement of The Orphan of Zhao revolves around the painting of a scroll, which reveals the many lives sacrificed to save the infant child. It is the climax of the play, and needs to be executed with great care. So, we argue to ourselves, there is every reason to buy a couple of these exquisite brushes.

When the Jesuit missionary, Fr Matteo Ricci reached Peking on 24 January 1601, he had waited a long time to get here. He had already spent 19 years in China waiting for his opportunity to meet the emperor and gain his approval to preach the gospel.

Finally he was to get his interview and was summoned into the imperial presence in the Forbidden City.

Today as Designer, Niki Turner and I battle the crowds to enter this extraordinary Palace, I find it hard to sense the ancient world of the Wan Li Emperor's court among the crowds of Chinese tourists, but Niki, ever the optimist, suggests, 'Imagine they are the hoards of eunuchs and courtiers waiting to see the Emperor'.

This sort of works, and we pass under the Meridian Gate and cross into the great courtyard before the Gate of Supreme Harmony. I re-run the opening of Bertolucci's film The Last Emperor in my head, and imagine the place full of the imperial army ready to greet the last of the Qing dynasty.

Fr Ricci found himself disappointed with his first arrival at the Forbidden City. He was accompanied by a guard of honour of up to a thousand men, and ushered in to present his gifts to the Wan Li Emperor, but instead of meeting the occupant of the Dragon Throne, he was made to bow before it, along with the all the other foreign envoys. The Emperor had not appeared in public for over 15 years.

However among the gifts that Ricci presented, besides the jewelled crucifix, and the oil paintings of the Virgin Mary and the child Jesus, were two copper chiming clocks.

The Emperor was delighted with them, and ordered a special clock tower to built for the bigger of the two and kept the other one ever by his side. But of course the clocks needed maintenance and no one in the palace knew how to do this. So Fr Ricci was sent for to look after the imperial clocks. However, he still did not get to meet the emperor.

But the Wan Li Emperor was intrigued to see this foreigner which had heard so much about, and hatched a simple plan. One day when Ricci was waiting in the imperial apartments, two men arrived to see him. They were imperial painters and they had been sent to paint his portrait. But when they had done so, and Fr Ricci asked to see the result of their work, he was amazed to see that they had merely drawn him in a simple generic style as a Chinese man and just added his beard.

As Niki and I walk around the extraordinary compound of the Forbidden City wondering at the astonishing carved marble stairways, or the bronze statues, I have an unnerving feeling of being watched.

Every now and then I catch children gawping at me. Perhaps they have never seen a man with long hair and a beard. Finally, when two teenagers come up and ask if they can take my picture, I realise I am just experiencing in a tiny way, what the great Jesuit Missionary felt 400 years ago.

Having walked up the Spirit Way, we arrive at the Ding Ling tombs. The Wan Li emperor's tomb was excavated back in the 1950s, and today you can visit the mysterious underground palace, buried under a wooded hillside.

The emperor himself designed this chilly damp marble mausoleum, with several interconnecting chambers.

The walls drip with condensation and the crowds are herded through the echoing grey halls past the red lacquer coffins, and the three marble dragon thrones of the emperor and his two empresses.

Niki busily takes photographs for reference and I ponder about the life of this unhappy man whom the Chinese regard as a profligate, responsible for the downfall of the Ming dynasty.

Many of his fabulous treasures were discovered in here, including his threaded gold crown, decorated with dragons. Other burial objects included porcelain urns and yellow glazed incense burners, as well as golden basins and gilded utensils.

There were staggering gems, jewelled coronets and hairpins encrusted with jasper and jade, pearls and rubies.There were even rich fabrics, satin brocades and silks embroidered with winding peonies, and curling phoenix. But the excavations were done too hurriedly and most of the fabrics rotted and disintegrated when exposed to air and light.

Then, in the mid -1960's, during the Cultural Revolution, the Red Guard broke not the site and dragged out the corpses of the Wan Li emperor and his concubines, and denounced their bodies as traitors to the people, in front of the tombs, before burning them. Since then none of the other tombs have been opened. You can only imagine what sort of treasures they might contain.

There is an exhibition of some of the objects retrieved from the tomb in one of the halls in the courtyard of the tomb. Some of the fabrics have been restored, and you can see just how sumptuous the emperor's court must have been.

There is a catalogue of all the objects on sale in the shop, which I decide to buy: great reference for Alistair McArthur, our head of wardrobe, and his team to pore over.

We have travelled some 30 miles north west of Beijing, and are relieved to get out of the heavy smog, and breathe some fresh country air.

The Spirit Way is a processional avenue leading to the tombs of the Ming Emperors. The site was originally selected for its auspicious feng shui alignment.

There are mountains behind which cradle the tombs of 13 of the 16 emperors who ruled China between 1368 and 1644. It's a World Heritage Site. I guess you could call it the Valley of the Mings.

I am primarily interested in the longest reigning of these emperors, who sat on the dragon throne when Shakespeare was alive.

The Wan Li emperor, as he is known, was a feeble ruler, who hated the regimentation of the Forbidden City, controlled by the eunuchs, in which he was forced to live. He eventually went on strike when he was not allowed to raise his favourite concubine to the position of his consort.

Wan Li is buried in the Ding Ling tomb, the only one of all the 13 tombs to have been excavated, and Designer, Niki Turner and I are heading up the Spirit Way to discover more about the world of this reviled leader.

The grand processional way is lined with a series of mythical animals and warriors who stand and sit guarding the route to the tombs in pairs. There are lions and elephants, camels and horses. We stop to examine one animal in detail.

This is a strange beast known as the Xie-zhi which resembles its more familiar cousin the Qilin, a sort of Chinese unicorn.

This ancient statue looks like a sort of squat chunky dog with dragon features. Indeed it is known as one of the nine sons of the dragon. But the Xie-zhi has one intriguing characteristic. It can sniff out good and evil. If it detects a wicked or corrupt man it will tear him to pieces. It was worn as a symbol of justice on the mandarin squares which adorned the chests of generals at the Wan Li emperor's court.

Now the reason the Xie-zhi interests me so much is that in the story of our play, The Orphan of Zhao, there is a 'Demon Mastiff' which is purported to be able to detect evil too.

The dog has been corrupted by the evil minister Tu'an Gu and trained instead to attack his rival, he head of the Zhao clan. How we achieve the demon mastiff on stage is concentrating the minds of all the creative team at present, but perhaps there is a clue in this magnificent looking creature, the Xie-zhi.

Our 'fixer' in the UK, Professor Ruru Li, of Leeds University, has arranged for us to attend a rehearsal of the Shanghai Opera Company.

Professor Li's stepfather was one of the founders of modern drama in China, and her mother was a Peking Opera star, so she has some great contacts and we feel very privileged to be allowed this look special behind the scenes.

As we enter the rehearsal room, they are in the middle of a run. Apparently they will open the show on Friday. We are shown to some folding chairs against the wall. It is a light airy room and I am struck by how similar it is to any of the RSC rehearsal rooms in Clapham.

In the corner the musicians are warming up. Only their instruments are unfamiliar to me. There is a two stringed violin called an erhu, a three stringed lute called a sanxian, and a moon guitar. The reed instrument, which I think is called a suona, produces a high loud, strangled sound, which to my Western ear grates against the mellifluous strings.

The director sits at the front, before a wide green carpet which marks out the stage area, and slaps out the percussion rhythm on his large fan. At once a whole scythe of actors suddenly sweep impressively onto the stage. I make a mental note to buy a large fan before I start rehearsals in August.

The opera we are watching is the story of the only woman to rule China. It is fascinating to see this opera form, which dates back to the Qing dynasty in the eighteenth century, divested of all it's gorgeous costumes and elaborate make-up.

Indeed there are elements of these costumes around the room, what we would call rehearsal clothes: a back pack of bristling flags for an army general is tucked on top of a cupboard at the back.

The actress playing the empress wears her pale blue rehearsal kimono with long white sleeves, which she can float lightly in the air, or suddenly whip round her wrists, in an expression of annoyance or resolve. I notice that when the rehearsal is over she kneels and folds it neatly away.

The acting style, between the sung arias, is all very heightened and stylised, and out front.

It's intriguing to watch the actors projecting their words with arms lifted, and breath supporting the high style, and then amusing and familiar again, when, (like any actor in rehearsal anywhere in the world), someone suddenly forgets their words and collapses in a shrug of irritation, rubbing his face and scratching his head.

The only element of the rehearsal which baffles me is that when they are not on stage the actors lounge about or chat, or swing in and out of the door to have a fag in the corridor outside.

Someone has brought in a little child who inevitably provides a running commentary on the action. One of the musicians actually takes a call, quite loudly, on his mobile phone, and yet it doesn't seem to effect the overall concentration on stage. I actually fine anyone whose mobile phone goes off in my rehearsal room, but here clearly things are different.

There is very little stage scenery or furniture in Beijing Oopera, just a table and two chairs, all painted lacquer red. But these can stand in for a mountain top or a chariot. I like the sparseness of the story telling.

How many of these conventions will find their way into our production of The Orphan of Zhao remains to be seen. We cannot possibly learn the styles and the craftsmanship of the opera that these actors have spent years perfecting. And it would be insulting to imagine that we could do so. We will have to find our own ways of telling this beautiful and ancient Chinese story.

Ghosts cannot turn corners, which is why the bridge which crosses to the Huxinting Teahouse in the centre of a little lake in the Yu Bazaar in Shanghai has nine zig-zags. Nine is an especially lucky number in China.

The Yu Gardens date back to the Ming dynasty. We stroll through a series of beautiful pavilions smelling of incense and old dust. They are hung with huge octagonal lanterns with red tassels, and are open on all sides to allow the summer breeze to waft through fretwork panels, and ventilate the different chambers.

We wander through moongates framing vistas of lotus filled ponds, bright with orange carp, bubbling with waterfalls and fringed with knotted pine trees. The white walls which surround the gardens are topped with a twisting grey dragon with a pearl in its mouth. I feel as if I have stepped into a willow pattern plate.

Designer, Niki Turner and I are here in China for a few days to research a production of The Orphan of Zhao, for our A World Elsewhere Season in the Swan Theatre, this autumn.

The play is known here, as the Chinese Hamlet. It was published in 1616, the year Shakespeare died, although the story dates back to a period known as the Spring and Autumn era, seven centuries BC. In fact the play was probably written in the Yuan dynasty in the fourteenth century, but we don't need to be historically accurate.

These gardens suggest many scenes from the play. Here is the Crimson Cloud Tower from which the feeble ruler, corrupted by the evil minster Tu'an Gu, fires arrows at the crowd in the streets below the wall; and here is the courtyard where the assassin Chu Ni commits suicide by bashing his head against the pagoda tree.

Niki and I snap away furiously. There is so much inspiration for our production here. Some of our research will prove invaluable, some will be impossible to include. We have just a week to absorb as much as we can. As we make our way back across the nine zigzag bridge to the Teahouse, we are feeling very lucky indeed.

I meet Alex a couple of days after press night when he finds a slot in a busy schedule - he is playing in all three Shakespeares scheduled at the moment in the Royal Shakespeare Theatre: Hamlet, As You Like It and All's Well That Ends Well.

He is bubbling with the excitement of playing Orlando, still delighting in adding detail to his performance. Playing with Pippa Nixon as Rosalind and directed by Maria Aberg, he feels secure as an actor. He acknowledges a special chemistry between the three of them that promotes creative work. It was established in King John and pays off here in a joyous production of As You Like It.

Alex has been very successful and very lucky with Shakespeare. Just four years after leaving LAMDA in 2004 he was playing Troilus for Cheek by Jowl directed by Declan Donnellan. The production toured Europe.

In 2009 he was Sebastian in Twelfth Night, a Donmar West End production directed by Michael Grandage with Derek Jacobi as Malvolio. In the same year he played Laertes with Jude Law as Hamlet, a production that made Broadway. At the RSC in 2012 he played Catesby in Richard III with Jonjo O'Neill as Richard before going on to play the title role in King John.

And yet he in no way feels that he is an expert. He has learnt about Shakespeare 'only by being involved'. It's when he is on his feet and exploring the text as an actor that the play comes to life for him.

In some ways he is surprised to find himself a Shakespearean actor. His expectations after leaving Drama school were perhaps more modest: some television, maybe an Arthur Miller or two but Shakespeare? He feels very much indebted to the directors he has encountered who have fostered creativity in him and brought out a talent for a job he delights in.

His first memory of Shakespeare is relatively late. He did English at A Level in Cherwell School, Oxford where he remembers a good English teacher, Mr Malin ,who did Henry V with them, encouraging his students to read the roles.

A fellow student complimented him on how well he read Shakespeare - he is in fact now married to this same girl and they have a young daughter.

He read history at University College, London where he found himself playing Lysander in a production of A Midsummer Night's Dream which they took to the Edinburgh Fringe. Following his degree he went to LAMDA and subsequently was involved in a couple of Shakespeare productions: Romeo and Juliet and Macbeth before meeting Declan Donnellan.

This he considers was perhaps his most important job and he owes much to Declan's teaching: how not to take Shakespeare at face value, to look for what is at stake, to allow for irony in words, to investigate what a character is thinking and how to change that character's mind; in fact to read the subtext.

We talk of work done with Maria Aberg on this season's As You Like It, Every rehearsal started with a 30 minute dance session which engaged the actors in the joyous world of the play she envisaged for this, her first comedy as a director.

Two weeks were spent on body language and improvisation before two weeks on close study of the text, putting the language into their own words, before being up and running, engaged with Shakespeare's words.

During this creative phase it seems that there is a grafting between role and actor, where you discover what you can bring to the role through your understanding of the text.

It feels as if you are yourself, Alex tells me, and yet that self has changed. Your feelings are totally genuine in role as you believe in the moment. So when Orlando realizes that old Adam is prepared to limp after him in pure love, proffering his life savings, he is genuinely affected - he is in tears. You play the action on the line. You know what your aim is.You don't play the beauty, the poetry. I get a fascinating insight into the craft of acting from Alex here.

I can also see how work done on one play perhaps affects work on another as we talk about his role of Horatio in Hamlet. David Farr works in a different way to Maria Aberg and Declan Donnellan. He is keen on providing back stories for the characters which you develop as an actor.

Horatio was seen as an anchor in the play, an introspective, which involved Alex working against his natural energy. He explored the through line for Horatio seeing him as a watcher, an observer, a guardian of Ophelia while Hamlet is away, a task in which he miserably fails when she drowns herself and about which he feels a deep sense of guilt.

In talking of Orlando in As You Like It, and how he acts on Ganymede's advice that if he were indeed genuinely in love he would have about him 'a careless desolation' Alex is aware of the madness of the lover, a state Hamlet exploits. He stresses too the importance of Orlando's father to him, how his father's spirit moves in him, an approach which is central to Jonathan Slinger's work on the role of Hamlet.

It seems that cross-fertilization occurs as an actor moves from one play to another, work on one play informs another and it is as if Alex is exploring the wider world of Shakespeare, seeing or perhaps just feeling parallels.

It is as if I am interviewing Orlando, he is so engagingly keen to explain him to me. How Orlando is a genuinely open guy, above all a gentle man, exposed to a violent world. His own brother reluctantly speaks of his gentle quality as well as his servant, Adam. He feels the injustice of his brother's treatment of him as a worker might the harshness of a tyrannical boss and must confront him with righteous anger.

In the wrestling match his ferocity arises from his meeting with Rosalind, she powers him. He falls in love with her three times; first when he sees her at court, secondly as Ganymede whom he takes for the boy he appears and thirdly at the wedding. It is the personality, not the sex that is the attraction as she becomes the master/mistress of his passion.

Alex has discovered the textual riches of Shakespeare- the way the text invites different approaches and interpretations and the endless creativity and daily discoveries you make in playing the role.

Ian plays Galileo in The Swan, part of A World Elsewhere season that widens our perception of the world Shakespeare lived in.

To be taken backstage to meet an actor you've just seen in performance is a privilege, but if you are only five years old, fascinating it may be but intimidating, scary.

Ian remembers it vividly: 'The actor wore make-up, quite heavy in those days, appearing almost clown-like. I didn't know that men wore make-up.'

The ambience of the theatre, particularly the lights, attracted him and he just knew whatever theatre had, he wanted it. His father had taken him to a performance by Tommy Morgan at The Palace Theatre in Dundee where they lived and as his uncle was stage manager it was easy to arrange the treat.

In primary school the music teacher decided to present a mime while the choir sang Waltzing Matilda. Two roles were on offer- the jumbuck and the swagman. He was not an assertive child but found, almost despite himself, that he had his hand up. He was chosen as the swagman.

He went to Morgan Academy, Dundee where he encountered Shakespeare; A Midsummer Night's Dream, Julius Caesar, King Lear and Hamlet. But there was little enthusiasm shown by the teachers and it was made to seem difficult to understand. It was something you did to pass exams, he tells me.
However his aunt took him to see Olivier as Richard III and that was a revelation. Olivier made sense of that complicated language!

Outside school he had enjoyed playing in amateur dramatics but he sensed that if he had said that he wanted to be an actor it would have disappointed family expectations. Theatre was something for your spare time. He did a social sciences MA at St Andrews University but then went on to the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama in Glasgow.

Shakespeare work came his way in the 70s; he was in Hamlet in 1972 at The Open Space and Macbeth in 1973 at the Belgrade, Coventry.

He came to The RSC to play Elbow in Measure for Measure in 1974 and 1975 found him in Macbeth playing the bleeding sergeant and the Scottish doctor. He auditioned for Trevor Nunn and was then involved in the iconic Judi Dench/ Ian McKellen Macbeth, playing the Porter and Ross.

This was staged at The Other Place. Rehearsals took place in scorching weather, the hottest summer on record. The weather conditions imposed a claustrophobia which they took on board.

The staging became stark. When Trevor Nunn brought on a banqueting table, an actor asked what it was for. It seemed obvious to Nunn but then it caused him to pause and consider; perhaps they didn't need a banqueting table brought on. The actors sat on orange boxes, never leaving the acting space and the audience was there with them, trapped, there was no escape, no interval. What had evolved was a totally Brechtian style which suited this production.

The acting team were beginning to feel that they had something special, confirmed when Tom Stoppard and Nigel Hawthorne came around to the dressing rooms to say how moved they had been. This production transferred to London in 1977 and was later filmed, making it available to a much wider audience.

In 1985 Ian played The Chorus in The RSC's Henry V at The Barbican.

Between 1990-2001 he was artistic director at the Almeida Theatre, London along with Jonathan Kent. In a studio theatre of 325 they welcomed international plays, making British theatre more cosmopolitan.

When Ralph Fiennes approached them, looking to do Hamlet, they discouraged him. They believed the play needed a bigger venue. Through persistence, Ralph won over Jonathan Kent to direct him and they staged this Hamlet at Hackney Empire. Such was its success that it transferred to Broadway.

Although conceding that there have been interesting Shakespearean productions in a studio space - he was in one - Ian believes that Shakespeare demands a bigger space. He talks of the power of the language and the energy needed by the actor in delivery.

He finds himself excited by the talent of young actors and feels that Shakespeare should not intimidate. There are no rules, only guidelines, he says. Treat a Shakespeare play just as you would a contemporary one and 'think on the line.' That way you will have a good production always the best introduction to a Shakespeare play.

Jodie McNee plays Virginia, Galileo's daughter, in the Swan Theatre.

From the time she was eight until she was 16 Jodie was doing the pubs and clubs of Merseyside as part of a weekend roadshow. She enjoyed doing impressions and had her own repertoire of soap characters which she costumed from a suitcase she brought on stage with her.

There had always been plenty of panto-visiting as her family liked to follow her uncle, Les Dennis, in his various venues. It was her uncle who taught her the importance of the audience, how they feed the play as much as you feed them.

She went to Broughton Hall Girls' School in Liverpool where she says she had a brilliant English teacher. She gave her confidence in studying Shakespeare so that she never felt stupid and although they read the plays as literature, they did take on the roles and in an all girls school that meant all the male characters as well.

She remembers being fascinated by Othello, the fragility of his mind. The school encouraged drama by staging regular shows so she was Fagin in Oliver and had roles in Arabian Nights and Top Girls.

She took Theatre Studies, Art and English Literature at A Level and remembers doing A Midsummer Night's Dream. Her English teacher recommended The Comedy of Errors to her for her audition for the Drama Centre, London. She played Adriana and was accepted.

Central was very much a Method school, she tells me. She met Stanislavski when doing theatre studies and she found herself doing a lot of Chekhov in the first year and in the second speeches from Shakespeare included work on Cleopatra, Lady Percy and Juliet.

In her final year she acquired her agent who saw her as a classical actor and steered her towards Declan Donnellan at Cheek by Jowl.

Declan, she says, sees himself as a coach rather than a director - a coach for young actors. He is inventive and gives them freedom to experiment with Shakespeare. He is inspirational, encouraging your contribution to his vision of the play. She played Imogen in his Cymbeline in 2007.

A different kind of experience came from her playing Cordelia at The Globe. David Calder played Lear and she explored the father/daughter relationship here as she has once again in playing Virginia in A Life of Galileo. Lear is a play she loves: Shakespeare looking at the ways things go wrong in a family and offering the hope of redemption, albeit through suffering.

And then from the Open Air Theatre with its audience of 2000 to the Swan Theatre, a cosy intimate space. Her first play here was Written on the Heart directed by Gregory Doran. She says that after the security of the rehearsal room its newness was daunting.

So was she frightened when asked to take on the role of Isabella in Measure for Measure directed by Roxana Silbert? No, she loved the character, particularly when she makes an impassioned plea for justice. She saw Isabella as a challenge and working in that Shakespearean space of the Swan she could share her dilemma with the audience. It is very much a shared experience when you play in the Swan, she says.

At 28 she has already covered a lot of ground. If she were asked to play another Shakespearean role what would she choose? Without hesitation she says Lady Macbeth. Then Rosalind - intelligent, witty, exuberant - that would be my first choice for her.

How about Juliet, I ask? She had seen a Berlin Ensemble Romeo and Juliet, in which Juliet was surprisingly strong. Even bossy. It had set her thinking: she sees more than Romeo, is more mature, on the cusp of being a woman whereas Romeo is still a boy, she muses. 'Yes, I think I would like to play a strong Juliet.'

Bethan Walker plays Hermione and Perdita in the public understudy performance of The Winter's Tale.

It's a big ask to be expected to understudy both Hermione and Perdita in your RSC debut season. But a challenge that Bethan Walker embraced, delivering a remarkable performance, along with an equally impressive Ben Whybrow as Leontes.

So how has she made it to the RSC after seven years of acting? She doesn't come from an acting family but her love of drama grew consistently, nurtured by her drama teacher, Ruth Williams, at Bishop Gore Comprehensive School Swansea, where she studied GCSE drama and then theatre studies A Level.

From the age of 13 she was involved in the West Glamorgan Youth Theatre, attending residential courses each summer. This, she says was her training ground where she learnt the discipline and in an ensemble. And there at 16 she had a nice introduction to Shakespeare, playing Miranda in The Tempest.

After A Levels she went to Aberystwth University to do a BA Hons in Theatre Studies. Academically interesting it certainly was but she realized that she was really wanting professional training and switched to the Welsh College of Music and Drama.

In 2006 she won The Carlton Hobbs Radio Drama Award. She still enjoys working on radio Drama, a totally different ballgame from theatre, she says.

Her training with an audience came from working at The Globe in A Midsummer Night's Dream, directed by Jonathan Munby. She spent three years there and on tour. At first she played Peaseblossom, then Snug and Puck. As the sassy Puck she had to play the audience, there was no room for nerves and she learnt how to include an audience of 2,000, at all levels.

'I grew a lot in Puck, becoming bigger, brasher.'

At the Globe she was first directed by Lucy Bailey in Timon of Athens and now at the RSC she has been directed by her again in The Winter's Tale.

In the public understudy run I was impressed by her faithful reflection of the acting styles used by Tara Fitzgerald and Emma Noakes. She seemed to inhabit the skin of both the actors and characters they played. I wanted to know how she did it.

'Stalking' she describes it as: stalking the actor without being obtrusive or intrusive. Constant observation in rehearsal, she tells me.

There were just four days given to rehearsal for this performance with the assistant director, Elle While. However she and Ben knew from the start that they would have to put in a lot more work than that and met to rehearse together whenever they could. The relationship was based on trust and the realization that there was no time to get it wrong. Ben quickly became a real friend and was helpful, encouraging Beth to really use the words. She has great admiration for him and feels he has taught her a lot.

She knows that she is young for the role, has not had the experience of pregnancy and yet she had to consider how this would affect her physicality and vocality. The pregnancy pad really helped – with a bump she could adjust her body weight. She had to learn how to sustain the pain of the body blow inflicted by Leontes which brings on the birth.

Sometimes in performance you are rewarded with a moment of truth. And she got it in the actual public performance when she was so upset by this violent treatment meted out to her by Ben. Ben whom she had trusted, worked so closely with? Then it came to her. These feelings belonged to Hermione in relation to Leontes. She had really got there!

Friends said: 'You'll be fine as Perdita. Good luck with Hermione!' But it was the challenge of Hermione which brought her real satisfaction.

And then to take on the completely contrasting ebullient Perdita and with a northern accent that was still evolving in the main performance.

And then back to Hermione for the statue scene. It really was: Who's playing who now? for the audience.

This must count as a highlight for Beth's Shakespearean acting and one that we were privileged to witness.

The present production of The Winter's Tale is like a symphony of anger, its interest arising from the different vocal instruments on which it is played to interpret that anger. And it has the finest Paulina I have ever seen, giving her rightly the position she deserves in the play's dialectic.She actually has 10% of the play's lines - Hermione has 6% and Leontes 20%.

Rakie says that Shakespeare keeps coming her way: she has played in Twelfth Night, A Midsummer Night's Dream, The Tempest, The Merchant of Venice, Macbeth and Hamlet. But there was a time when she regarded Shakespeare as not for her.

Rakie's mother was from Sierra Leone, her father from Nigeria but she was brought up by her mother's cousin and his wife in Cardiff. It was her adoptive mother who encouraged her in her drama aspirations.

In primary school she would take part in any performance experience; she loved acting. At 10/11 she started to experiment with accent, partly due to her identification with characters she loved in books like Anne of Green Gables and Little Women. She affected a mid-Atlantic accent, really taking it on board so that people would inquire 'Where are you from?' She was really from the middle of Ely but in her imagination she was elsewhere.

She went on to Glen Ely High School where she encountered Macbeth for O Level and then studied Hamlet for A Level but there was no performance aspect to the classroom teaching.

Her first Shakespeare in performance was when they were taken to see Roger Rees in Hamlet at the RSC. But what might have been a pathway to Shakespeare simply wasn't. Sitting at the very back of the balcony in the old RST, the theatrical experience just didn't reach them, she says.She just felt excluded. Shakespeare? So what? would have been her response at 17.

But she was passionate about acting. Outside school she was a member of several Welsh Youth theatres and went to The National Youth Theatre of Wales. She took it entirely upon herself to apply for a place at the Welsh College of Music and Drama.

Someone suggested Kate's final speech from The Taming of the Shrew as one of her audition pieces and with little more than a working knowledge of Kiss Me Kate she went along. She was given an unconditional offer at 17 and a full grant, having said that there was no way her father could pay for her to study Drama. Six months away from her A Level exams in English, French and Music she left school.

She went to Drama school with a good knowledge of Roger and Hammerstein musicals but totally unprepared for the Strindberg and Pinter she encountered. But, she says, it was their job to cut through the amateur musical fluff she came with and in her second year they embarked on a Shakespeare project.

First there was a hammering in of the iambic pentameter followed by two productions: either you would be acting in A Midsummer Night's Dream or Macbeth.

'I thought I might be selected as a fairy in A Midsummer Night's Dream and was surprised when friends started to congratulate me on my luck! What was this?' She had been cast as Lady Macbeth.

She learnt by 'acting through it - riding the verse until its musicality hit me.' It was a surprise. a revelation and when she left she was pleased with what she considered would be her one successful Shakespeare.

But in 1990 she auditioned for Moving Being Theatre, securing the role of Helena in A Midsummer Night's Dream and she was now thinking " I'm getting on ok with this Shakespeare."

In 1992 she found herself touring Wales as Portia in The Merchant of Venice and in 1994, directed by Bill Alexander, she played Ariel in The Tempest. Richard McCabe was Caliban.

She learned a lot from these two, she tells me: Bill's knowledge of Shakespeare and verse speaking and Richard's insistence on looking in the text for your own interpretation of character, perhaps a significant line. For her it was the 15 years' imprisonment in a tree by Sycorax that sparked her imagination into working on what solitary confinement would result in.

While working on Hamlet with Bill Alexander that Rakie first met her husband and when they worked together again two years later, on Twelfth Night, they became a couple.

Rakie has played both Viola and Olivia in Twelfth Night.Olivia she found easier to engage with. She says that she loves playing characters who are more articulate than she could ever be.

She has moved from being aware of the beauty of the language to finding meaning in it and the techniques to convey a reading of a line through chosen stress. But she admits that on a first reading she may understand only 50%.

'You have to do the work to understand it, Don't be put off so that you think- they get it / I don't.'

She finds Paulina in The Winter's Tale a great part. There are assumptions made about her - that she knows the outcome of the play's events. But she doesn't know what has happened to Perdita. She believes that what is lost might be found and lives in this hope. Her tragedy is that although she sees Perdita united with her mother and father, she loses her husband. There is no restoration of the past for her.

Rakie would love to play Isabella. I think the implications of a black Isabella, with a black Claudio, her brother, might prove exciting for a director to explore. I hope she gets the chance.

If you find yourself playing Oberon when you are 12, you may reap the benefit when you are 44. Jo, who is currently playing Laertes in The Winter's Tale, says that he doesn't generally retain the lines of a role after the run. But when he played Oberon two years ago he magically found that he knew the lines.

His English teacher, Mr Philpot,not only taught Shakespeare in the classroom but put on the plays so at quite a young age he was involved in performance Shakespeare. His other early experience of theatre was on school trips to the RSC.

Living in Hereford meant comparatively easy access to Stratford and he came to see Bob Peck in Macbeth and Zoe Wannamaker in Twelfth Night in the early 80s.

Another formative influence that strengthened his interest was the National Youth Theatre which he attended four times and where he played in Henry V and Hamlet.

He studied at The Welsh College of Music and Drama and found himself workung at the RSC at the age of 27 with Katie Mitchell on Henry VI, Part 3, playing Clarence. Three years later he was directed as Surrey by a young Gregory Doran in Henry VIII.

He has now nearly 20 years experience at the RSC and is proud to have been made an Associate Artist. Over two decades he has worked with Ian Judge, Adrian Noble, Lindsay Posner, Steven Pimlott, Gregory Doran and now Lucy Bailey, who is directing The Winter's Tale.

He admires the way Lucy responds to the 21st Century with her strong visual statements about her perception of a play.

In The Winter's Tale the visual presentation of Leontes' states of mind is stunning, the embodiment of his eruptive,corrosive anger. She has created a wonderful theatrical metaphor for the world of the play. And Lucy encourages and supports her actors' spontaneity.

Jo finds that Tara, playing Hermione, excitingly throws something different at him each night in the trial scene and this stimulates a fresh creative response from him. With Lucy you learn to have confidence in this white-hot performance.

Gregory Doran has taught him so much about Shakespeare in performance, he says. His passion for the verse is infectious and above all he has fostered in Jo the ability to play Shakespeare in different spaces - he has, he tells me, played in all the RSC theatres: The Other Place, the old RST, The Swan, The Courtyard and the new RST, which he loves most of all: 'The Swan on steroids' is how he describes it.

Sometimes, in.soliloquy, with the audience wrapped around you, something catches fire which is almost spiritual,he says. And Greg again inspires his actors with 'the freedom to be brave'.

Jo believes that there can be a false sense of veneration in relation to Shakespeare. What his plays should do is ignite the imagination and this they have the power to do in different directors. And the audience should be prepared to look at the play afresh, not come searching for some pre-conceived idea.

I raised the question of accent which we are seeing used much more prominently at the RSC. Personally I find that having a variety of accents on stage can help recognition in the audience: a character speaks like us, therefore he is one of us. And I listen and hear anew rather than take for granted.

Jo says that Shakespeare's verse calls for a muscularity and that Welsh, Scottish, Irish and Northern accents can serve it well. He says that he works with the verse, using different parts of his vocal palette to help the emotion along: sometimes he hears the musicality of his Hereford upbringing in his voice while at other times he may veer towards a London twang, so he's not locked in RP. Cicely Berry has been an important teacher for him in this area of vocal agility.

He is very much looking forward to taking this exciting show on tour and open to the challenge of those different spaces, moving from 3D to 2D when they play with a proscenium arch. Whether seeing The Winter's Tale for the first time or viewing it again without preconceptions, you should not be disappointed.

Bart was born in Poland in 1980. His mother and father were both circus artists and when he was 14 months old the family moved to Italy for three years before deciding to work in Winnipeg, Canada.

Bart speaks four languages: Polish, his mother tongue spoken at home; English the language outside the home and at school; French which he learnt when they moved to Montreal and in which he was then educated from the age of 14; and Spanish from spending four years working in Argentina.

Recalling his first awareness of Shakespeare he reckons he was introduced to Roman Polanski's Macbeth as part of their Polish culture.

Performance he had loved from being a small child when, aged five, he had worked with his father in circus. He naturally gravitated towards dance and music and is a graduate of The Montreal National Circus School.

In 2002, directed by Daniele Finzi Pasca of Cirque Eloiza, he found himself on a world tour with Nomade. Pasca extended Bart's skills in a new direction, encouraging the actor in him.

He found that he liked the creative side of acting, the risk-taking and the making of a story through physical theatre. While in London in 2002 he was impressed by seeing Kathryn Hunter at The Globe as Richard II in an all-female cast.

Bart went on to work for four years with Actor Hector Bidonde in Argentina before moving to Paris to join Actor, Director and Producer Irina Brook and her newly-formed company.

He worked on Don Quixote with her. It was in Paris that Bart took on his first Shakespearean roles when he played the characters of Ferdinand and Trinculo in The Tempest, in French. Kathryn Hunter and the Lyricist Marcello Manni came to see him and he subsequently worked with them in Tell Them I Am Young and Beautiful.

In England he took a course with Theatre de Complicite and found himself working for The Gecko Company with Director Amit Lahave. It was here in 2011 that Phillip Breen, the director of The Merry Wives of Windsor, saw him and decided he would like to have him in his production.

Bart plays Doctor Caius and manages to be terryfyingly mad in his comic inventiveness. He says that since working here at The RSC he has a new love of words,fostered by classes he has had with Director of Text and Voice Cis Berry and Head of Text and Voice Lynn Darnley.

As a relative new-comer to Shakespeare, it is,he says, a dream to perform him in English. The power of Shakespeare's language is shown through English - its vowel and consonant sounds. It is never the same in translation. And Shakespeare, he says, is a way to discover what acting is all about.

Jake is an actor in the A World Elsewhere season.

Although both his parents were actors, Jake had no ambition to follow in their footsteps. He was determined to be a professional footballer and went a good way down the road to become one.

He was always aware of theatre,being backstage with his mum when very young and he was the kid on loan as a flute-playing angel in a production. But she more than repaid him by ferrying him across London to various football venues before he won a Sports' Scholarship to a residential school.

He played for England in Schools Football under 16 and under 19 and was in boys' teams for Tottenham and Fulham. At 18 he was on trial for Wrexham but when he did not secure a contract he reviewed his options.

As a semi-professional footballer he was able to part-finance his degree in Management Sciences at Loughborough and having graduated he worked in property for 18 months. He hated office work and it was not long before he made a conscious decision to opt for Drama School.

He secured a place at Guildhall and through voice coach and director Patsy Rodenburg he discovered Shakespeare. In school he remembers reading Romeo and Juliet but he never had to study Shakespeare for exam purposes and so came to it fresh and unprejudiced.

In the second year he performed in Macbeth, sharing and alternating the roles of Macbeth and Duncan. There was lots of presentation work: Leontes in The Winter's Tale he played and Henry V and he worked on The Sonnets.

In his final year,2008-9, he won the Michael Bryant Award, performing at The National Sonnet 138: When my love swears that she is made of truth, and the tennis balls speech from Henry V. The judges were director Nicholas Hytner and actor Zoe Wannamaker.

His first job was with theatre company Cheek By Jowl, touring Macbeth to eight countries so he found himself in Paris understudying Macbeth. He came back to audition for Nicholas Hytner's Hamlet at The National but his commitments abroad meant he could not return for the second round. Nevertheless he got the role of Fortinbras and just being in the company at The National was a great experience.

Now he is at The RSC for The World Elsewhere season working directors: Greg Doran, Michael Boyd and Roxana Silbert. The plays he is in reflect the times of Shakespeare elsewhere in the world so Jake is widening his experience of world drama.

Working on The Orphan of Zhao, one of the challenges has been the nature of the heightened language. You can't treat it naturalistically, he tells me, any more than you can Shakespeare's. And he is working on the thrust stage for the first time-inclusive, intimate, bringing the audience dynamically into the performance, he says.

The greatest performance he has seen on stage was Chiwetel Ejiofor as Othello at The Donmar Warehouse in 2008. This was an important moment for him in confirming his commitment to Shakespeare.

The role of Macbeth still seems his favourite, but he would like to play Iago or Mercutio.

I found Jake's performance as the Orphan outstanding. Entering the play just before the interval he brings with him a freshness,an innocence that we will see destroyed. It is a tragic role that he has to develop in just over one hour's playing time.

There is an epic,almost Greek feel to the end of the play with its tragic ironies. Jake, I feel, is a fine Shakespearean actor in the making.

Carla's parents were both professional dancers in Portugal before moving to England where she grew up. She attended the Rambert Ballet School although her preference was for character dancing, tap and later flamenco. She considered roller skates an extension of her legs!

She knows that she had the lead role, aged five, in her junior school production of The King of the Golden River, loved the experience but can't remember the story.

She went on to grammar school but did not encounter Shakespeare until exams: Romeo and Juliet at O Level and Othello at A Level.

I get the impression that Shakespeare was done for exam purposes, not seen as a play to be staged. 'We were made to read....' she says which suggests something less than enjoyable for the student.

But she did relish the school musicals put on every year and took part in West Side Story, Orpheus and the Underworld and Oliver. Having studied English, Art and History at A Level she went on to do Theatre Studies and Dramatic Art at Warwick University.

In the 80s this was something of a novelty. Warwick was one of the few universities offering Drama at degree level. A joint honours course, Theatre Studies was academic and erudite.

Carla says she got the impression that they were teaching Drama to those they believed would be teaching Drama themselves. Dramatic Art was a different component. Physically separated on campus, it catered for practical work but there was no liason between the two.

Although students were involved in some Theatre in Education (TIE) and Community theatre there was no outlet for expressively-creative work. Only 20% on the course actually went on to an acting career. They had been told that had they wanted to act they should have applied to RADA.

It was outside the course that Carla found the stimulus she craved. The Warwick Drama Society was entirely run by students and the university generously gave them slots for their performances in the main house or studio. Although theatre was her preferred choice, she was advised that television would bring her more exposure and she worked for Channel 4 after leaving Warwick.

There had been little experience of Shakespearean performance in her life so far. Her first viewing had come through the BBC television series. She had seen Judi Dench and Ian McKellen in Macbeth.

Her own experience was in musical and political theatre. But John Rettalack saw her potential as a Shakespearean actor and offered her the role of Viola in Twelfth Night, for the Oxford Stage Company. Her reaction? 'It was terryfying. I read the play and thought how do I learn all this?'

But, Carla says, as you consider the words it goes in. So relatively quickly she had her Viola but knew that there was something not quite right, It was Malcolm Hebden, playing Malvolio, who told her what it was she had not considered, the shared line that Shakespeare gives to characters. When she took this into account the pace and rhythms became fine. 'It was a revelation to me', she admits.

Carla says you learn a lot from your fellow actors, especially those who appear to speak the thoughts of characters spontaneously.

Working with the same director, John Retallack, she went on to do As You Like It, playing Celia, a role with few words but a wonderful rapport with the audience who can see what you are thinking. Measure for Measure brought her the role of Isabella, someone she understood in what she says is a very complex play.

Then she played Regan with Philip Voss as Lear. Her favourite play because it shows what wrongly-directed love can do Regan, she says, is more subtly dangerous than Goneril. The Oxford Stage Company toured Shakespeare to wide acclaim.

At the RSC, Carla plays Elephant on roller skates - that childhood skill revived and refined on a revolving stage, for The Mouse and his Child, and understudies Meg Page in The Merry Wives of Windsor.

Carla's advice to youngsters approaching Shakespeare:  

• See a play, rather than read it first

• Don't expect to understand all of the story

• Enjoy it in your own way

• At your own level

Phillip first became aware of Shakespeare as a volume sitting alongside Dickens's novels on a bookshelf at his grandparents' house on Merseyside.

He decided to take a look and found himself reading Much Ado About Nothing and really liking the humour of Benedick. So much so that at age 12 he learnt some of the lines and enjoyed the Branagh video he watched with his mum.

Shakespeare was not part of the culture he grew up in. Rather it was a world of the Mirror, boxing and football - he's still a Liverpool fan. But he studied Macbeth for GCSE, wrote three essays, interesting enough to be considered plagiarism and would have done English A Level had he not been told he was not bright enough!

His academic studies took him in a different direction: to read Social and Political Science at Trinity College, Cambridge.

But having seen stage productions of Shakespeare at the RSC, notably Iain Glen as Henry V directed by Matthew Warchus, which he thought clever and glamorous, there was some part of him wanted to be in that world.

He admits to cancelling his interview for Cambridge twice because he was in South Pacific and when offered a third date he went down more anxious to hold his lines for the show in his head than about what he would say in the interview. He thinks that perhaps he applied for Cambridge because he feared rejection by RADA.

It was as a talented director in the Cambridge Footlights that he attracted attention. He was nominated for the Perrier Award for a production that toured nationally and played in the West End. He won the Channel Four Award for Young Directors in 2002 and went on as Assistant Director at the Royal Opera House, Chichester Festival Theatre and Theatre Clwyd.

During his period at the Footlights he had not been involved with Shakespeare. But at Theatre Clwyd he worked with Terry Hands on Romeo and Juliet, discovering with him The Sonnets of Shakespeare and realising above all the role of the director as teacher. He was Assistant Director on Gregory Doran's production of A Midsummer Night's Dream at the RSC.

He is passionate about The Merry Wives of Windsor. It just works as a great dramatic piece. The language is sophisticated, presenting us with idiolects of characters who don't listen to each other.

The scenes at Fords' house are pure farce. First names are used like Meg and George.

Phil researched the various texts used in performance at the RSC: Terry Hands 1968, Trevor Nunn 1978, Bill Alexander 1986 and Ian Judge 1996 and compared them with Quarto and Folio.

He did not wish to work with the cuts and rearrangement he found, rather trusting to Shakespeare's own structure. He therefore restored the German scene.

He speaks of the pain in the comedy. There is a lot of evil plotting. There is psychotic jealousy, disorientation and humiliation which make us think of the darker plays.

His angle on directing is interesting: 'I try to start from the perspective of a 15-year-old audience member hearing the play for the first time. I remember how I felt when I came at 15. It was incredible. It absolutely blew my mind.'

He counts himself lucky not to have done an English degree because he encountered Shakespeare without prejudice. He believes that if teaching Shakespeare is to consist of cold intellectual games it is probably best not taught in school.

If it is a yardstick of difficulty against which we measure how clever a person is we are not doing Shakespeare a service. The language can be challenging, but the actor who can deliver the humour on the line rather than resorting to stage business is serving the text well. We have to ask ourselves: 'why is Shakespeare worth staging?' Not to lead the audience to feel smugly that they have solved the cryptic crossword or to think: 'am I stupid? I don't get it.'

A good production should invite recognition from the audience of our common humanity reflected there. Exactly Hamlet's advice to the players: the purpose of playing is to hold the mirror up to nature.

Chris is an actor in the A World Elsewhere season.

I wanted to meet Chris as I had been impressed by his stage magnetism in The Orphan of Zhao. Completely immersed in the world of the play throughout, it is as the Ghost at the end that he makes an impassioned plea for the love denied him by his father. Then in the public understudy performance he played the role of the Orphan, investing it with a natural dignity that testified to his princely birth.

This is Chris' first job since leaving Drama school. He is appearing in the three plays that form the A World Elsewhere season. These plays look at China, Russia and Italy during Shakespeare's lifetime. He was interested in being part of the company when he knew that The Orphan was the first Asian-written play the RSC had performed, using various source texts in translation.

Chris tells me his mother is Spanish Philippine and his father Mauritian Chinese so he sees this play as taking him back to his historic roots, although he never knew his Chinese grandfather.

Chris was born and educated here. It was Polka Theatre who provided him with his first experience of live performance when he was taken, aged eight, to Beowulf. 'I was fascinated by how the monsters were created,' he says.

He was fortunate in encountering some passionate teachers of Shakespeare. This he feels is essential if you are to have a positive response as a youngster. In Year 7 he was made aware of The Tempest by watching a video adaptation. He says that when image and word are linked it makes for easier reception of the text. At 14 he saw Patrick Stewart in an RSC Tempest on tour.

He thinks that in class, character can appear to be fixed and set ideas about character can be imposed. Seeing a performance can open minds to other interpretations of character. He studied Macbeth for GCSE and went on to do A Level Performing Arts. He was in a school production of Romeo and Juliet and Othello at Sixth Form College.

He did a foundation year at RADA and then studied at Guildhall. It was here that he really made discoveries about Shakespeare's language, learning to be at ease with the iambic pentameter in performance and realising that different characters have different language. Here at the RSC he has been working on The Orphan with Greg Doran.

'Although not in verse, Greg helps an actor find the poetry of the language. It is like a long poem and you learn with Greg where to highlight the language.'

Chris had not worked on a thrust stage before so this is an important step in his development as an actor. And the thrust suits this play well where characters formally introduce themselves to the audience.

In Boris Godunov, working with Michael Boyd, the actors were aware of its parallels to Shakespeare's Histories and Macbeth, but at the same time the production was to reflect the controlling autocracy still present in modern Russia. The relevance of a play to a modern audience is of course part of the RSC ethos in Shakespearean production.

Now in rehearsal with Roxana Silbert for A Life of Galileo, he is again exploring the concept of power and its effects. Working on these plays will be a formative experience for Chris.

Which Shakespearean plays would he like to be involved in, I ask him. He is attracted by Othello and the concept of a man in an alien world, he says.

He confesses to preferring tragedy to comedy but at this stage of his development he is more than happy working with three charismatic directors, exploring the imaginative world of these plays and being part of an ensemble in doing so.

With dreams of sashaying along the white sands of Copacabana beach, humming 'The girl from Ipanema,' reality hit as I landed in Rio during a torrential rain storm – unusual weather for the time of year apparently but that was no consolation.

Fortunately by the next day the rain eased and the sun emerged in the afternoon - just in time to go indoors and watch Cicely Berry giving a master class in the central library. Cis has been out here for a week along with Justin Audibert, one of the assistant directors from the RSC's 2011 long ensemble.

They have been working with the young actors of Nos do Morros, a theatre school based in Vidigal, a favela on the hillside overlooking Ipanema beach. Cis has a long history with Nos do Morros and a strong warm relationship with its founder, Guti.

The company are celebrating their 25th anniversary this year and were keen to bring Cis back to work with them again, which was made possible through The People's Palace Project based at Queen Mary University in London. Paul Heritage from PPP decided to build a Shakespeare Forum around Cis's visit so she was joined by Justin, and by Bridget Escolme from Queen Mary, plus me. Bridget was invited to work with university students; I was invited to work with teachers from the favelas. It was an excellent opportunity to share our practice with them and find out more about their situation as part of my World Shakespeare Festival case study on Brazil.

My first day was with the Nos do Morros monitors who were a mixture of teachers for the project and student leaders. Vidigal had been 'pacified' just the week before we arrived. This meant that police and tanks had gone into the favela to arrest the leading drug barons and confiscate weapons. We were told this had made the atmosphere far more relaxed. I have no comparison, of course, but it did seem a pleasant, friendly place rather than the scary, dangerous reputation favelas have.

The Nos do Morros base is an old stone house rising up on several levels through a jumble of steps, balconies, rocks and trees. It apparently belonged to an artist who used it to paint forgeries of famous paintings and to keep his mistress. When his wife inherited the building on his death, she decided to do some good with it and allowed NdM to use the space. The views from the topmost balcony are amazing - down to the white sand sweep of Ipanema beach, across the glittering blue bay and the up into the teeming houses jumbled against the hills, with the imposingly steep stone mountains behind.

The following day I was with teachers from public (ie: free) schools in the Manguinas favela - a very different area of town, just as poor but far less scenic and as yet not pacified. We were working in a space in the public library - an amazing light airy building full of books and computers in a landscaped area - it stood out starkly from the surrounding and obvious poverty. Early on we were interrupted by very loud music which sounded like a rock band rehearsing in the next room. It turned out to be music from the stereo in someone's house! Fortunately the library as a social project has local respect and after a polite request the music was turned off.

However, next came the gunshots. In my naivety, it did sound just like a car backfiring but the reactions of my far less naive teachers made it clear this was not a car but the arrival of the latest cocaine consignment.

In such circumstances it can be hard to believe that anyone should care about a 400 year old English playwright and yet they do. Nos do Morros use theatre as a way for local young people to learn social and artistic skills and have created many Shakespeare productions, including a Two Gentlemen of Verona that they brought to the Complete Works Festival at the RSC in Stratford-upon-Avon in 2006.

While none of my public school teachers currently taught Shakespeare, they all revered his work and had absorbed a great deal of knowledge about him and his plays through writings, films and general cultural ideas. They found our work very rewarding, not least because the heightened emotions and drama are perhaps even more part of their everyday existence than for most. Many comments were about 'a gentle way into a complex text' and 'understanding the text through the body rather than just the head'.

The energy they brought to their work was inspiring and, added to their commitment, perhaps paints a picture of why Brazil is one of the up and coming world economies. And of course the thing about Brazilians is they know how to work and play! As Cis, Justin, Paul and I sat in a bar in the Lapa area of Rio, the Nos do Morros crew surrounded us with songs and laughter which apparently kept going until 3.30am (long after I'd gone to bed); yet the next morning, many of those same people were completely focused on exploring the anxieties of Hamlet in my workshop. My expanding waistline also testifies to the fact that they know how to eat.

A meeting on my last day in Rio, attended by representatives from the Ministries of Culture and Education, focused on next steps leading up to the Rio Olympics in 2016 and there was a great deal of enthusiasm for Shakespeare. He may not be on the curriculum in schools here but they still see him as one of their own.

Photo by Tracy Irish © RSC

I first met Aimara Resende at the International Shakespeare Conference in Stratford in August 2010, and again at the Shakespeare World Congress in Prague last July; now here I am staying in her beautiful farm house in the rural interior of Brazil, watching a bright blue humming bird outside my window.

Aimara is a Shakespeare scholar, founder of the Shakespeare Centre in Brazil, and a remarkable woman. When she retired from São Paulo University, she and her husband moved here to São Francisco, a small town of 7000 people, most of whom are dependent on seasonal work from the local coffee plantations.

Recognising the high levels of economic and cultural deprivation in the town and the low levels of aspiration among the children, she set up a social project which teaches citizenship skills to local young people using Shakespeare's plays.

Each year a group of around 30 9 to 14 year-olds join Shakespeare e as crianças (which means 'Shakespeare and the children') and choose a comedy to study - this year's text is Twelfth Night. They explore issues and questions raised in the text which has been edited and translated by Aimara, and discuss how to appropriate the characters, settings and situations to their own culture, leading to a performance. All decisions, including casting, are taken democratically within the group.

Aimara intends to publish her programme of work, and encourage other similar groups, initially through the Gandarela Cultural Centre soon to be opening in Belo Horizonte. This all sounded like an essential project to learn more about on my mission to explore where, how and why Shakespeare is taught around the world.

The project has been so successful that some children did not want to leave Shakespeare e as crianças at 14, so Aimara set up a second group: Caminhando com Shakespeare ('Walking on with Shakespeare') which involves the older students and many of the younger ones keen to work on two plays. This second group are currently creating a performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Music is an integral part of the project and my first meeting with the young people to see them rehearse Dream was accompanied by Augusto, a young musician who comes every weekend to work with the band and choir. He has taught many of the children to play their flutes, guitars, clarinets and various brass instruments from scratch.

São Francisco does not receive many foreign visitors and the children were clearly fascinated to hear me speak English, even though they understood very little - and although Spanish helped me a little, we needed Aimara's bilingual skills to take us beyond smiling.

On Monday we spent a whole day together exploring the beginning of Romeo and Juliet. They all knew the story, partly because Aimara had told them, but also because it has seeped into the national consciousness here, as in so many countries - here in Brazil, a popular dessert of guava jam and cheese is called Romeo e Julietta.

Our first hour of warm-ups and context building took place in possibly the most difficult space I have ever worked in (those Omani pillars seemed a fond memory). This was the sports court a local school - a football pitch - open on three sides and with an aluminium roof – way too big and way too echoey. It's testament to the students' enthusiasm that we achieved as much as we did.

We broke for an early lunch and regrouped at the project centre, a small narrow tiled room in the centre of town but nevertheless better than the sports court (although it did have a pillar in the middle of the room). As with many groups of young people, focus and understanding of the text were things to be developed but by the end of the day I felt we were really getting to know each other and through their friendly openness and keen interest, we created a pretty impressive ensemble performance of the prologue and first scene.

The next day I worked with their teachers. Our space this time was the computer room of the town's Secondary school - somewhat cramped for 24 adults to work practically (but at least there were no pillars).

The small, crumbling school caters for 550 11 to 18 year-olds and typically for Brazil, the school day divides into three parts:
07:00 to 11:30 for 16 to 18 year olds
12:00 to 17:30 for 11 to 16s, and
18:00 to 22:30 for a different group of 16 to 18s.

Teachers are not paid well and most do more than one of these three shifts. Rooms are anonymous classrooms, filled with lines of students at desks with the teacher at the chalkboard. On the plus side most students do stay at school until 18, because of the Bolsas de Familias (something like our now defunct EMA) through which families are paid to keep their children in schools rather than send them to work.

The group were a mixture of Primary and Secondary teachers responsible for delivering arts learning in addition to at least one and often several other specialist subjects.

There is more freedom in the curriculum below Grade 9, but from Grade 9 onwards, there is a regime of studying from state textbooks and regurgitating the knowledge in regular exams; several teachers bemoaned their heavily content-driven curriculum.

The Government prescribe 40 hours per year of arts education in Grade 9, rising to 80 hours per year in Grades 10 and 11. They don't prescribe which arts and in their one hour a week, many of these teachers choose visual arts as the 'easiest' option because they have no specialist training. Most had had no further training at all since leaving college and were therefore hungry for ideas and the opportunity to discuss and explore best practices in the classroom.

We talked a little about questioning, thinking skills and learning styles and Santusa commented, 'We know this as teachers but we have forgotten how to put it into practice because we have so little time and so much content to cover.' Many of their questions about the work centred on time, space and behaviour, in much the same way as with UK teachers, but with possibly even more external pressures.

We had a brilliant day: at lunch time, Flavia told me that it was the first time she had seen many of these teachers smile, let alone laugh, and Leandro, one of Aimara's protégés who was filming his own former teachers, found their child-like behaviour hilarious as they threw themselves joyfully into the games and activities. They were so appreciative of the chance to learn again that they all queued up to hug me at the end!

More hugging came when I said goodbye to the children the next afternoon, and many had written thank-you notes and brought small presents. It was all very touching. As Aimara drove me away from the town while the children waved and shouted 'perdemos vocé ja!' ('we miss you already'), I realised I had fallen under the spell of this small sleepy town with Shakespeare at its heart.

Next stop:

Photo © RSC

Choosing a European country to focus on for my research into how and why Shakespeare is taught around the world was not easy.

Many of our European neighbours feature Shakespeare on their curriculum as either a compulsory or suggested author and there are lots of teachers doing brilliant work as well as theatre artists creating performances with young people in mind.

Italy could be a fascinating case study as the spiritual home of the world's most famous play about teenage love, and the play most studied by the world's teenagers.

I'd also heard about some very interesting projects in Spain and Germany, and after leading a training day with Swedish teachers, I was intrigued by their surprise at how much Shakespeare teaching in this country is geared towards exams, their own curriculum being more flexible and liberal.

However, I was drawn to the former Soviet bloc for their particular love affair with Shakespeare. I remembered a Polish academic talking of her youthful experiences of visiting the heavily-subsidised classical theatre as a way of life and of how theatre companies walked a tightrope of relying on this support but needing to challenge the regimes; and a Russian director tell stories of performing Shakespeare under Stalin's rule – the group were rehearsing Hamlet but when Stalin learned this, he closed them down, citing Hamlet's indecision as a very un-Soviet way to behave.

I settled on Czech Republic after attending the ninth Shakespeare World Congress held in Prague in July 2011 at which I led a workshop on active approaches. I loved the variety of the keynote speeches held in the beautiful Estates Theatre - including a fascinating talk by Czech Republic's pre-eminent Shakespeare scholar, Professor Martin Hilsky of Charles University.

The Czech people have strong literary traditions and a culture of ideas and enquiry fed over centuries of being at the centre of European civilisation. There is no doubting the popularity of Shakespeare in the Czech Republic, stretching back to the visiting theatre troupes of the early seventeenth century. These days there is an annual critically acclaimed Shakespeare Summer Festival, “the biggest and oldest festival of this kind in Europe,” as well as the Prague Shakespeare Festival which has performances in English. All Czech young people study Shakespeare, not just the plays but the sonnets too. Shakespeare's sonnets are very popular in the Czech Republic with Professor Hilsky's annotated translation a national best seller.

Prof Hilsky has translated not just the sonnets but the Complete Works into Czech and therefore has an intimate connection with the language. How Shakespeare translates and how it is translated have become areas of fascination for me as I have explored more of what Shakespeare means outside the UK, and thoughtful, expert translators like Prof Hilsky undoubtedly have great insight into the magic of Shakespeare – how he makes language work to express all human feeling without ever telling us what to think. Prof Hilsky puts it succinctly in an interview for Czech students of English: “Shakespeare is not an ideological poet, he is the poet of concrete human situations,” and that of course is why every age and culture can find their own ideologies reflected and challenged in his plays.

During the conference in July I met Dasa Sephton from the British Council and Jat Dhillon who teaches English at the British Council and also leads a University theatre group called The Drama Queens. Jat and Prof Hilsky regularly work with schools exploring the sonnets, along with Daniel Dobias - Daniel sings the sonnets in Czech, to his own highly creative and appropriate compositions. During a delightful evening with Dasa, Prof Hilsky and Daniel, Daniel kindly played some of his compositions for me. Each was a masterpiece of interpretation and I could see how this work could be both illuminating and inspiring for students seeking to understand or creatively reinterpret the sonnets for themselves.

For the 3 days I was in Czech Republic, Dasa had put together a great schedule. On my first day, I was to visit Gymnazium Pribram, a grammar school an hour or so's drive from Prague…

Schooling in Czech Republic divides into Elementary, which takes students through to the age of 16, and Secondary, which is generally for 16-18 years. I say generally because for grammar schools like Gymnazium Pribram, a smaller cohort of 'gifted and talented' students are admitted at 11.

In the airy bright corridors of the school, I was introduced to Mrs Haskova working with a co-curricular drama group of 14 year olds.

This group had opted to work on Shakespeare extracts and had chosen to do so in English. My first question to them was why? Their thoughtful response was that they found the original language more expressive, easier to connect with for performance.

It was fascinating how these teenagers' first experience of Shakespeare chimed with that of our RSC actors - a young actor once told me he found playing in Shakespeare much easier than 'The Bill' because of the quality of the writing which supports and guides the actor.

After the show, I observed a lesson about Shakespeare and his context. The lesson was conducted in Czech but all resources for the lesson had very kindly been translated for me. We looked at an interview with Professor Hilsky about his work on Shakespeare and two further sources of writing about Shakespeare by Czech writers, V Holan and Jan Werich. The latter wrote an open letter to Shakespeare in 1964 and I particularly like his ending: “You are said not to be familiar with geography, history, science, the arts, philosophy and God knows what else they say you did not know. As if it is knowledge that makes a genius.”

We also listened to a recording of the ghost speaking to Hamlet, read and discussed Sonnet 66 and its relationship to the play, and there was a short presentation from one of the students on the Globe theatre. A lesson packed with riches but one which clearly put Shakespeare in the context of Czech literary heritage. The lesson had been put on at this time for my benefit but the students told me the structure was typical of how they study key authors, with Shakespeare part of the year before's focus on Renaissance Literature. Shakespeare is a compulsory element of the Czech curriculum: typically they will study some sonnets at Elementary school and may also study a play and something about Shakespeare's life and times. In Secondary, they study a tragedy (usually Romeo & Juliet, Macbeth or Hamlet), a comedy and more sonnets.

On the Friday I was leading a workshop at the British Council office in Prague, focussing on Hamlet. The group was composed of half teachers and half students, plus Jat and his colleague, Martin. There was a strong contingent from Pribram including two of the students I had seen perform and two I had met in the lesson. The mix created a great dynamic, allowing the teachers to see the work through the eyes of their students, and the students to see a more playful, perhaps more open side to their teachers. We do sometimes work this way with schools in the UK and always say we should do it more! Following the workshop that evening, Dasa, Jat and I were interviewed by Czech Radio, with Jat and I more than a little side tracked by the amazing labyrinthine building, a centre of fighting during both the Prague Uprising in 1945 and the Prague Spring in 1968 - and with an original 1930s continually moving walk-in lift!

On Saturday I led another course in Pardubice, an hour and a half drive from Prague, with local teachers and members of the British Council library. Pardubice, Martin informed me is famous for two inventions: gingerbread and semtex – make of that what you will! It was a great day but also a lovely feeling to emerge into the cold pre-Christmas evening air, knowing my work was done. Jat and Martin escorted me to the Christmas market in Prague's central plaza on our return to the city – it was beautiful, particularly under a full moon, but also hard to move through the vast numbers of tourists so I soon retreated to my hotel to reflect on my time here.

Unlike Oman and Brazil, for these days I was working without a translator. Many of the teachers were fluent speakers and all had at least a competent level of understanding. It made me realise the habits I had already fallen into working with translators and the different rhythm it gives to the activities. With the Czech groups I could of course explore more detail in the language, looking more closely at the effects of rhetoric and rhythm. We had Czech translations of the texts available but with just one exception, everyone chose to work in English because, like the Pribram students, they valued the power of the original language..

So far Shakespeare has seemed a perfect companion for all three of the very different cultures I have visited. Next comes Hong Kong and I wonder what makes Shakespeare special for them...

And so into 2012 and next I am visiting the four countries involved in our Shakespeare: A Worldwide Classroom partnership project. With the British Council, we have set up partnerships between four schools in the UK, who are part of our Learning and Performance Network (LPN) and schools in four other countries.

Teachers, artists and students from Hong Kong, Kolkata, Los Angles and South Africa joined our LPN teachers and students for a four-day seminar in Stratford in September 2011 and the overseas visitors then went on to visit their UK partner schools. Over this academic year, the schools are engaged in various activities to learn more about each others' cultures and a core group at each school are also completing the WSF: Shakespeare Challenge Arts Award. I'm visiting each of the four countries to share our work with teachers and students and to find out what Shakespeare means to them.

My first stop was Hong Kong and I wasn't quite sure what to expect. Many friends who have been there have told me what a great city it is but somehow my brain clung on to its preconception of a frantic high-rise city. So after the chaos of England in the snow (remember that heavy snow fall that closed airports in February?), I was delighted to emerge into what seemed a calm, ordered and beautiful city.

My Hong Kong world was divided between the main parts of the city on Hong Kong Island and Kowloon and I enjoyed each crossing I made on the lovely Star Ferry.

'Shakespeare is not a hard sell here,' I was told at the British Council office - the combination of a strong interest in arts and culture and the British heritage of the city make Shakespeare a clear aspirational choice for students and parents. Meeting that choice has become a way of life for William Yip, the artist who joined us for the seminar last September.

William founded Theatre Noir in 2007, and now employs 24 theatre educators who work in 120 schools across the city. As well as running workshops and drama programmes, Theatre Noir is also a performance company and have created a show that celebrates Shakespeare both for the beauty of his language and his relevance to the lives of young people in China today, called With Love from William Shakespeare. Through songs and humour, the plot follows the lives of four young Shakespeare aficionados as they discover that Shakespeare doesn't give them answers but does offer a way to reflect on the ups and downs of modern life. The show has proved popular in both Hong Kong and mainland China, playing to schools and general audiences.

The audience on the afternoon I saw the play was made up of students from our partner school, Heep Yun plus three others. Mandy and Vanessa from Heep Yun are the teacher and student who joined William for the September seminar and they'd brought along their Arts Award group to see the show as part of their Shakespeare Challenge.

The students told me afterwards how much they enjoyed the show with genuine enthusiasm, yet I have never witnessed such a quiet audience, especially of that age. They were so well-behaved and careful not to do the wrong thing that they had to be encouraged to clap at the end by the actors, which they then did with great appreciation. But they were delighted to hear lines from the plays they had studied and recognised the characters portrayed - a particular hit was the interpretation of Bianca from The Taming of the Shrew as a 'Gong-Loi', the type of girl who behaves 'like a princess'. When I asked the girls if any of them behaved in such a way they all chorused a definite 'no' but were a little less sure when the possibility was applied to their friends.

The next day I went to Heep Yun School. Only the week before I had been in Honley High School, Heep Yun's UK partner, and I was struck by the similarity between the buildings: both classic British school buildings from the 1940s, just like the one I had attended myself.

I met Mandy's English Literature group who were studying Othello for their exams. They had been working in groups on bringing to life key scenes and when I entered the class there was a hive of activity as the girls put the final touches to their performances which involved musical instruments, costumes and some plastic fruit!

Photo © RSC

During my visit to Heep Yun school, I was taken to the drama studio. In a city where space is at a premium, Heep Yun is unusual in HK for having such a facility. The school is government-funded, but dedication to the value of drama led to private fundraising to build this well-equipped and spacious studio. Drama sessions are on the curriculum for each year group as well as being a popular extracurricular activity.

Sitting in the studio, I spoke with the Arts Award group about Theatre Noir's With Love... and about their own forthcoming version of A Midsummer Night's Dream. There are 21 students in the group aged 15 to 17. Vanessa is the director and others form the production team, assigning all necessary jobs between them, including writing, marketing, design and technical. They auditioned younger students to be their actors and have a cast of 11.

With no full time drama staff, the girls take on all the production responsibilities, handing on their skills to younger girls as they move up. They had some insightful comments on the Theatre Noir show but most interestingly were very excited about the inspiration both the acting and design had given them for their own show; we had a long discussion about how music creates mood and the value of taped versus live music and soundscapes.

Their concept is an adaptation of A Midsummer Night's Dream which will be performed as part of a local Shakespeare Festival called Love Matters on 28 April 2012, organised by the British Council in Hong Kong. Heep Yun's four cluster Primary schools will also be taking part in the festival. Theatre Noir have worked with each school to explore the play and to support the students in creating their own adaptations based on their interpretations of how the text relates to their own lives. Pictures from the rehearsals show they've been having a lot of fun.

Drama in Hong Kong schools is growing in popularity but is mainly taught through peripatetic teachers from companies like Theatre Noir and Shakespeare4All. Unfortunately due to the snow delays, I missed my opportunity to see a workshop in a school led by Theatre Noir practitioners, but on my second day, I was fortunate to be taken to a Primary School on Hong Kong island by Dr Vicki Ooi, founder of Shakespeare4All.

Following a career as an academic and director, Vicki founded Shakespeare4All nine years ago in response to the introduction of an elective module in the Hong Kong curriculum to learn English through drama. Vicki's idea was simple: 'If you're doing drama, start with the best' and she has worked with Shakespeare, in some Secondary, but mainly Primary schools, since then.

I accompanied Vicki to watch Esther work with a group of 9 and 10 year olds on A Midsummer Night's Dream. Esther had edited the play and was exploring it with the group as a co-curricular activity leading towards a performance as part of The Globe's Learning and Performance programme. Vicki's team are all native or fully fluent English speakers as the main purpose of the programme is to improve proficiency in English but as she told me, 'they want English through drama, but I hope to also to give them drama through English'.

On my last day in Hong Kong, I led a three-hour workshop for local teachers hosted by Theatre Noir. The teachers were from a range of schools, covering ages from 6 to 16 and with a range of fluency in English.

We had some fascinating and very positive discussions about how the active approaches can motivate and inspire a wide range of communication skills for second language speakers, including cultural, social and emotional learning as well as more standard literacy skills.

There are around 700 Primary and 400 Secondary schools in Hong Kong with around 100 of the total being English Medium Instruction and with probably only 20 of those offering English Literature as an examination subject. With not all of those 20 choosing to study Shakespeare, it seems few young people in Hong Kong study Shakespeare in the traditional way, yet he is well known and, through the work of companies like Theatre Noir and Shakespeare4All, well loved.

Perhaps the most interesting message to take away from my dialogue with educators here is their admiration and aspiration for UK arts education provision for young people and the balanced and broader education it brings.

The arts are becoming more and more popular in Hong Kong schools, especially with the proposed expansion of the already impressive Kowloon Cultural Centre and there is a vibrancy and optimism about the value of arts education that we can certainly learn from.

Photo by Tracy Irish © RSC

I'm not good with crowds. I like my space. I always breathe a sigh of relief when I come home from meetings in London and get off the train to see fields with sheep and llamas. So I did feel a bit nervous about Kolkata, third most populous city in India.

In his blog about Delhi, Tom Piper talks about 'sensual bombardment' and 'a tangle of humanity'. Indeed. But it's amazing how quickly kindness and friendly faces can make you feel at home, and there to meet me at the airport was the friendly face of Anmol, our lead student from our partner school in India, accompanied by his father who promptly bought me a cup of tea - the first of many kindnesses I experienced from Indian people.

I quickly learned that when you meet someone in India, you meet their family - and are welcomed into it. The next day, Anmol and his mother took Lali (from South Africa - she had decided to join this trip too) and me on a sightseeing tour, telling us about the history of Kolkata, its integral role in the British Empire and its heritage of colonial buildings - all fascinating stuff.

Our lead teacher in Kolkata is Anjana, who is also Vice Principal of Delhi Public School (DPS). DPS is a relatively new, very big school on the outskirts of the city. My experience this week, unusually, was only with private schools. Compulsory education in India ends at age 14 and Shakespeare is generally studied post-14. There are state Secondary schools but Anjana estimated that 25-30% schools are private and families will send their children to those schools if they possibly can. Economic disparity is a way of life here. To Lali and I, there was glaring, often uncomfortable segregation between rich and poor, but our hosts took it as part of the rich tapestry of Indian life, and showed kindness where they could.

Anjana is not only an accomplished professional woman but also a very natural mother. She cares deeply about her students' personal as well as academic progress and welcomed both Lali and I into her home, and always made sure we were well fed. As a vegetarian, Indian food was something I really enjoyed.

The third addition to the Kolkata team is Dana, the theatre artist supporting the project. Anmol and Anjana had come over to the UK the September seminar; Dana unfortunately joined the project too late to come to Stratford but has proved a tremendous addition. She has helped the Arts Award students develop their performances of Macbeth and invited them to see a show created by the company she works with, Ranan, called Crossings which focuses on Lady Macbeth. At the show, the students also had a chance to talk with Felicity Kendall who was in town filming her Indian Shakespeare Quest recently shown on BBC Two.

One evening, Lali and I were the focus of an 'adda' - an informal discussion at the Ranan HQ. It was a wide-ranging conversation over two hours about Shakespeare's place in colonial history, contemporary culture and the familiar laments over a Shakespeare trapped in exam questions.

Our first school visit was to Sri Sri Academy, set up by Ravi Shankar; another relatively new school which puts a spirit of enquiry and the arts at the centre of its learning. Their dedication stone says: 'A temple of learning, dedicated to spread human values and stress free education.' Sounds good to me and it certainly had the feeling of being a very happy school.

We were treated to a welcoming ceremony including a performance of some sketches from Rabindranath Tagore, and then I led two one-hour 'Introduction to Shakespeare' sessions,  each with around 50 11 and 12 year-olds.

Their general knowledge about Shakespeare was impressive and their enthusiasm as Montagues and Capulets in Act 1 Scene 1 of Romeo and Juliet was infectious. One boy was particularly proud of knowing that Shakespeare invented words and would occasionally insist on telling us another neologism that he had remembered.

Working with large numbers was an interesting challenge. So much of RSC work is about connection. Michael Boyd has said that the ideal number of actors to work with in a rehearsal room is much the same as a classroom: too many and you weaken the opportunities and advantages of an ensemble, but maybe that's cultural, the personal space we feel we need as western Europeans.

I don't know, but my experience in Kolkata was of young people who seem more open to each other and to learning through new experiences than their Western peers, and perhaps this allows them to connect more easily even in large groups. Anjana's sister is a Primary Head in a school with 8000 pupils. She told me they do shows with 3000 children! Key roles are passed on and shared between students and every child gets their moment on the stage.

Photo by Tracy Irish © RSC

Anmol, Anjana and Dana have worked mainly with a newly established upper school extracurricular drama club called 'Masque'. The group consists of 27 students, most of whom are following the Arts Award programme while the others just love being involved with theatre.

They spoke eloquently about how the club had boosted their confidence and their ability to work with each other, and they have been busy passing on their enthusiasm by running sessions with younger students.

There is immense parental pressure on these middle-class young people not just to succeed but to be better than everyone else. They prepare for leaving exams in Grade 12, but the best colleges also demand the best marks from additional entrance exams. Anjana's daughter was in the middle of all that and working very hard.

It's a trend I have seen everywhere: few of the young people I have met around the world are considering a career in the arts - their aspirations are on high-earning careers (lawyers, doctors, accountants) and they appreciate the cultural cachet that Shakespeare gives them in supporting such aspirations. But those who have worked actively with the text, those who have explored it, played with it, owned it, also value their experiences more personally for the internal companionship it gives them and the external camaraderie they have found through it. The DPS teenagers valued this experience so much that they were all in school, in uniform, in their holiday.

Watching Anmol with his peers, his leadership skills shone through. He has passion and confidence and obviously relishes attention and responsibility, yet is also humble and keen to learn. Reading his diary of the project, he often reflects on the mutability of Shakespeare and the wonderful, unexpected interpretations his peers come up with: 'Lesson of the day: you cannot expect everyone to think like you', he wrote.

When I led a workshop on Macbeth with the Masque group, they had so many ideas that they often spoke over each other in a rush of thoughts. It was clear they relished the complexity of the text and learning through Shakespeare, as well as learning about him and his language. One student described his experience: 'In all his plays there is a hidden 'us' somewhere; I discover myself.' They were intellectually thoughtful but also had a lovely easy humour with the text and with each other

Working with the teachers, that same easy humour shone through. When teachers and students were working together, one older lady, looking so elegant in her sari, took on the role of Charles the Wrestler in As You Like It, flexing her muscles and 'throwing down' her opponent, a brawny 16 year old boy, to the great amusement of everyone! On a feedback form, a teacher wrote: 'The best thing about teaching Shakespeare is learning in the process.'

Wednesday was the big day. Along with the Masque group, we were joined for the day by 40 students from four other schools and their teachers: about 75 participants in total, working in the library, around a large central column (columns again! [see other blog posts]) In this region, most students study As You Like It in Year 9 and 10 and Macbeth in 11 & 12, so we were going to look at these texts that they either knew or would soon be studying.

It was fantastic to have Lali to work with - we got on so well and talked so much that we had already established a shorthand about what we were doing and why. It was also wonderful to have her energy and her African perspectives which gave a richer experience for the Indian students.

During the day, the students and their teachers offered many insightful comments on 'Why Shakespeare?' They clearly had a strong sense of Shakespeare as an icon of literary heritage but voraciously took on concepts of interpretation and delighted in 'how Shakespeare asks questions and allows us to find our own answers', 'he actually makes us think and gives us the chance to think for ourselves', 'he makes you think and think harder'.

But my favourite comment has to be from a Grade 9 student who told me: 'Normally I fall asleep when we study Shakespeare, but today I stayed awake - and I wanted to do more.' I'm sure she added that last bit when she realised she might not have sounded polite enough.

Our last experience with Masque was to watch their adaptations of Macbeth. Working in three groups, they had each taken a section of the play to explore through an Indian cultural context.

The first group used the rivalries of aspirational school boys to examine Macbeth's relationship with Banquo, complete with Bollywood witches; the second group set the murder of Duncan in an Indian political scenario and the third made Macbeth a (female) Indian mafia leader, haunted by Banquo via mobile phone.

Families had been cordially invited and, in true Indian tradition, were asked to discuss what they had seen following the performances. I loved this, not only a willingness but an expectation that culture should be considered and analysed. Anmol told me the students had once sat late into the night together discussing Banquo's moral fibre - why wasn't he lured by the witches into grabbing power for himself? As they said: Shakespeare 'makes you think and think harder'.

Photo by Tracy Irish © RSC

LA was my last overseas visit for the World Shakespeare Festival. Our partnership there is with a unique organisation called Inner-City Arts (ICA), housed in an amazing and beautiful complex in the midst of a very unbeautiful area of Downtown.

We were joined last September for the Shakespeare World Conference seminar by Tray, a very talented poet, actor and dancer now at college; his mentor, performer and choreographer, Marissa (both pictured right); and Jennifer, the associate director of education and my main host for the week.

For many of us, Los Angeles is synonymous with a parallel reality: a world we know intimately through TV, film and songs - and therefore don't really know at all. Well, it's the second most populous city in the US after New York, with around four million people and is routinely ranked in the top five richest and most powerful cities in the world.

After being so recently in Kolkata, it seemed empty. In Kolkata, I had got used to traffic which allows only an inch of space around each car; from my hotel in LA I looked out on eight sparse lanes of SUVs. But the similarity with Kolkata - and what shocked me - was the level of poverty.

Just a few blocks from the ostentatious wealth around my hotel is the original Skid Row. These few streets are full of society's outcasts (approaching 5000 of them apparently), sitting beside their trolleys and suitcases loaded with their meagre possessions. Many are mentally ill, some are ex-military, some apparently prefer to be 'off-grid', but it's hard to believe that many really choose to live like this.

Homelessness is just one social issue. Californians, I was told, don't vote to spend their taxes on the poor. Nevertheless, there are non-government organisations doing their best. On my first day at ICA, my lunch came from the Homegirl cafe, part of an organisation called Homeboy Industries with a range of programmes and outlets to support ex-convicts, gang members and 'at risk' young people in finding jobs. Their slogan - 'Nothing stops a bullet like a job' - is a stark reminder of the stakes around here.

Inner-City Arts is just around the corner from Skid Row and provides an oasis for the wider, disadvantaged neighbourhood. Serving over 50 local schools and working with 10,000 young people each year, they provide arts education and arts opportunities to help students become 'independent problem solvers and active learners'. Groups of elementary and middle school kids are bussed in from the surrounding areas for workshops in dance, music, drama, animation, ceramics and media arts.

I had a fantastic introduction to the work of ICA on my first night in town. 'The Heart and Soul Youth Artist Collective' has only been running for a year but their show, My LA seemed to distil everything ICA is about. The Heart and Soul Collective is for 14 to 20 year olds, giving an opportunity for young people to independently continue their relationship with ICA, develop their talents and explore personal and social issues through different art forms.

The show emphasised the complexities of city experience with a mix of people struggling to make sense of each other and create a community. In the first section, a diverse group explored their identities, using a form of verbatim theatre to tell the stories of their grandparents, parents and how they arrived in LA. It wasn't Shakespeare but it could have been.

A local teacher later described to me her love of Shakespeare because he 'provides a broad palette and the precision of the brush'. That's what this show was doing, giving a broad sense of the city through the mix of personal stories that create it. The pride of the families in the audience was palpable, both for their own children and the community they had all created, very often against the odds.

During the day, I was free to dip in and out of the various classes taking place at Inner-City Arts. It was fantastic to see children so involved in so many different art forms. I spent some time with Kristy, the drama specialist who was in the midst of a 14-week programme of work on Macbeth with her groups.

When the first group walked in I was taken aback by the homogeneity of faces, so unlike the diversity of My LA. But there's a reason areas around Downtown are called Little Tokyo, El Pueblo de Los Angeles and Chinatown - LA is home to many contained communities of the world's diasporas. These particular children were from burgeoning Koreatown.

The LA team are partnered with a school in Essex, England - St Thomas Moore - and their particular project has been a collaboration on a production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Marissa has been sending instructional videos and the plan is for the LA kids to be seen dancing on a big screen behind the stage while the St Thomas Moore students join in live, so that they are all dancing together.

Alongside the training videos there have been exchanges between the young people about their lives and environments and other contributions to the show. I heard the Essex boys were struggling with their rhythm, but I can't wait to see the show and how the collaboration all comes together.

Photo shows Tracy, Tray and Marissa in Los Angeles © RSC

One person I had to meet during my time in LA was Rafe Esquith and his Hobart Shakespeareans – an ensemble of Grade 4 and 5s. Every year they work on a different Shakespeare play, injecting a healthy dose of music and dance into each production.

Rafe is a legend among US Primary teachers, particularly for his book, Teach Like Your Hair's On Fire. This year they are working on Measure for Measure, no less. It is truly inspiring to see how these children draw such colour from Shakespeare's texts while living in such a drab environment, and no less inspiring that Rafe feels such a deep connection and responsibility to this community that he chooses to stay at this school despite many, many offers to move on.

Discipline in his classroom is tangible, but it is that artistic discipline stemming from passion for the work. 'Tell Tracy what you learn by doing Shakespeare,' Rafe said and a forest of hands went up declaiming variations on: patience, trust, to take chances, to work hard, to work together, it's okay to makes mistakes, to have fun.

The walls are festooned with pennants from universities across the country each accompanied by at least one plaque with the name of a former student. It will be no surprise that Rafe's students go on to achieve highly in comparison with their peers, and they don't ever forget him.

My high school visit was to Jefferson High where I met a drama class who showed me their festival winning all-female Julius Caesar - the murder scene. The girls explained they had gone for 'tough women' rather than trying to pretend to be men and suddenly these sweet, polite girls turned into ruthless politicians - no wonder they won!

Their teacher, the aptly-named Fabi, told me how much her students loved drama, especially Shakespeare and how important she thought it was that they owned that 'language of power;' then she told me that the drama programmes were being cut next year. That conversation encapsulated what I heard over and over again during my time in LA: that in 'The Entertainment Capital of the World'. this icon of the arts industry -  arts education programmes are drastically underfunded or being cut completely. And yet, in this temple of narcissism, it's arts programmes that can build real confidence and self esteem for so many young people living in very difficult circumstances.

Compared to the other countries I've visited, LA seems rich in Shakespeare opportunities, but clearly not as rich as it should be. As everywhere, there are pockets of brilliant passionate people changing lives, who could achieve so much more if their work was properly valued.

I talked with Megan and Joanne from East LA Classic Theatre who run an amazing programme of work for 'youth in underserved communities of color', and visited LA's very own Shakespeare Centre, complete with a huge black-box studio theatre. I was greeted by Chris Anthony, Associate Artistic Director with responsibility for the education programmes, a warm and wise woman who has developed the 'Will Power to Youth' programme. This is innovative programme recruits disadvantaged young people as actors or stage crew for a summer production, but pays them to do it as a summer job thus allowing far greater access to the project. Recently they have instigated an evening group, who are also paid for their work.

A key aspect of ICA's work is arts methodology and I was fortunate to attend the last day of a five-week Saturday course for teachers of various subjects learning to use the arts in their own subject area. The Professional Development programme at ICA is led by Jan Kirsch who combines a wonderful playfulness with calm authority and with her organisation, I led a twilight [ie: after school hours] workshop with 42 local teachers. They were such an engaged and engaging group that the problems of tiredness after the school day and the large numbers quickly disappeared - helped, no doubt, by plentiful supplies of coffee.

Their professional opinions came through loud and clear: using the right approaches, Shakespeare is empowering:
'Due to cut backs, so many 'disadvantaged' kids don't get exposure. Shakespeare's work can be a source of intellectual empowerment or insecurity or a weapon used against them.'
'They know Shakespeare is culturally significant but they are intimidated and think his works may exclude them. When they experience his work, they are thrilled to learn that it does not.'

When asked what they enjoyed about teaching Shakespeare, there was much about light-bulbs and 'a-ha' moments:
'When kids start to get it, and understand the enormity of the emotion, a light shines in their eyes.' '[Shakespeare] lifts them into a larger world that is big enough for them to fill with their emotions.'
'I think they enjoy feeling like they're 'in' on something.'

LA is so rich in terms of its cultural diversity but several people talked to me of not much 'melting' happening in the 'pot'. However the arts clearly provide opportunities to bring different communities together and it's interesting to explore how Shakespeare can provide a resource and a voice for so many.

Photo by Tracy Irish shows LA teachers in a workshop © RSC

As part of our World Shakespeare Festival journey, exploring where, how and why Shakespeare is taught around the world, The Ministry of Education in Oman invited us to deliver training with their teachers. So we devised a project with the British Council to involve a week of training in active approaches to Shakespeare, leading to a drama festival in early March 2012.

Drama is a co-curricular activity in Oman. In addition to the core curriculum subjects (which include on the arts front: music and drawing) Omani children choose from co-curricular subjects offered by their school, often sports, and arts such as drama. Those teachers delivering drama become drama specialists by default rather than training, taking it up because of their own interests and enthusiasm. So the 13 teachers we had from all four regions of the country were teachers of biology, languages etc. The other 15 participants were supervisors, responsible for drama in their region or working with the Ministry; some of these were also actors and directors. We had a few of Oman's top TV actors, including our translator, Nora, who is a celebrity in Oman!

Shakespeare is well known by Omani students in the way that Sophocles is well known to UK adults: many have heard of him, know his reputation and may even name Oedipus, but few have seen or read it. There are Arabic translations of Shakespeare, but few students have read them. However, in Oman, the arts in general are highly valued: the Minister of Education, speaking of our project, said: 'It coincides with the attention given by His Majesty Sultan Qaboos bin Said to all forms of arts being important for the development of brain, body and soul.'

On our first morning, my colleague Ginny and I arrived at the Safeer Intercontinental hotel where the training was to take place. Our space was the basement room - large but L-shaped and used mainly for weddings: all set out with round tables, heavy chairs with sickly yellow coverings and a low level stage. All things which could be moved. What could not be moved were the four wide mint-green pillars dividing the space. Because we're used to working in halls and studio spaces with wooden or carpeted floors, the polished marble floor also stared up at us yelling, 'Health and Safety? Ha!'

When our participants arrived, they were all dressed in traditional clothes: long white dishdashas and turbans for the men and black abayas for the women. They looked beautiful: men choose their turbans as western men choose ties with many colours and designs; abayas are trimmed with intricate beading and coloured details - but one side of the room was black and the other was white - and ne'er the twain would meet!

Those of you who have attended an RSC workshop will be familiar with our favourite introductions game, 'Boal handshakes', which involves players shaking hands with everyone in the group. I was concerned that this would not work in an Arabic culture and in a planning meeting the evening before we had asked our translator, Nora, but she was insistent it would be fine. It wasn't.

We soon realised that there were other agendas going on. Oman is a very young country which in the last 40 years has grown into a state keen to compete in the modern world. From the start of his reign in 1970, Sultan Qaboos has encouraged equality for women in education and work. However, progressive ideas seem often to be in conflict with deeply-held religious traditions. Although we made small steps in encouraging the genders to mix, to the last day we had a female half of the circle and a male half facing them.

And while many women were happy to work with the men, a significant minority did not feel they could, one or two even refused to talk in front of the men. We needed people to feel comfortable and felt in no position to push this agenda despite ministry encouragement. These explicit cultural differences panicked us slightly. So much of our work is about collaboration and trust - the whole being greater than the sum of the parts and all that - how were we ever going to work with a group with such deep divisions? Could we build them into that cherished RSC concept, an ensemble?

In connection to the issues around working with the opposite sex, and feeling outside their comfort zone with regard to the activities, we also had another problem: they were very easily distracted. Our Omani colleagues soon acknowledged and discussed their behaviours, but teachers across the world will no doubt recognise the issues: wanting to work with their friends; focus dissipating as soon as they left the circle (not helped by those damned pillars which were so easy to hide behind); wanting to laugh and talk to each other about what they were discovering rather than focussing on the pace and direction of the whole group; mobile phones; and our class clown, Abdullah - who of course became the sniffer dog in our Hamlet coronation scene.

By the end of day 1 we had worked through a sequence on the first scene of Romeo and Juliet which would normally take around 90 minutes and by day two we were realising that some of our tried-and-tested strategies just didn't work here, and that the pedagogical vocabulary of questioning, problem-solving, collaboration and encouragement was not such a familiar part of their armoury as for western educators.

Then there were simple language issues. 'Zip zap boing' is a very well-known game in the UK. On introducing this game to the group, Nora whispered that 'zip' is a rude word: in colloquial Arabic it is a word for the male organ usually residing behind a zip. Oops! We had to quickly rename the game on its feet.

After a long detox walk along the beautiful Quarm beach, we took stock. Despite the difficulties, we knew these were lovely, talented people interested in our work; building the trust and understanding needed was just taking a little longer and was complicated by translation issues. So we built a strong strategy: rather than sounding the retreat and starting again with a new play, we would stride onwards and go deeper into Romeo and Juliet, in search of the emotional heart.

Creating the first scene, Shabeer had described the tension as a volcano about to explode; creating tableaux of parents grieving their children, Khalid offered in a thought-tracked moment, 'If destiny were a man, I would kill him'. The Omani people have a deep vein of poetry and a strong sense of storytelling and this was where we needed to go.

Fortune favours the brave and by the end of day three, we were feeling almost buoyant. They had told the story of Romeo and Juliet beautifully, working in small groups but contributing to a whole with commitment and discipline. They had shared their different opinions about how far children should obey their parents and had actively made different choices about to whom Lady Capulet's line: 'You are too hot' could be addressed.

Comments included:
'This work moves the students from a level of thinking which is just reading to being able to analyse the script.'
'I am realising my students may have more ability and creativity than I give them credit for.'

On day four, we moved on to Hamlet and spent much of the morning building the coronation scene with each individual taking on a role as staff, guest or named character in order to create a whole; and we tried the scene with different choices. It was a triumph - now we really did have an ensemble! 'Everyone has respect for what is happening,' said Mahmoud.

By day 5, we were in a position to reflect on what and how we had learned and begin to make practical decisions for their regional festivals and for Massad to wisely comment: “The beauty of Shakespeare is that it is up to you to think and in our schools now we need to ask our students to think more.”

This week in Oman has been tough but hugely rewarding. We really have built an ensemble and have faith that our charming but also talented and committed teachers will build ensembles with their students to discover what Shakespeare can mean to them.

We relaxed on the last evening eating pizza next to the beach with Paul and Zuweina from the British Council. Paul, BC director in Oman, has been hugely supportive and his assistant director, Zuweina, has been a rock, sorting everything out, smoothing problems and stepping in as translator when it all became too much for Nora. We're hugely grateful to them, to Abdullah at the ministry, and to Nora - and to all the participants who became our friends. We were so happy with how the week had gone, we didn't even miss the alcohol in our mocktails.

Photo by Tracy Irish © RSC

In phase two of the World Shakespeare Festival project with the British Council and Ministry of Education in Oman, Tracy returns with Aileen Gonsalves, RSC Education Associate Practitioner, Artistic Director of Butterfly, and Head of the MA in Acting at Arts Educational School in London.

Phase 2 was to visit the different regions of Oman, see the student performances of Shakespeare led by the teachers who had attended the training last November and work with those students to support the development of their performance. Four of these students will be chosen to come to the UK for the Worlds Together conference in September 2012.

Aileen
It is a magical sight when you fly into Oman. The mountains and then suddenly beautiful homes nestled into clusters, lights shimmering. I really didn't know what to expect. I had lots of imagined ideas about what it might be like but nothing could have prepared me for the huge level of hospitality and welcome we would receive in the various regions and capital Muscat.

The first night Tracy and I planned for all eventualities. We knew the students had been told to prepare 20-minute pieces from the play. We knew the teachers had spent a week with RSC trainers, Ginny and Tracy, but that was it! As we enjoyed my new favourite drink, mint with lemon, we got very excited about we might discover in the next few days.

The next morning our driver Karim and Zuweina from the British Council took us to Batinah South. We were greeted by friendly faces of staff and students alike, and - as we were in every region we went to - by delicious halva and coffee!

We were very impressed by an excerpt from The Merchant of Venice. The boys were extremely committed, particularly Shylock. He was impassioned and precise and really made us feel something.

Everyone was very responsive to our workshop and quickly understood and took direction. We built up the tension around the few moments before Shylock goes to cut his pound of flesh and gets interrupted. We were delighted at such a high standard especially when it transpired they had only been working on the performance for the last five days!

As we walked along the moonlit beach that night we had the first of many discussions about how Shakespeare seems to touch young people and gives them the means of expression whether in the UK or Oman. Why was this? Was it the stories, the heightened language, the rhythm….our debate had to be cut short when we noticed the time and remembered we had a very early start the next day as we were to venture a long way to Sohar.

Three Romeo and Juliets awaited us there. The boys did the fight scene, then one girls' school did a fascinating take on the 'gallop apace' scene using two Juliets to explore the duality of her feelings about waiting for Romeo to come and then her response to him killing Tybalt. And finally another girls' school explored the father/daughter relationship when she refuses to marry the man her father has chosen.

The standard was extremely high with beautiful costumes, make-up moustaches and exquisite props. Everyone behind the scenes was working hard. The acting was expressive and the boys captured the tension in every part of their bodies, faces and voices. The girls bravely did some improvising around the idea of the split nature of Juliet by arguing their point of view with each other. This proved effective and was very moving.

Having discussed with the whole group the idea of objectives and tactics in plays, we asked them if they used in real-life any tactics to get their parents to give them money or give them a lift somewhere. As I watched our wonderful translator, Oraibe, deftly speak my question in Arabic it was wonderful to see them immediately understand and relate to the question. They offered up a few tactics - parents stop reading now - including, tears, kisses, promises to clean rooms, getting mother to win father around etc… This gave our Juliet different ways to get around her father in the scene. And relating it to their real lives made it all feel more real to them. We were treated to a wonderful lunch with our hosts and then began the long drive home.

Our third day started with a beautiful journey. The sky was blue and the mountains were breath-taking. When I nodded off in the car I kept opening my eyes to awesome views and had to scramble for my camera. We arrived in Niswa and were greeted with the customary halva and coffee. Each region had such distinctively tasting halva, but our welcome was the same, as in all the regions, kind, friendly and enthusiastic.

Today's plays were thrilling. We had two interpretations of the whole of Hamlet condensed into 30 minutes each. The boys gave a very strong version with great acting, particularly by Hamlet. The king was also very strong and seemed fearless in sharing his thoughts with the audience. The ghost scene was distinctly chilling.

The girls' version was beautifully presented with real attention to detail in the costumes and props. They found the irony in Hamlet and the quick-thinking of the characters.

With both groups, we explored truthful connection and how to respond and connect more to each other in the moment. They were extremely quick at taking notes.

The girls' Hamlet bravely explored her soliloquies, looking at the audience rather than talking to herself. We did some specific work with Claudius in hiding his true reaction more while watching the Players. If he looked suspicious the others had to stand up. He talked about how it felt as if his insides were like a volcano and he had to pretend that he was okay on the outside. He grasped this idea and ran with it.

After a wonderful buffet lunch, just as we were leaving, we then experienced some objective and tactic-playing from our hosts! Their objective was to treat us more with a trip to a strawberry farm, tea and fruit, dates, and seeing their souk and surrounding areas. They had only one tactic: keep asking so nicely we had to give in. But I must say it was worth it and the fresh strawberries were delicious.

Our final day in Muscat was wonderful the three schools between them presented, in fantastically inventive ways, King Lear. Each school took a section from each bit of the play and together they told a great story. Moving, provocative and funny again the standard was extremely impressive. The fluency of the lines, moves and truthful connection and expression was exciting and we felt we were working with the students like we would with professional actors back in Britain. Highlights were two very scary sisters from the girls' school with fans and extraordinary dresses, a very funny clown from the boys' school and an extremely moving final death procession from the girls.

We worked on true engagement, connection and knowing where we want the audience to look so we discussed not 'pulling focus'. Working scenes in front of the other schools proved very useful, as it had done all week, in getting genuine peer feedback that the students responded well to. They were all very engaged and the boys broke into an impromptu song and dance routine in the break!

The day ended with a reworking of Cordelia being reunited with a very sick Lear. After Lear clarified his objective was to get Cordelia to forgive him, they performed the scene truthfully and there wasn't a dry eye in the room by the end of it. The girls later spoke about how they had found a deeper connection to the truth of how the characters were feeling. (In the audience, we agreed.)

A fantastic end to a week where expectations were exceeded and new discoveries made, many questions left to ponder and a feeling of making new friends, learning new things and enjoying a magical country. The students and staff were inspiring in their work and welcoming in their hearts and I look forward to seeing the final productions on film and returning to Oman in the future.

Tracy

For me, it was truly a delight to meet the teachers and supervisors again in their own regions and with their students. Our week together back in November had felt quite challenging but I don't think we'd really appreciated that it was such challenging period for the teachers too, many of whom were a long way from home with people they'd never met before, being asked to do very strange things by two foreign women who couldn't speak their language.

Meeting those teachers and supervisors again, it was lovely to be greeted with such warmth and it was fantastic to hear how much they had enjoyed working on Shakespeare with their students. It seems that, like many UK teachers, what they had found most liberating were the possibilities in Shakespeare for both staging and interpretation.

That it was Fatima who had devised the concept of the two Juliets, one optimistic and one pessimistic about what was to come, was very exciting. Fatima had been one of the quietest when the group was mixed, but had come up to talk to us in the break about her understanding of our work and her ideas. It was a delight to hear over lunch how she had worked with her students, presenting the dual Juliet concept to them and then supporting them to run with it, adding their own ideas.

Once they had embraced the concept of a non-literal performance, they added the narrator, not as a voice on the sidelines as other groups did, but as an integral part of the action. She moved between the two Juliets, acting as the audience focus and cueing each Juliet into action with a 'magic touch'.To see Fatima's eyes shining as she described her students' work with such pride was wonderful.

Others told me how they had used our games and activities to understand and create the world of the play with their students, particularly the games involving eye contact. In Batina North, Khalid, always one of those most willing to share his thoughts eloquently expressed to us in English, said we had given him confidence and encouragement that he could do this work and he had passed that on to his students.

The sheer talent and commitment of the students was stunning, as Aileen says, but more so when we found out that not only do they not normally study or perform Shakespeare, but they rarely study or perform published scripts; instead drama revolves around scripts written for them by the supervisors to highlight social issues like careless driving or AIDS awareness.

That they had taken to Shakespeare so well and with such immediacy was fascinating. The commitment to clear story-telling that we had found in their teachers last November was one factor, as was their sheer courage and lack of self consciousness about expressing high emotion.

But the 'Why' was really summed up by the contingent of around 50 young people from three schools in Muscat who told us that what they most enjoyed about Shakespeare was what they also found most difficult: as ever, the language. Given the chance to play with it and perform, they relished the complexity of the text and the deep issues it communicates. When we asked, 'Would you like to do more Shakespeare?' there was a very loud chorus of 'Yes!'

Our next step is to view the films of the performances when they are ready and send our comments and praise. Fortunately we do not have to decide on the winners but four students will be chosen to come and join students from six other countries to form our International Youth Ensemble at the Worlds Together conference in September 2012.

Photo by Tracy Irish © RSC

Shakespeare's had an interesting ride through South Africa's troubled modern history. I arrived in Johannesburg with snippets of information and anecdotes in my head: the great South African actor John Kani first learning to love Shakespeare in his native Xhosa; the Robben Island Complete Works – a copy of Shakespeare texts disguised to look like a Bible, which prisoners, including Nelson Mandela, passed around and annotated; and the weight of post-colonial baggage.

For the Shakespeare: A Worldwide Classroom seminar last September, we were joined by five South Africans: Lucky and Mualusi, students from two schools in rural Limpopo; their teachers, Marvellous and Roshnee; and the artist working with them, Lali. Nobulali Dangazele is a young actor/entrepreneur who runs a company called ShakeXperience, based in Johannesburg and it was Lali and her team of 'ShakeXperts' who became my hosts and friends for this trip.

Lali, Tumy and Mathapelo met me at Jo'burg airport, bundled me into their little blue car and whisked me through town to my B&B in Melville, a pretty artistic suburb of the city. What I quickly learned to love about them was how they combined high energy and playful enthusiasm with a very organised and professional approach. On our many car trips, there was lots of joking, laughter and singing, but they had put together a varied, detailed and full schedule of schools to visit, workshops to lead and talks to give, including trips to Limpopo and Durban – I was certainly to be kept busy. But I had to laugh at an entry for my penultimate day: 'Two hour massage for Tracy' - busy but looked after!

On my first day, we visited the local offices of the Department for Education and two very helpful ladies, Jackie and Subanashi, gave me an overview of the education system. In Gauteng province, students attend either a home language school where English is spoken at home (HL) and where Shakespeare is compulsory from Grade 10, or a first additional language school (FAL) where English is taught as a second language and Shakespeare is an option. South Africa has an amazingly rich and vibrant linguistic heritage with 11 official languages, so it's no wonder that Shakespeare's verbal dexterity can have such appeal.

That afternoon we visited a 'fairly typical' school in Soweto. As an FAL school, Shakespeare is not compulsory but the Head of English is a big fan so students study Julius Caesar in Grade 10, The Merchant of Venice in Grade 11 and Romeo and Juliet in Grade 12. He delights in his students quoting Shakespeare lines to each other in the playground! The Head explained that various politicians are trying to discourage the study of Shakespeare in FAL schools, where they believe African writers should have more prominence and yet, he said, they are always quoting Shakespeare themselves.

As a 'typical' school, classroom conditions were basic: far too many desks cramped into a featureless brick room with only a chalkboard, battered textbooks and the teacher as resources. The Romeo and Juliet lesson I observed featured 40 burly teenagers with barely enough room to sit, let alone be active with the text. In Lucky's school (five hours' drive away in rural Limpopo) 60 students share the desks in each room. Apparently only around 6% of schools in the country have libraries, and access to computers is rare.

What makes Lucky's school atypical is the sheer dedication of the teachers and students to achieving the best. The students come from many miles around and find places to stay in the local hostel or with friends and family in order to be able to attend this school. They put in long hours with the school day running from 8am - 4.30pm, rather than 2pm as at other schools, and in Grades 11/12, the students come back on Saturdays and every week-day evening. Their commitment is to gaining a high school diploma and going on to university because in that way they have a chance at achieving a professional career, which will allow them to support their extended families. 100% of students pass their Grade 12 exams here compared to 30-40% at the Soweto school.

Aspirations and motivation are high, discipline is strict - but there is also a supportive and caring family atmosphere. The Head recognises the importance of arts and sports and an extracurricular programme is available and popular. To underline the sense of fun alongside the academic rigour, the extracurricular programme includes The Willy Shakers – a club set up by the truly joyful Mr Marvellous and Lucky after returning from the seminar last September. Students here do not 'study' Shakespeare but they do enjoy performing and they showed us what they had been working on, transposing Macbeth and Romeo and Juliet to their own cultural contexts.

Later I led a workshop with the Arts Award group on A Midsummer Night's Dream. We were in an airless, hot, dusty space, working in their second, or for most probably their third language; and having observed their normal lesson set up, I wondered how forthcoming they would be with open individual responses. But these were bright kids with personalities that shone through. They had a very clear understanding and perceptive insights on Hermia and Lysander's dilemma and responded strongly to the physical effects of the language.'Shakespeare is African,' Lucky told me. 'It's like he lived here, so much is relevant to our lives.'

Watching ShakeXperience in action at a Home Language High School in Johannesburg and then leading a short workshop on Othello, I got more sense of South African students' personal engagement with the text; interaction and voicing their feelings is something these students seem very comfortable with.

One of my biggest disappointments on the trip was seeing a schools' production of Othello by Think Theatre. Don't get me wrong: the performance itself was brilliant, one of the best productions of Othello I have seen anywhere, but sitting in the audience were just Lali and me! The Playhouse Theatre in Durban should have been full of young people, many of whom would have travelled 3-4 hours to be there, but a national strike had been called and the schools had to cancel for fear their buses would get caught up in the marches.

The actors told me anecdotes and Margie and Clare, producer and director, showed me film of the exuberant reactions of past audiences, most of whom would never have been to a theatre before. The mass of students will cheer, tut, shake their heads and audibly sigh in response to what they witness and the actors clearly thrive on these visceral responses to their work.

Othello is the set text for Home Langauge Grade 12 students; interestingly Romeo and Juliet is the set text for FAL schools because it's considered 'easier'.

Mualusi's school (a couple of hours' drive away from Lucky's) is a small private school studying international exams. This school has a strong focus on fundraising to provide scholarships, so that talented (usually black) students from difficult and deprived family backgrounds are offered the same educational opportunities as local middle class (usually white) students. The school also runs an outreach programme of weekend and holiday sessions for local state schools.

Of course there is no hiding from race issues here; although the country has come a very long way since the days of apartheid, attitudes and assumptions still create barriers, and educational opportunities are uneven to say the least. The disparity was graphically illustrated on my last day when walking around the departure lounge, I suddenly noticed what I had not noticed on arrival, that black faces are rare among those who can afford to fly.

Of course, the potential of South Africa lies in the strength of sharing: taking the best from African and European heritage. Each school I visited proudly displayed their school mission, involving those universal aims of education: to achieve academic excellence, kind and caring citizens, respect for each other and the environment, etc. But much of this was encapsulated in a Zulu word, 'ubuntu'. This word was translated for me as 'I exist, because you exist, so we must exist together'. With all his neologising, I think Shakespeare missed a trick there.

Travelling around and talking with South Africans made me think a lot about my central question, 'Why Shakespeare?' After all, studying, reading, performing Shakespeare is far removed from the essentials of survival and struggle that form the reality of life in townships.

Life in this country for the majority is seriously tough. Lucky and Mualusi know very well how fortunate they are to have the opportunities their different - but both excellent - schools are giving them. Shakespeare isn't life or death - but perhaps can help us cope with life and death.

Funding for the arts comes a long way down most lists in a country where health issues (particularly AIDS) understandably come first, but organisations like ShakeXperince are clearly needed to help young people process their emotions and experiences and express their ideas and feelings. During my talk at De Wits University, several people expressed a concept of hope and aspiration that Shakespeare brings to difficult lives: 'something uplifting that connects us to global culture'.

At the end of the week, we visited the Hector Pietersen museum in Soweto - in memory of the boy shot by police in 1976 for being part of a protest against the enforced learning of Afrikaans. The museum tells a sobering tale of the extent of fear and ignorance that existed just 36 years ago. Soweto is a much happier place today, but we all know that fear and ignorance live on. I made a note of one quote by Mafika Gwala from the museum that seemed particularly poignant. It was a section looking at the importance of the arts to the black consciousness movement:

'When you face a truth and there is challenging need to express it, you can most emphatically capture it through poetry because there is no way you can twist it about in a poem. You have to bring out the truth as it is or people will see through your lies.'

It's reunion time as the teachers, students and artists Tracy has been working with over the past year arrive in London for the Worlds Together conference from 6 - 8 September 2012, the culminating event of our World Shakespeare Festival education project, Shakespeare: A Worldwide Classroom (SWC).

Next to a coffee shop at Heathrow Terminal 1, I was just settling down to eat my breakfast muffin when I saw the unmistakable profile of Mr Marvellous, English teacher from South Africa. I leapt up and ran over to hug him - and then Lali, Tumy and Puseto, artists from Johannesburg, followed by a very weary looking Lucky, Marvellous' star student, dragging a suitcase she could easily have slept in.

It was wonderful to see them again and I was delighted they hadn't suffered all the delays at passport control we'd been warned about. More hugging came as we were soon joined by Marissa and Tray, teacher and student from Los Angeles.

Meanwhile, my colleagues, Lizzie and Rob were busy meeting the students and teachers from Kolkata, Hong Kong and Oman in another terminal, while Jenny was meeting the Czech team who'd flown into Stansted.

By early evening we'd gathered everyone together, along with the UK teachers and students, in one of the little kitchens at our student accommodation in Goldsmiths College.

It was great to see the excitement of friendships rekindled and the new faces from the Czech Republic and Oman being welcomed into the warmth of team SWC.

Over the next three days, the teachers and artists attended Worlds Together, our international education conference with Tate at Tate Modern; and presented at the Shakespeare Symposium about their work over the past year of the project.

The students meanwhile spent two days as an International Youth Ensemble working with professional director, Aileen, and movement director, Lucy, to create a King Lear to perform on the last morning of the conference.

Worlds Together was about exploring the value of arts education for young people across the world. For our Shakespeare strand, it was the culmination of nearly two years of investigating where, how and why the world teaches Shakespeare, which had led to my travels to seven countries.

Many of the friends I had made along the way were able to come to the conference and they, along with other delegates, commented on how inspirational and valuable it was to meet and talk with Shakespeare artists and educators from different countries and cultures, all with the same passion.

The questions for the conference echoed the questions I'd been exploring throughout my visits:
What is the value of Shakespeare for young people today, particularly the value of his language?
What do other nations find in Shakespeare's words and narratives that find parallels in their own language and culture?
And what can we learn about each other through exploring those parallels?

On the first day, delegates explored the language in workshops led by Voice and Movement specialists from the RSC and NT, followed by a panel discussion with our very own doyenne of Shakespeare's words, Cicely Berry, along with Mark Ravenhill, Peggy O'Brien and Aimara Resende.

On the second day, there was a menu of workshops with leading artists and practitioners and in the afternoon came the Shakespeare Symposium where 38 artists and educators from around the world gave 20 minute presentations in a 'marketplace' environment which allowed everyone to share and discuss what they heard.

It was amazing to hear snippets of conversations about Shakespeare in the Australian outback and rural Brazil alongside Shakespeare in Tokyo, Ohio, Malta and Spain, and tales of Shakespeare engaging so many young people from different cultural backgrounds and at all levels of ability.

The third day began with the second panel discussion, kick-started through an energy burst from our International Youth Ensemble. After just two days, through a remarkable combination of commitment, motivation, enjoyment and sheer hard work, our 19 students from seven countries with at least ten languages between them had 150 conference delegates on their feet in a standing ovation to an extraordinary and moving 15 minute version of King Lear, highlighting exactly why Shakespeare matters.

The three days of the conference had raced by and suddenly here was our final keynote speaker, Michael Morpurgo, telling us the story of the Unicorn Lady as a beautiful concluding metaphor of why art does matter in the lives of all of us, young and old.

More on Worlds Together »

I am tired already. We have been ploughing through scenes in rehearsals and it is really coming together. I feel like I'm beginning to get a grasp on the character but I am very aware I'm still quite a long way off. My process has been helped thoroughly though by the quality of the cast members. Tabitha Becker-Kahn (Beatrice) is making our job of exploring the text and relationship less stressful as she is bringing a lot to the table. Helen, the director, is bringing it to life with a great modern twist.

I do, however, fear that I will crack up hugely through a majority of the scenes. Largely due to the comic genius that is Graham Dron and Peter Steele. Their joint creation of Dogberry and Verges with Helen, is something to behold - boys with their toys.

There are some real moments in the show that I want to explore deeply. The scene where Benedick challenges Claudio is difficult. It is such a huge difference from what we have seen of Benedick so far in the play. It shows real struggle within himself, passion that we never knew he had and a real sense that he is a moralistic man (to a certain degree). Obviously we can make assumptions before rehearsing that he has these qualities as he is a soldier, however he has only really shown disdain and cockiness up until then. I really want to nail that scene, despite only being less than a minute long.

Training is going well... I lie. I have started exercising with the guy playing Claudio - Joe Sargent. It is just finding the impetus to keep it up and not accept that I'm too tired or essentially too lazy.

The costume will be arriving in the next few days which I am really excited about. It will give the guys that extra little something to help develop their characters.

That's all for now folks. Until next time... Good night and good luck.

So we had our first meeting as an entire cast.  It was really great to see everyone together and get a feel for how we were going to work as an ensemble.  We received the cuts for the script and had a few beers just to break the ice.  I hadn't really realised how many individual speeches Benedick had, which proved quite daunting as my highlighter started running out.

Quite oddly, I could begin to see the characters from the script emanating from the actors playing them.  Great casting.

One of my worries about playing Benedick is getting stuck in a rut and becoming very predictable with delivery and mannerisms.  I think that once we get fully into rehearsals and exploring the army lifestyle then things will become clearer.  I went for a run the other so it is only a matter of time I'll have washboard abs and biceps the size of my head.  Very doubtful indeed.

Reading the script again, you tend to see completely different sides to Benedick that are so often missed.  It is obvious that Benedick and Beatrice have had a history, shown when she is speaking to Don Pedro in Act 2 Scene 1.  What happened?  Why did it not work?  These are the questions that I would like to find an answer to.  It may be that he is genuinely just a bad person, proving that he goes on a huge journey throughout the show.  Or was he just scared? Thus changing his journey quite substantially.

However, I may leave it a couple of days before I look at it again.  My head hurts. 

When the director, Helen Crosse, cast me as the role of Benedick, I wasn't quite sure how to react or what to say.  A sense of real excitement came over me as it is a role that I believe to be one of the more difficult male roles Shakespeare wrote.  It might be easy to say that he is a huge misogynist and just a typical soldier.  However, I think it is clear to see that there is a huge sensitivity, awkwardness and self-conscious manner about him. Reading the play has been a tough task at times as it is easy to just get carried away with the comedy and love the play for that reason, but there is a lot of pain and anger portrayed by all the characters.  I admit that at times it can be just pun after pun after pun, which, don't get me wrong, I enjoy!  But I know that Shooting Stars Theatre Company like to explore all dimensions of text and this play definitely has that.

Benedick has so many relationships that need figuring out and exploring.  Obviously with Beatrice, Claudio, Don Pedro and Leonato but there are some that are lost - namely with Margaret.  I'm excited about getting started on all of them - probably over a beer or two!

Another thing playing on my mind is that these men are soldiers.  They need routine, strength and fitness – one thing that is definitely missing from my life (sigh).  And so the work begins and in the words of Benedick – 'I am engaged'.

Hi, I'm Lily Watson and I'm a third year BA Acting student at The University of Northampton's School of The Arts. For the first blog I thought I'd give some general information about the piece we're doing and some of our ideas behind why we chose it. After reading Cymbeline we decided straight away that it was the one for us, it has everything – comedy, tragedy, romance and of course mistaken identity, which means we have a lot to work with. We found a lot within the play that we felt was extremely relevant to modern life, which is something that we're very interested in as a company. So with this in mind we're bringing the piece up to date, the essential story is both modern and interesting so we believe we can make a very exciting show – especially with such a small company.

I am going to be playing Imogen, Philario and Cornelius – so I have a challenge as do the rest of the company! We're very excited about the idea of multi-roling as it allows us to be really creative with each different character that we play. Last week we spent some time sourcing and buying as many costumes and props as we could carry. Just some of the items we came away with include; a golf club, a tie dye shirt, sun visors, a fake tattoo sleeve and an Italian flag! I'm really excited to start rehearsing and playing with the costumes and props that we now have because they really add something new and visually interesting to the play.

Rather controversially, The Shakespeare Young Company (SYC) have decided that instead of performing The Bard's work for this season's Dell, we will look at the writing of another great storyteller; Chaucer. The thinking behind this is that we couldn't think of a better way to embrace Shakespeare's work than by exploring the tales that he himself was inspired by. We also see massive potential in fitting the famous Canterbury Tales into an outdoor setting.

Our initial rehearsal explored the idea of vocal storytelling by making up tales off the top of our head. Naturally we covered topics such as Meerkats, Warwick Davis, comas, Icarus, bears Vs lions and whipped cream, but the idea was that the essential elements were there; love, conflict, excitement, and drama. Just like in Chaucer's, and indeed Shakespeare's, work.

From there we started looking at a variation of Tales. To date, we have looked at The Nun's Priest's Tale, a story about cocks, hens, foxes and farmers' wives which was put to a group of teenagers and then immediately decided it simply must be performed as a Carry On parody. Almost too easy.

The Pardoner's Tale and The Franklyn's tale are other snippets we have looked at and are currently working on different styles and techniques to bring these fantastic stories to life on stage, We want our final product to be a vibrant mix of music, choreography and modern improvisation merged with Chaucer's language. As you can see from the pictures; we're having fun making it so can only hope it's fun to watch!

The tech and preview period has been so hectic that there hasn't been time to draw breath, let alone type!

We have now opened (press night tomorrow!) but it was quite a journey. It would have helped if I hadn't decided to redecorate the foyer of The Courtyard Theatre as well as dress the entire auditorium in cables, but I think it has worked.

At one point Kim (Assistant Director), Nina and Holly (the two RSC Assistant Designers) and I were all slapping on the burnt orange, purples and reds that now make up my abstract vision of Delhi, before the RSC painters had time to finish the job.

Nina did a great job adding in sacks, crates and awnings, and a hanging bicycle sculpture. It now has the feel of a pop-up café with a soundscape of Delhi car horns and café music.

The theatre space itself seems to be serving the play as I had hoped; there is a strong sense of the household and everyday activities going on. The actors really feel like they are wearing clothes not costumes, thanks to Himani's strong eye and detail of characterisation.

There was much drama getting the authentic Indian camouflage uniforms made and sent over from India in time, with the plane grounded in a monsoon, but the soldiers do look great and it is quite a shock when they march into the more domestic atmosphere of the Haveli in the Courtyard.

Everybody has loved the tree whose canopy hangs over the whole auditorium, and several actors encouraged me to add details like a tangled kite to the web of cables and string that link it to the theatre's technical levels.

Next we have to work out how to move it into London and make the transition from a thrust to proscenium stage, without losing the intimacy of the current staging.

Everything suddenly going very fast with time racing away... here we are well into the second week of rehearsals, and 30 or so opinions are being brought to bear on the world I am trying to create as the cast and rest of the creative team start to focus on the play in earnest.

Sabine (Costume Supervisor) is back from Delhi, having run the gauntlet of Customs with nine suitcases-worth of purchases, these range from the beauty of ornate wedding outfits to the grimy India-specific knock-off T-shirts and sunglasses available on market stalls.

We spent a couple of days unloading and grouping according to possible characters, to wait for Himani's visit at the end of the week when we will be able to discuss with the actors how they see their characters.

The big challenge is to keep hold of the overall storytelling visual framework and the progression of colours through the show we have planned, while being open enough to allow in the ideas and freshness that comes from the actors' own discoveries.

One of the biggest challenges is trying to work out where our musicians will go; it is RSC policy to have live music and, where possible, to see the players.

Originally I thought they might go in a gallery on the roof of my Haveli, but this idea got cut to save costs. Then I had hoped that I could put them in a niche at ground level to one side of the stage, but Andy the sound designer is nervous that the sound will get un balanced, with the portion of the audience nearest to the musicians getting deafened!

They have now moved into a part of the house and we will take off the doors (not built yet anyway!) and maybe make a new window so they can be seen more easily.

The cast have been improvising around weddings and sharing stories of their own experiences of Indian festivities. Details such as how the Mandap (wedding stage) are set out are especially useful for me, but more inspiring were the general levels of excitement and joyful chaos. Let's hope they can bring all that to bear on the play itself!

Been out at our workshops looking at samples of floors and experimenting with water in a 'Boys Own' kind of way.

I am hoping to create a magical water moment towards the end of the play. We have to get the angle of the floor just right so that nobody notices there is a rake on the stage and the channels in the floor should feel like worn grooves rather than crying out, 'look at me something will happen here!'.

It seemed to work, and apparently the hose-pipe ban has been lifted in Warwickshire so we could experiment legally!

Nina, one of our Design Assistants, has created a mood-board out of all the reference photos from my trip and books I found there, so now we are starting to decide on details; what the windows will be like, how deep the door reveals etc.

All the time I am trying to balance authenticity with the level of decoration that many of the references have, but which could seem a bit overdone if reproduced in the theatre.

The environment has to support the actors and not overwhelm the eye. So although I am hoping the foyer will be a riot of colour, the playing space itself needs to be calmer to allow the colour in the clothes to stand out.

I have just been standing in the Courtyard Theatre for an afternoon, explaining the principles of our plans to hopefully reuse the structure to house not just a studio theatre, but also a costume store and new rehearsal rooms; I was struck by the great affection that many of the RSC audience have for the building both inside and out.

There is much to discuss and many possibilities of how the use will work out, but I hope somehow we manage to capture the atmosphere and retain those ghosts of the theatre, just as we did in the new RST.

Exciting that I will be able to have one last big installation in the space that doesn't have to change around for rep, which as a designer gives a much greater chance of really being able to embed the design in the building and blur the boundaries between audience and stage.

We have had Himani, the costume designer we met in Delhi, over for a week of meetings and costume research in reverse.

It was rather bizarre to take her into the Indian shops in Whitechapel and have her take photos while I was being the guide, and I saw the richness of the RSC's resources in a new light when we toured all the craft departments in Stratford.

Whitechapel was too down-market for our world, except perhaps the cook and servants who would be more traditionally and cheaply dressed, and in the end Himani and Sabine (our costume supervisor) went to the more boutique-style shops around Wembley.

Most things were about four times as expensive as India, so it might be that we buy a lot of the base fabrics over there and get them made up in Stratford.

The best thing was sitting sharing references and discussing characters, it really feels like we are sharing the vision and agreeing how the colour scheme of the show might work. How it will develop from a naturalistic world in the first half to something more mythic in the second, with the wedding, funeral and revelation of the brides, which should complement the way the set opens up for Act 5.

We also had a chance to discuss the whole approach with Meera, who invited me over to see what she feels works in her wardrobe! We ended with a coals-to-Newcastle trip around the fabric shops on Berwick Street, full of Indian silks at vast expense – we took samples just in case, more to have an idea of our colour palette than for actual outfits.

I have to show the model to all the workshop staff on Friday, although it is still rather rough, but I know I will be able to work on the details and finishes with everybody. Might just be able to afford it.

Have to get something ready for next Tuesday when Pete Griffin (Production Manager) and Alan Bartlett (Head of Construction and Technical Design) are coming to look at the model.

Suddenly ideas will become concrete, questions get asked – what is this made of, what does it do?

Alan is great at problem solving and I often find that having your ideas tested in this way brings out what is really going on behind it all, you are forced to think and explain.

Iqbal was here this morning for our first chat around a model. It's always rather a weird moment when you first show ideas to a director. They all react differently – some sit and stare for hours and think, others plough straight in pulling bits about.

I have started trying to take the sting out of this moment by sending early pics of the rough model in advance of the meeting, although that has its own dangers as the photos can be somewhat misleading. Back-lit shots with a single angle-poise always look good!

In the end it was an easy flowing meeting, especially once we established a final look of the tomb and beyond – a good epic feel. So far the India-ness feels ok and the more I can get trees to grow through walls, and blend the walls with the theatre, the better. Rather complicated ideas about water and rain, so let's see what Alan has to say to that.

At the moment it is dominated by a tree made from sticks gathered from the garden and all wired together. I rather like its handmade feel, and the sense of something really natural held together with man made wire and string. I have to think if, in the theatre, we still want this sense of a handmade tree, or is it a 'real' tree which fuses with wires and cables as the branches spread out over the auditorium?

RSC Producer Kevin Fitzmaurice offers his perspective on the recent research trip to India for Much Ado About Nothing...

I'm working on Much Ado About Nothing as part of the RSC's contribution to the World Shakespeare Festival. We've got a strong line up to get started: Meera Syal is playing Beatrice, Iqbal Khan is directing and Tom Piper has agreed to design the set.

The production is going to be set in contemporary India, and more specifically, the Punjab and/or Delhi. We want to make sure we do the ground work so that we can be as true to the real India as possible. We need to understand it, to get a real sense of how the country is developing so rapidly today, and the only way to do that is to undergo a research trip.

With a collision of schedules and other practical limitations (like money and Christmas) we have to crash into Delhi, find out as much as we possibly can in just five days, and get then return to the UK. Tom and I will fly out on 15th December and Iqbal will follow a day later, just as soon as he's opened his latest show in London. We can only do this trip once, so we need to hit the ground running.

Preliminary phone calls to friends and colleagues help us to find a tour guide and logistical support. Oliver Saurabh Sinclair comes highly recommended as an excellent guide and facilitator. He has experience of working alongside British film crews on nature documentaries in the jungles, pan-Indian road trips with writers and political journalists across the city of Delhi. He's recently finished a road trip with Hardeep Singh Kohli, who sings his praises and makes the introduction...

Thursday/Friday December 15/16 2011
After a month of planning Tom and I land in Delhi in the middle of the night. It's a relief to find that our driver is at the terminal and that the Hotel is expecting us. Step One completed!

On our first day, Oliver takes us on an accelerated introduction of Lutyens Delhi. We see so many major sites, like India Gate, Rashtrapati Bhavan and the surrounding government buildings. It's organised and structured city planning on a scale I've never seen. It's also a gentle yet deceptive introduction to how the city works. After checking in with the British Council, we also visit the magnificent Imperial Hotel for some colonial excess, and one of the highlights of our day is a visit to an amazing 18th Century observatory called Jantar Mantar.

Our last visit of the day is as night falls in to our first street market and a beautiful and serene Tibetan monastery retreat Majnu Ka Tila.

As we wind down we feel we've found out an enormous amount about the city and the people in just 10 hours, and we've begun to strike a rapport with Oliver. Now I think we are all looking forward to the arrival of Iqbal to help begin to focus down into the areas that will help with the show...

Saturday December 17
We welcome Iqbal at breakfast, and spend an hour with Oliver discussing the vision for the show. Iqbal and Tom begin to sketch wealthy middle class families, enclosed communities, military context and over everything the contrast in northern India between the romanticised old world and the new we can are beginning to clearly see.

Oliver kicks off by taking us to Old Delhi. We walk through Chandni Chowk, talk with elders at Sunehri Masjid, absorb the amazing spice market, take rickshaw rides through narrow lanes and before we know it, it's mid-afternoon and we are sampling the best vegetable samosas I've ever tasted in my life and it's mid-afternoon.

Iqbal and Oliver are getting into their stride, and another conversation leads Oliver to take us to one of his his cousins who specialises in wedding make-up. The salon is in Lajpat Nagar, this is a newer neighbourhood with more money. In it, Iqbal feels something of the flavour of the world he's interested in, and Tom sticks around to film the preparations, while Iqbal and I return to the hotel to meet a renowned actor/director for possible involvement in the show.

When Tom returns to the hotel, he comes with an invite to the wedding party, that evening, in a swanky Country Club outside of town. In the evening we trek out there, chatting on the way with our dedicated driver Ram, who tells us all about his arranged marriage when he was 16 to his 14 year old bride. Seventeen years later he's got three kids and is very pleased with his parents' selection for him.

Sunday December 18
With no meetings today we concentrate of covering three more elements of the city. We start in Nizamuddin and visit Amir Khusrau's intimate tombs from the 14th century. They are still very much alive as shrines for the Sufi faithful. They are also magnets for tourists and therefore for beggars and the desperately poor who follow us down alleys asking for change. It's troubling. We are advised not to give money, which makes sense, but you know that a couple of pennies to you will be a meal for the beggar.

We head on to Humayun's Tomb. It's a world heritage site with manicured lawns, built on an epic scale in 16th century, for the Mughal Emperor, and a model for the Taj Mahal. It's beautiful and impressive, but not helpful for the show.

We need an hour of conversation in the garden with Iqbal working through the plays scenarios brings the day into focus. Where would the army live, how would they connect to the community that welcomes them? Such questions elicit a wealth of useful and fascinating responses from Oliver, and we're back on track.

As dusk falls, we are on our way to the massive satellite city of Gurgaon. A soulless metropolis set of miles of wasteland, it's like an SF vision of the future where no-one with any money sets foot outside, and all of the underclasses trample the dusty margins eating street food and sleeping in temporary shelters. A simplistic European view, but we all feel it and our hearts sink.

I ask Ram what he thinks. Is this his dream or would he rather live in Delhi? For him this is an aspiration. This is what working hard can buy you. Entertainment comes through the Las Vegas-like Kingdom of Dreams, an aircraft hanger scale, fibreglass and plastic warehouse of contemporary gift shops, fast-food booths and a couple of theatres, one featuring a Bollywood musical Zangoora. We have tickets, and escape for a couple of hours. The dancing is amazing, the spectacle spectacular, and the whole thing is globally generic and empty in every way.

Monday 19
We have one of the key meetings of the trip in the morning with Sanjana Kapur. Sanjana is Director of Prithvi Theatre and everyone tells us she is one of the best connected figures in Indian Theatre. We want to pick her brain for casting ideas, and get her view on what it is we are attempting with the show. She is charming and attentive, seems to support the ideas that underpin the projects, and comes up with several helpful ideas. She also tells us how much the RSC's work is missed in India and how she hopes that we'll be back with a show sometime soon.

We head out to more derelict archaeological sites, visit some interesting neighbourhoods and are meet a musician and have lunch with a costume designer that Oliver has somehow connected into while we've been with him.

More meetings are lined up for our final day, and names continue to trickle in of strong stage actors who might be right for us.

Tuesday 20th December:

Our final full day in Delhi starts with a visit and tour of the National School of Drama. We have a summary of its history, and get to take part in a workshop rehearsal with a dynamic young Cape Town director, ending our visit singing a township song in Xhosa with a company of Indian actors. A special moment.

Then we visit the Baha'i House of Worship. It's a monumental 80's building reminiscent of Sydney opera House, but shaped like a lotus flower. All religions are welcome to pray and meditate. It's somehow symbolic of the way many faiths appear to inter-relate in Delhi. It's a tricky and sensitive area, but we've visited houses of worship for several faiths during our visit and have felt welcomed in them all.

Back at the National School of Drama we meet the Director, Anuradha Kapur, and once more explain the project and our hope of securing a creative contributor to the show and a leading actor to play opposite Meera. Again we are met with thoughtfulness and engagement. Our list of strong actors is focussing in on a handful of names – many already familiar to Iqbal. Anuradha also expresses a desire in India for RSC work and we have an interesting conversation about how there might be some grassroots way to engage. I hope we can make something practical of it when we return to Stratford.

We are all feeling pretty exhausted but there is more to come with a wonderful meeting with a magnificent Punjabi businessman who shares his stories and opinion with complete authority and a booming voice. Then finally we take a trip to an artists' retreat in a gated suburb to watch a rare screening of 'Train to Pakistan' and eat another delicious vegetarian Indian meal with apparently wealthy Delhi-ites - it sort of feels like being in an exotic Notting Hill.

Back at the hotel we collect thoughts and review the trip. It's been everything I'd hoped it would be. Tom and Iqbal are full of thoughts and ideas. Preconceptions have been demolished and a real sense of the world they want to use as the background for the play is beginning to take shape. But both are determined to ultimately focus on the play. They've got a wonderful beginning to creating their settings, but in the end Shakespeare creates the world they will work within. It's a healthy and encouraging view. I can't wait for the next stages...

If in doubt, back to the text. Have had another trip to Stratford to check seating layouts and discuss how we can get the Indian costume designer over to work on the project.

Courtyard seems suddenly very large, especially if we want to fill the foyer as well. Perhaps a mad festoon of cable and random lights within it in the lobby and the outer ring, between the seating structure and the ply walls?

Going to meet Iqbal tonight for our first post-India discussion. Pete (production manager) reminds me that the initial deadline is mid Feb – gulp!

Hopefully the design assistants in Stratford, Emma and Georgia, have dug out an old model box so I can start the messing about process. So now sitting reading the play again doing a rough 'what happens when' kind of plot. You are supposed to do a storyboard (little sketches of each moment) but I can never quite work out how to do those as I start having ideas or to be honest get bored. It's a great way to kill off a text.

The great thing about Shakespeare is you know it can always work on the basic Elizabethan stage format so in the back of my mind there are always two side doors, a central door/alcove, balcony, trap and the heavens.

The main problem of how to cope with the beauty and decay of India without it becoming a film set is still there, while knowing that the play responds well to specificity of detail. Already by Act 2 we have had several reported over-hearings and confusions with Claudio, Don Pedro and Hero. Orchards, willow groves, un-perfumed rooms, a sense of a courtyard or outer receiving area and banquets and rooms within. Seems to fit.

Good meeting with Iqbal. Neither of us has had a big revelation, which is just as well really. I never really like working to realise a concept that has been decided in advance, although I suppose the very idea of the Indian production is concept enough!

We began to look at specific moments e.g. the masked dance. Iqbal described some Rajasthan folk dance where the men dress as women with elaborate painted faces, which we could change to masks. I like the idea of the machismo soldiers letting their hair down by cross-dressing, also if the women then dress as soldiers that could be fairly empowering.

The Lord of Misrule is never far from these Shakespearian mask moments when social norms are turned on their head. Once that idea has been introduced then perhaps Benedict has to resort to improvising a sari and pretending to be an old cleaner in the eavesdropping moments.

I don't really want to provide the comedy hiding places in the set. It feels like they should spring out of desperate improvisation and are actor centred/created ideas, rather than pre-planned 'ok go and hide in that tree'.

We did talk about trees though, there were several great references in Delhi where trees and buildings seemed to be growing in and out of each other. Can we go on a journey from the naturalistic, chaotic haveli architecture to something distilled and abstracted by the time we get to Hero's tomb? Can we stage a ritual cremation? Might be a slightly bigger fire than the barbeque in As You Like It!

On way back now and trying to take stock of it all after two more days of sensual bombardment. I hope what made this more than just cultural tourism was the huge range of people we meet from all strata of society.

Our guide Oliver had been recommended to us by Hardeep Singh-Kohli, with whom he had worked on a cross India culinary odyssey, published as a book that Oliver had taken the photos for. He was definitely the modern Indian, one parent English, one Indian, at ease in both worlds having worked in London for the photographer Avedon, taken the BBC everywhere in India and had a huge array of contacts and a wonderful sense of humour.

Once we had got it clear that we weren't looking for a precise location for the play, rather more an impression of as many aspects of the city as possible, he excelled in getting us into fascinating conversations. A wedding planner with her tales of £60m weddings with gifts of helicopters, a documentary filmmaker turned commodities dealer, a patriarchal Punjabi business man responsible for much of modern Delhi, yet working out of an old office piled high with art books and talking of the nature reserve he owned. His deep voice enthralled with wicked yet generous tales , we escaped after the first whisky otherwise I think we would have been doomed!

At the other end of the social spectrum our driver Ram, a most gentle and sympathetic man, gave us an insight into his village origins (3,200 at his wedding aged 16!) and the hard struggle that an ordinary man faces to support his family. His best joke - 'You need three things to drive in Delhi; good horn, good brakes and… good luck!'

In the theatre world we met actors, designers, a musician, the head of the National Drama School and the most influential theatre company in Delhi in a search for names for actors and a costume designer.

One concrete proposal that came up, I hope, is to try and arrange a design internship for somebody from the drama school to come over during our tec. A possible costume designer was very perceptive in her analysis of how the India perceived by the expats (NRIs) in England is now out of date, if we source the show from Southall it would be wrong.

There was a definite hunger for the RSC to come back to India in the most straightforward way, just bring us your best work, it doesn't have to have an Indian hook. This sparked a strong debate about the 'Indian' Dream that was in the last major RSC festival in 07.

I think we have a chance to treat India seriously in our production for the World Shakespeare Festival and hope to tread the line on cultural imperialism and avoid a postcard production. Not that easy in practice, as by its very nature theatre is a selection, an editing of reality, so how can we prevent that selection seeming decorative?

Spaces, the sense of spaces, seems the strongest, crowded and confused contrasted with stillness and calm. The courtyard can be our Haveli, the audience the throng.

Weird day of competing impressions: beginning in crowded active muslim tombs, throwing petals on the grave with more people than seems possible to fit into a 12' x 8' space and still have room for the shrine, then a beautiful but slightly uninvolving tourist experience at the carefully restored Tomb of Humayaun (does what is says on the tin).

We then asked to see how Dehli is now and so ended up in a new vast out of town city development of gated complexes tower blocks, multinational offices, some half built all looking forbidding, characterless and a depressing vision of the future.

Or is that just us imposing a nostalgia on the squalor as one might do for the old Gorbals, now that the 70s high rises have proved such a disaster. Who are we to say that a comfortable, yet neutral space isn't what people should be allowed to aspire too? Yet all around the cars, the street sellers, small roadside stalls all pile in, pushing at all the boundaries. You can change the architecture but it doesn't feel like the people's way of living will really change, each area of Delhi has the potential to end up as chaotic and cluttered as old Delhi.

The strange thing compared to western cities is that no space is un-used or ever really derelict; the old city seems thriving with its spice, clothes and hardware districts, it doesn't feel as if they are likely to be abandoned soon for out of town malls, rather the next use will be pasted onto the previous.

We ended with a Bollywood musical show at the Theatre of Dreams, a Vegas style complex plonked in the middle of this strange development, with giant fibreglass elephants and most of Delhi's electricity diverted to feed its light bulbs.

Very un-RSC but interesting to think of what people's perceptions of our show will be, Bollywood, Goodness Gracious Me will all be there. Perhaps we should fly Beatrice and Benedict at the end in a cloud of dry ice and burst into a full-on dance number? Might sell tickets !

Delhi hardcore! Into the old town and the most extraordinary bombardment of the senses.

The wholesale spice market is in what used to be the courtyard of a Haveli, a complex of apartments built around an open square, except now the square is barely visible, in-filled with a cluster of buildings, the original lower façade buried under random extensions, awning and signs porters with vast sacks bustling past.

Sacks of spices an almost choking smell of spices, there is almost a strange bubble that you feel around you as life weaves around barely touching, but completely engulfing.

Everything that evokes this experience of India is impossible to get on a stage. In Slumdog Millionaire they managed it with the camera chasing the kids through the slums, but how can I represent this chaos, tangle of humanity, electricity cables, monkeys, cows and rickshaws with the ever present hoot of scooter horns in the vast courtyard space with a cast of 21!

What was also remarkable was the way that suddenly it could get so calm, turn into a cul-de-sac, a shrine and in one we were invited to watch a man sewing jewels onto a velvet panel .

The pattern marked out by hand the, thread of crystals pulled and stitched through. All on an upper level platform with no daylight, a fan and florescent tube.

We are in a cold snap here, what must it be like in 45 degree heat. These are the kind of pieces we see in Shepherds Bush or Southall. I was relieved that it wasn't a child doing it, and obvious pride the man had in his work. But still the working conditions.

Dropped out of this almost medieval world of narrow lanes and perpetual trade onto the brand new metro complete with mobile phone access and headed to a more middle class area to witness a bride being made up!

We are at the end of the bridal season a huge business with vast amounts of money laid out. It seemed interesting, thinking about Hero and the interrupted wedding to see if we could meet and talk to somebody.

The bride kindly let us talk to her and I watched the makeup and the way the dress, hair etc was arranged. Hers was a love match and was having a relatively small gathering of 800 that night to which she said we could come.

So we ended the night being photographed on a stage (another wrong wardrobe choice on my part) with the bride and groom who wished us luck with our film! While the speakers blared out Indian pop. Very 21st century.

Photo: the spice market in Old Delhi.

Ok you either love or hate India and at the moment I feel I love it.

An amazing mash up of Japan and Moscow (the last two cities I have worked in for a commercial show Zorro!), chaos yet ordered in a Brownian motion kind of way; continuous movement and yet nobody seems to bump into anybody else, the roads and driving are both petrifying and strangely ok we seem to have force field around us as do the dogs, children and cyclists who lurch and run at random across the roads.

The temperature is perfect, not exactly the sultry powerful sun I had imagined for our world, but a gentle haze. Our guide Oliver has given us a whistle stop over view of Delhi, a fine but simple lunch of south Indian origin , and a tour of the amazing 17th century observatory buildings which seem as if de Chirico and le Corbusier have joined forces to make the most wonderful abstract structures.

Poverty is everywhere yet never intimidating, not sure how I feel at the moment about how to; I couldn't believe the openness of the people at the Tibetan refuge, faded prayer flags and a woman in traditional dress with a north face windcheater on. Ancient Tombs and then the vast floodlights of the cricket ground silhouetted against a perfect dropping sunset.

By the end of the day, in complete contrast to the street scenes we had witnessed earlier, a dinner in an Italian restaurant with young and well off in Delhi, a mix of half Italian, half British, American, and Indian nearly as diverse as east London!

Have eaten an orange.

Photo: the Jantar Mantar open air observatory.

Delhi at 3am we are met as arranged at the airport and discover that while we have been airborne Iqbal has got his visa approved at the last gasp, so will be joining us tomorrow as planned, a great relief on both fronts.

It is cold (5 degrees), not what I had in my head at all, driving through quiet streets, the odd glimpse of an expected India, some roadside encampments and street children around a fire in fairisle sweaters, tarpaulins and the occasional picturesque bashed up three wheeler, contrasts with the fresh concrete of new roads for the commonwealth games, smart cars, adverts. I think I have bought the wrong clothes, my one cardigan will get well used I feel! Smell of wood smoke pervades.

Should I eat the oranges in the room?

I am off to India this week to research for Much Ado About Nothing. I have never been and am excited and nervous to be designing the show for the Courtyard Theatre in July. The plan, led by Iqbal Khan as director, is to create a production that comes out of India now, perhaps with a Punjabi feel, not a romanticised India of the past.

The cast will all be British south east Asian or from India. There is a lot of talk of a Bollywood Benedict to match Meera Syal's Beatrice, but we will have to wait and see. We have meetings set up in Delhi with theatre practitioners and we hope to follow up contacts and find a costume designer we could collaborate with.

At the moment I question if i have the authentic knowledge to create the world of this production, but have to remind myself that that is always true at the beginning of the process. We went to the Ukraine for The Grain Store at the RSC and I've recently been doing some research trips to Romford and Sittingbourne for a couple of shows at the Royal Court and they revealed how easy it is to fall into preconceptions about a place and its people even closer to home! I have many books on India but it feels as alien as looking at photos from the past, where one can only guess at what it is really going on behind the images. I'm hoping that the trip, although short, will give me a chance of seeing; colours, shapes, textures, the habits of people. It may be that the set ends up completely abstract (perhaps rusty metal!), but at least it will have come from a more authentic seed.

There is always the danger of trying to shoehorn the world of Shakespeare's sixteenth century into an Indian twenty-first century, and that is where one must be led by the text, to not force images on the play, but let the words bring the world to life. That being said the best Much Ado I saw was Tamsin Grieg in a very naturalistic Cuban inspired production in the Swan at the RSC, so maybe it is the kind of play that supports a very specific setting. We'll have to wait and see.

Meanwhile, any hot tips for Delhi?

A trip to Stratford before we go to India to show Iqbal and Kieran, the lighting designer, around The Courtyard. It is the first time they have seen the space, which to me is a much loved friend. Strange to find it sitting there waiting.

The seating is in the format last used for Matilda, and it is too expensive to return it to the previous format, so at the moment there are no vom walkways on the diagonals off the downstage edge of the stage.

We discuss if we can lose some seats in the front and hopefully off to the sides to allow the stage, whatever it is going to be, to step down and engage with the audience.

It feels that we will need a porous space where the actors can sit with the onlookers and share the eavesdropping. How about long sweeping entrances? Dogberry on a bike careering into the audience down a slope and coming to a halt as he tries to get back up the steps of the centre aisle.

Talk with Iqbal about how we can get all the audience on all levels to feel like they are part of the world, linking ladders, people on bicycles zooming around the circle. Can we turn the whole foyer into an evocation of India, sell food etc create the smells. The whole space should be our world, earth, stone, and plywood concrete. A tree or abstract tree of a forest of cables, the new technologies piling onto the old of India?

Words seem an inadequate tool with which to say goodbye to what has undoubtedly been the best job and experience of my short life so far. So I won't say goodbye, I will merely say see you later. Until next time, if you will.

Half a year the Swan Company have lived in Stratford upon Avon and performed on this beautiful stage, with timeless words and wonderful audiences. Written on the Heart, Measure for Measure and Heresy of Love.

Half a year does not sound like long but time seems to have transcended Stratford during our stay so it feels like forever. In the best way possible. A vibrant and innovative forever filled with jokes, ideas, friendship and joy. So much joy.

It's ridiculous, I am sat in my room in the Ferryhouse and my heart aches at the prospect of pulling down posters and folding clothes. We have seen four companies come and go this half year: Midsummer Night's Dream, Robin Hood, Taming of the Shrew and now Twelfth Night. We have been the consistency, but now like a good book we must be finished, cherished and put on the shelf, waiting for the next read.

My time as an understudy has taught me a plenitude of things. I have been a veritable sponge soaking up knowledge and experience from those around me, but now I think it's time I chart my own way, out of the shadows and into the light... if we're using cheesy analogies...which I am not completely adverse to. I have been lucky enough to go on four times and have grabbed every single bull by the proverbial horn.

Two days ago I was called to go on half-way through a show! I was sat backstage, waiting as Sister Lifter to do my next scene change, when I heard a thunder of feet and our Stage Manager Suzy burst into the Locutary and said 'Catherine Hamilton's fainted... you're on!' I had ten minutes to pelt upstairs, tear off my habit, be shoved into a corset and go through the lines twice before I was on! Dramatic doesn't even cover it.

I had no chance to run the scene with Catherine McCormack so I just threw caution to the wind, said a Hail Mary and stepped onto stage... I could feel the eyes of the audience turn on me and heard the flicker of programmes as they noticed that I wasn't who they were expecting. It was incredible, never in my life have I felt so nervous and yet so calm. I was an oxymoron. Or a Stratford swan, floating around and yet paddling away like a demon beneath the surface. Anyway, I survived and have lived to blog the tale.

What. A. Journey.

Stratford is a place of magic. There is a peace to be found here which can't be found anywhere else. It is a place to spark off thoughts and to have adventures, to sit and ponder and then to take action. But it is the people that have made it.

So here's to you Blue Company! I love you all, with all my heart... You might even say it's Written on it.

Laura x

Photos: top - the Written on the Heart company, bottom - the Measure for Measure company.

To see what Laura did next, visit her new blog at www.ferryegg.blogspot.co.uk

We came. We saw. We understudied.

The final understudy run of Heresy of Love burst onto the stage on Tuesday afternoon, to the eyes of the rest of the cast, Adam Lenson our incredible Assistant Director, the casting department, Tony the Tour Guide and my family. A diligent clan of support.

It was the climax of a week of hard work, (and not to over-egg cliché) blood, sweat and tears... not real blood obviously, just a bit of red ink for acting with. We had spent the last few weeks, rigorously watching our counterparts' every move, and running the play (of a cast of sixteen) with only seven of us understudies. The Dream Team...  if you will.

The understudies are made up of cast members throughout the season, including a few of the principals from Written on the Heart and Measure for Measure. This is to ensure that the work load is equally shared throughout the ensemble - large part in one, understudy in another - to keep a balance in the force. (Excuse the Star Wars reference. It won't happen again.)

As there are only seven of us, a cornucopia of doubling is necessary to cover all the characters. I for one am covering Angelica, a fifteen year old novice played by Sarah Ovens, as well as the Vicereine, the Queen of New Mexico played by Catherine Hamilton... quite a jump! Catherine herself is understudying the lead of Sor Juana played by Catherine McCormack, so if one goes down we all shift up in an understudy hierarchy.

To keep the story clear, as sometimes our doubles will be in consecutive scenes or even in the same scene on occasion, our Assistant Director Adam (whose job it is to direct the u/s run) has the Brechtian idea of simply using one piece of costume as an indicator for which character you are. For example, I will be wearing Angelica's blue dress and then when I snap into the Vicereine I will put on a regal cloak (said cloak was worn by Judy Dench in All's Well That Ends Well, to say that I let out a girly scream would be an appalling underestimate).

The run went brilliantly. We all pulled together as a tight unit and told the story with our unique (yet slightly more condensed) voice, portraying it with truth and honesty and that is all that matters I believe.

I can't help but feel a slight ache and sadness in my heart as this has been my last understudy run, which sort of feels like the end of the job for me. Back to furniture lifting and singing nuns tonight!

Two weeks left to go in this magical place. I mean to make the most of it!

It is official. We have rehearsed. We have previewed. We have flagellated. Heresy of Love is in the building! In deepest, darkest Mexico the story of Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz has strutted onto the Swan stage; set against a backdrop of luxury and a heartrending oil painting of Jesus, the space is bathed in dolour and sumptuousness.

We finished tech rehearsals in record time and everything, somehow, went rather smoothly; mainly because our Assistant Stage Manager Martha Mamo is cooler than a cucumber and well equipped to deal with panicking nuns and half dressed priests!

The set is extremely technical and involves a semi-circle of Locutary bars (as pictured) which are used in the story to separate the nuns from the outside world, with only a single door as their way out. Now the trouble with these bars, is that they have to be pushed on and off during scene changes and once rested behind the set the actors can only then enter backstage via that single door, thus creating queues of clergy and a pile up of nuns!

Now I mentioned that the bars have to be pushed on and off, there are also many books to be set, stools to be placed and chairs to be struck... this has mainly all fallen to me. I have been christened Sister Removals. Queen of the Scene Change. Or Sister Lifter for short. I have crib sheet of over 17 scene changes and feel much akin to a Foreman on a building site. The backstage crew have promised me a hard hat and t-shirt as a reward for my endeavours!

Though it is stressful and very complicated (first preview felt like a cardiac arrest), it is fascinating to not only to be in the scenes listening to the beautiful words but to be a vital part of the mechanics of the show. Nancy Meckler, the director, said 'we're counting on you Laura!' So no pressure then.

Next week brings press night, opening night and the start of understudy rehearsals. I cannot WAIT to get stuck in to the characters that I am covering and to start the process all over again...

Heresy begins...

So Robin Hood has left the building. The theatre feels eerily quiet without the hoards of merry men, children and towns women! However, Taming of the Shrew is on the horizon so that will bring new faces, laughs and more importantly a new play for the RST.

At the moment the words 'headless' and 'chicken' do not even cover the crazy schedule that we are working! We are rehearsing Heresy of Love during the day and alternating between Written and Measure during the evenings, the only consistency is that I play a singing nun in every single play. Different habits, different songs but the same nun.

Heresy of Love is a new play written by Helen Edmunson, and is the fascinating story of the life of Sor Juana Ines De La Cruz; a nun in 17th century new Mexico whose play writing was condemned by the inquisition. It is a female strong company and full of fresh ideas and challenges; we have been pushing our minds and bodies to their limits with movement sessions lead by Liz Rankin (a founder of DV8) to create semiotic scene changes and imagery for the performance.

Last week, for the first time of the season I had to grab my understudy cape and fly into action; Annette Maclaughlin had come down with a tummy bug and I was called upon to do my duty! It was a Written on the Heart evening show, I dashed for my script to go over the lines and everyone arrived early to run through the blocking with me. Somehow, I didn't feel nervous, I think it was the shock but also I knew that I had been able to get through it in the understudy run so hopefully (fingers crossed!) I should be ok.

It was the best feeling ever, having done all the preparation and feeling slightly numb before going on, as soon as I stepped on the stage it felt electric and all the hard work and patience was worth it! I was able to perform in one evening show and a matinee the next day, the whole cast were so supportive and when I came backstage they were all waiting and clapping... definitely a warm and fuzzy moment... maybe even a single tear!

Heresy is almost into tech so the next few weeks will be a whirlwind or props, lights and nuns... anything could happen!

Christmas is come. The Ferryhouse is decorated with fifteen pounds worth of sparkly goods from Poundland and the smell of mulled wine floats out of the Dirty Duck as you walk past; the cast Secret Santa has been drawn and the presents bought (hopefully!). But most Christmassy and magical of all, the RSC Christmas Carol Concert has occurred.

Surrounded by the magnificent stained glass windows and ancient stone work that encapsulates Shakespeare's resting place and encircled by the most talented, generous and creative group of people, I have never felt more blessed and lucky in my entire life.

There were readings from many members of the company, James Hayes, Bruce Alexander, Oliver Ford-Davis (Lancelot Andrewes reading his very own sermon for those of you who have seen Written on the Heart!); a hilarious sketch done by Peter Bray and Emma Manton from the Robin Hood company about what would actually happen if the song 'The 12 Days of Christmas' became an actuality... A house full of birds and milkmaids it seems! However, most beautiful and moving of all was a reading of Luke chapter 2, verses 1-14 by Greg Doran and then translated into Icelandic by Darri Ōlafsson.

The choir sang brilliantly with some of our cast amongst them, Joe Kloska, Sam Marks, Annette McLaughlin, Bruce Alexander and Jim Hooper were forefront of the Wassail and we all left the church with a warm glow.

These past couple of weeks have flown by in a blur, first there was the Written understudy run, and then the following week it was Measure's turn. I got the chance to perform the roles of Francisca, Juliet and Marianna. It was the most exhilarating afternoon, we were flying by the seat of our pants as Measure is so complicated with a million and one scene changes so you never really knew who or what was coming next!

The most terrifying part was performing Marianna's song, I have never really sung solo before apart from once at drama school and so doing it for the RSC was terrifying needless to say... I would have rather have performed on X factor! But I got through it and with a lot of help and encouragement from Alison Bomber our amazing, insightful voice coach, even ended up enjoying it. Whether or not I got through to boot camp or not is another matter entirely!

This week brings the rehearsals of Heresy of Love with Nancy Meckler directing. A new play, a new challenge, a new cast... Bring it on!

Dear Blog,

It's been a while. And for that I'm sorry. But there is a reason for my neglect and no before you ask, I have not been having a sordid affair with a younger and more attractive blog. I have, however, been spending my time with another piece of writing... Written on the Heart, to be precise... 'The precise Angelo...' Sorry, wrong play.

This week has been a complete whirlwind. Two days ago, on Friday 2 December, I had my understudy run. This is where every single understudy in the company gets the chance to perform the play in the principal roles that they are covering: to tell the same story but with different people.

We spent the whole week rehearsing Written during the day in our understudy roles and performing in the evening in our contracted roles. Needless to say, confusing doesn't even cover it. I however, have loved every minute of it.

Normally, in Written on the Heart, I am solely a singing nun in the Gaude Gloriosa and though no one would dare snub a singing nun (God forbid), this was my chance to give my Mary Currer, Squire's Wife and Lady Carey, all in one performance. I was chomping at the bit.

I was so nervous/excited/terrified beforehand that I ate a whole packet of Lovehearts in one sitting; I think my subconscious probably thought it was symbolic. Except written on the Lovehearts are phrases such as 'Cool girl' and 'Forever mine.' Not exactly Matthew, John or Second Kings.

The performance itself flew by and I absorbed every second and felt every word, not knowing when I would get the chance to do so again. It was the best afternoon of my career so far: the RSC stage, David Edgar's words and Greg Doran's direction. Bliss.

I now have to do it all again this week with Measure for Measure! The Swan. Friday 9 December. 1.30pm. It's a date.

So Measure for Measure is up! In a blaze of corsets, spiked heels and nipple clamps (I kid you not) we have had our first preview. After an EXHAUSTING tech week of working 10am-10pm most days, I think we were all surprised to actually get through it without any major hiccups - of course yours truly exited the wrong way and had to sneak back across the stage in a Scooby Doo-esque manner... but the less said about that the better.

During tech we encountered a few difficulties, the tendrils being one. Now the stage for Measure is of black leather with many a different texture, giving it a sensuous and raunchy appeal; the back area of the stage however, is hidden by a forest of black rubber tendrils dangling from the ceiling- S & M stalactites you might call them. And it is with these tendrils that I began a long and arduous battle. Lives had been lost in those tendrils, but not mine I tell you, NOT MINE!

You may wonder why I was waging war with what is essentially a rubber fly catcher, and I shall tell you. During the scene changes I have to manoeuvre, sexily I might add, various furniture and Perspex paraphernalia, which ordinarily would be fine; however, when faced with an Amazon of black tubing, one becomes less sexy and more Bambi on ice.

But we did it, and now the real work begins. During previews (the shows before press night) there is the opportunity for the director to tailor the show to the audience's response in order to get it to its pinnacle before press.

This involves performing at night and then rehearsing in the day, adapting and changing various elements of the show, highlighting what worked and deleting what didn't. However, this also results in a bunch of slightly hysterical, exhausted actors... the climax of this has to be Jamie Ballard performing Angelo's 'What's this? What's this?' speech, centre stage, in the style and voice of Richard Burton. It's the little things that get us by!

11/11/11

We held a two minutes silence in rehearsals today to commemorate all the brave men and women who have lost their lives in fighting for freedom, justice and human rights. In a room that is normally thronging with words and music, silence rings loudly.

We spend the remainder of the morning tightening up the scene changes. It is relatively easy (well as easy as Measure for Measure can be!) to rehearse each scene individually; however, when it comes to putting them into sequence it becomes slightly trickier. For example, I spend my time backstage before each scene change in a state of cold-sweated panic: Am I on the right side? Am I in the right wig? Does my bum look big in this? Ok so maybe not the latter, but the formers are a constant concern.

This sort of work is imperative as if the transitions are clunky or slow it can really hold up the pace of the play and thus induce a snoring audience!

On the subject of snoring, I was tiptoeing on the precipice of sleep last night, when something occurred that I had only ever dreamed about. I was dragged from the edge of slumber by a 'Laura, Laura!' Bear in mind that this was actually only 11pm, as Grandma here was shattered from a day's rehearsal, but for the purpose of the anecdote we'll imagine it was early dawn... I ran to my window and pulled up the shutters to discover James Hayes and Jim Hooper (two of the greatest actors the RSC has ever seen) on the street below, reciting up at my window 'BUT SOFT, WHAT LIGHT THROUGH YONDER WINDOW BREAKS! IT IS THE EAST AND JULIET IS THE SUN...'

There are not enough words in the English Dictionary to describe my utter joy at this. If only Shakespeare were here, he could invent me a single word for such an occasion. But for now I will lock it 'within the gentle closure of my breast'.

We start Measure's tech tomorrow with set, costumes, lighting and props- anything could happen in the next half hour! Well, more like three to four days actually, but I'll keep you posted!

Remember, remember the fifth of November, gunpowder, treason and Measure for Measure! OK, so maybe that's not exactly the correct words for the rhyme, but it certainly fits the situation. After a sparkler-tastic fireworks party at the Ferryhouse, we said goodbye to the Green Company, who have given the RSC their Midsummer Night's Dream and Marat/Sade and hello to the Blue Company as Measure is BACK!

Yes Measure for Measure has restarted, after two weeks off to focus on opening Written on the Heart, we return to the world of sadomasochism.

We had a great first day back, starting off with a jig call- the climax for the end of the show. This involves a lot of stamping, lifting, spinning and spanking... yes that's right, spanking. Though how easy all of this will be in heels, I just don't know!

We then sat round in a circle to dip our toes back into the text with a line run. Our assistant director Adam Lenson, suggested we make it an active line run, thus standing up and moving around in the circle with our lines, forgetting any plotted blocking and simply allowing the text to move us when it willed. This provoked some brave new discoveries in character and meaning, as everybody felt free, with no pressure to 'get it right'.

Tomorrow brings us a full run of the play complete with the blocking and props, the first time in two weeks... I really hope I can remember everything – if not my improvisational skills will have to come into play!

Then in the evening it is the press night for Written on the Heart. There is a tradition amongst actors that we always give cards and presents to everyone involved with the show on press night, maybe it's so that if it all goes horribly wrong at least you have a pretty card to look at! So I have been working away at perfecting my cards. I have to say, I don't think even a Blue Peter presenter could have done a better job, 'though I scurrilously neglected to use a yoghurt pot and double-sided sticky tape.

Fingers crossed everything goes well for Press Night; Written is a beautiful piece with some incredibly detailed acting and unbelievable aesthetics... So come on Billington, gizzus a 5*!

I've woken up to a mist on the Avon, much akin to Wuthering Heights, I can barely see the boats across the river but I know that they are there as I can hear the old chain ferry being pulled through the water. It is the morning after our opening night, the first of many for Written on the Heart and the mist feels very appropriate. First nights of a production often blur by in a haze of nerves, adrenaline and panic so maybe a hurricane rather than a mist would be more fitting.

Paul Chahidi, who plays Laud and Thomson, said to me as we passed backstage, 'On first nights you find yourself being so precise and tense in order to get it right, the way you've rehearsed it, but then you come off stage and think - what was I worrying about, I should have just played!' (And he doesn't mean the traditional game of footy that occurs in our warm-up time either- though Ian Midlane scored a cracking goal today so I should probably mention it.)

You can never really tell how a first night went, for yourself or for others as it seems to stampede around you and through you. The audience laughed in unexpected places and were quiet in places we thought sure of laughter, lines were forgotten and new ones adlibbed in, but we got through it.

After the show we received final confirmation of how it had gone... Across the tannoy, streaming into our dressing rooms boomed, 'Hello Blue Company, this is Greg. Well done!'

Now off to the Dirty Duck...

Photo: The River Avon by Laura Darrall

We have arrived. I am writing this entry sitting over-looking the Avon next to a string of rowing boats named Ophelia, Miranda, Viola, Volumnia... You see the pattern. I have died and gone to Shakespeare Heaven. We left Clapham two days ago and reconvened, after a variety journeys, in the Dirty Duck; I remember walking past this infamous pub on a school trip to see Sam West's Hamlet and being told, 'Oh that's where all the actors drink.' THAT'S ME NOW! Obviously just an orange juice and lemonade as we have got a tech to do!

We descended on the Swan yesterday for Written on the Heart's first technical rehearsal; this is where the action meets the effects, putting in all the lighting cues and props to enhance what has already been produced in the rehearsal room: to create the finished product.

We were met with the most beautiful, ornate set any of us could have ever imagined. It depicts the inside of a church, with the most incredibly detailed carvings, a grand altar and spookily atmospheric lighting. The set looks as if it has always been a part of The Swan, which is a glorious wooden building, where even a slight whisper will travel to the other side of the space.

Written on the Heart, is becoming a real entity, no longer just words on a page or movements around a space, but a living, breathing piece of theatre. The play seems to transcend two worlds, that of the history we are portraying and that of the actors living it in the moment. It is one of the most intellectual and detailed plays I have ever been a part of, yet also the most moving. Even if in our costumes we do look like a 16th Century vicar's tea party...

Bring on first night!

Photo: View across the Bancroft Gardens from the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, taken by Laura.

So today I have spent most of my day watching. Not the television or even a film, (I've heard Tinker Tailor is great though), but watching the movement of the characters that I am understudying.

This involves sitting in on their rehearsals and charting on my script the blocking - that is their movements around the stage, their entrances and exits and definitely not doodling. Nope, I was writing a detailed journey of each character and not doodling. Ok so maybe there was a slight doodle tangent but I got all the blocking written down so I think I can allow myself a star or a flower here or there.

The tricky thing about understudying is that though you have to copy the moves and overriding intentions of the protagonist, as an actor the need and want is to make the character your own: to not just be a mimic. Although one or two impressions of each other have been done in jest (Simon Thorp does a great Oliver Ford-Davis and Jamie Ballard a great Simon Thorp), they would not last out the length of the play or even a scene come to think of it!

I'm not sure I've worked out how to make this happen yet; because the more you listen and watch a scene, the more the intonation of the words gets stuck in your head, a bit like song on the radio. But it's a great challenge, breaking free of it.

I suppose no matter how many times you watch and listen to something, when the words come out of your mouth, of course they will be different because every actor is unique in tone, energy and emotion. So in actual fact, there is never any chance of being a mimic.

Laura x

Sat on the 345 on the way home after a day of treading the boards (too luvvy?) and listening to Alanis Morisette on my iPod (too trashy?), it strikes me how different a life we actors lead compared to 'normal' people.

Whatever 'normal' even means nowadays! For example, I have spent my day being a 10 year old boy in the morning and in the afternoon, a dominatrix. Not quite your average Thursday morning board meeting that's for sure!

You might wonder why I was a playing a 10 year old boy, and no for once it was not for dramatic licence.

The part of Prince Charles in Written on the Heart is to be played by three brilliant young boys (Hal, Christopher and Charlie) but whose entrance exams were keeping them from the rehearsal room. So yours truly took one for the team, strapped down my bosom and shoved a proverbial sock down my trousers.

Just kidding, but I was doing my best prepubescent boy acting. It was practically Home Alone 2!

As for the dominatrix, Measure for Measure is being set in the dark and glamorous world of sadomasochism. The play is full of power struggles and moral turmoil, so this controversial concept pushes the boundaries of every issue within the play and brings them to the juicy forefront! (Maybe not one for my Gran though!)

We managed to run the first half of Written on the Heart in the morning and the second half of Measure for Measure in the afternoon. Two halves of two very different plays... It still doesn't make a whole... But it won't be long now...

Laura x

Sat in the kitchen of our Clapham rehearsal rooms, surrounded by mugs of various hot liquids (mainly of the caffeine variety), dog eared scripts and actors arriving in various states of waking up, I have decided to start my blog!

I am in the process of rehearsing Written On The Heart, directed by Greg Doran and Measure for Measure with Roxana Silbert, in which I am playing various small roles, such as servants, whores and nuns (what a mix!) but then understudying larger roles.

Understudying is a fascinating job, which involves putting in a LOT of work, often learning up to 4 or 5 roles... I have 7 to get through... but without the nightly reward of the applause.

However, I like to think of understudies as the super heroes of the acting world, stepping in at the last minute to save the day and yes I have already designed the costume! It definitely involves a cape.

What is wonderful about working at the RSC is that no matter what the size of your role, everyone is equal, we all fit together to make the cogs of a growing ensemble and are constantly learning from each other.

For example, I learnt today that give a 60 year old actor a sword and he instantly becomes 10 again...mentioning no names, Bruce Alexander! We're running the two plays at the end of this week, so I'll let you know how it goes!

Laura x

One of the downsides of cross casting is that sometimes, if the other production you are rehearsing opposite calls full company, you can't rehearse anything at all. This afternoon was one such time. So I headed home from Clapham, and decided to make a detour at King's Cross. I wanted to visit St Pancras Old Church behind the railway station. It was here on September 20th 1744 that Lewis Theobald was buried.

'He went off quietly' said his old friend, the prompter John Stede, 'without agonies'. Stede, who had known Lewis for nearly thirty years, was with him when he died, of jaundice, noting the remarkable fact that 'he was so composed as not to alter the disposition of his body, being in an indolent posture, one foot out of the bed, and his head gently supported on one hand.'

The old prompter left a gentle eulogy to his friend, saying: 'He was of a generous spirit, too generous for his circumstances, and none knew how to do a handsome thing, or confer a benefit, when in his power, with a better grace than himself.' The funeral took place at 6 o'clock in the evening, and Stede records rather sadly: 'I only attended him.'

A benefit performance of Double Falshood for Theobald himself had been held some three years before in May 1741, and Lewis had written somewhat pathetically to the Duke of Newcastle: 'The situation of my affairs, upon a loss and disappointment, obliging me to embrace a benefit at this late and disadvantageous season, it lays me under a necessity of throwing myself on the favour of the public, and the kind assistance of my friends and well wishers.'

There had been one late recognition of Lewis Theobald's knowledge and understanding of Shakespeare. He was asked (probably by John Rich) to contribute a prologue for a play mounted at Covent Garden to raise funds for a statue of Shakespeare to be erected in Poet's Corner in Westminster Abbey. Designed by William Kent, executed by Peter Scheemakers, and paid for in part by Alexander Pope among others, the life size marble statue was finally unveiled in January 1741.

'Immortal Shakespeare, we thy fame admit
Like thy Caesar, thou art mighty yet.
Fast rise the marble, and long last the pile
O'er which thy venerable bust shall smile'

It's not great poetry, but it attests to the man's adoration 'on this side idolatry' of his beloved bard.

Theobald was 56 when he died. His nemesis, Alexander Pope, born the same year as Theobald, had died some three months before him at the end of May.

St Pancras' graveyard is still looking wintery, but here and there clumps of daffodils are beginning to break through. It was here that the Romantic poet Shelley met Mary Godwin, when she was visiting the grave of her mother, Mary Wollstonecraft, the advocate of women's rights.

There are a number of rather monumental looking vaults in the gardens (one by Sir John Soane provided the inspiration for the iconic red telephone box!) but the majority of the gravestones seemed to have been cleared. Then I spot a rather odd memorial under an ash tree. The tree itself provides the axel to a strange stone wheel, the spokes of which are made up of ranks of old gravestones, circled around with hedging (see image). A sign tells you that this is called the Hardy Tree and that when the novelist Thomas Hardy was a trainee architect he was responsible for the clearance of the graveyard for the expansion of the railway in 1865. I wonder if Lewis' gravestone is among them, but they look too recent to me.

Among the other people buried here in Theobald's day, are two of the celebrities featured in Gay's sensational hit show The Beggars' Opera, which opened within months of Double Falshood. The model for Peachum, and the star both of Henry Fielding's satire, and Daniel Defoe's novel, Jonathan Wild, the notorious kingpin of London's underworld was buried here, in 1725. He was laid next to his wife, but his body was 'fished', or snatched by tomb robbers, and sold for dissection at a local medical school. His skeleton is still preserved in the Hunterian Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons. And the pickpocket, Jenny Diver, hanged at Tyburn, is here too.

Then in the south east corner of the cemetery, overgrown with ivy I spot a few older gravestones. One dates back to the 1720's. You can tell by the style of the engraved calligraphy that this is much older than the rest. One headstone shows a death's head staring fiercely above crossed palm branches, and on another, a skull in profile cowers under thundery clouds (see image). I think this is more like what Lewis might have had, had he been able to afford the carving. It sums up a life beset by storms and trials.

Surprisingly, St Pancras Old Church stands on one of Europe's most ancient sites of Christian worship, possibly dating back to the fourth century. The present small church has been here since the eleventh or twelfth century. Inside, an old man has come for a quiet afternoon nap, so I tiptoe around looking at the monuments. Here is one, in the chancel to the cook to both Queen Elizabeth and King James for 29 years, and one to Samuel Cooper, the miniaturist who painted everyone from Oliver Cromwell to Mrs Pepys.

I light a candle for Lewis Theobald, and tiptoe back out, leaving the gent to his snooze.

My indefatigable Stage Manager, Alix Harvey-Thompson, has spent her Saturday up at Collingdale at the British Library Newspaper Museum, scanning back copies of the London Daily Post, and the Evening Journal for 1727 on Microfiche. She has brought back photocopies of the relevant pages. She has tracked down the London Daily Post announcing the first performance of Double Falshood, on Wednesday December 13th 1727:

'Never acted before
By His Majesty's Company of Comedians
At the Theatre in Drury Lane, this present Wednesday, a play called Double Falshood; Or, The Distrest Lovers. Written originally by Shakespear. The principal parts to be performed by Mr Wilks, Mr Mills, Mr Williams; Mr Corey, Mr Harper, Mr Griffin, Mr Norris, Mrs Porter, and Mrs Booth. With proper decorations.'

The rest of the page conjures a brief snap shot of the Georgian era. There's a notice of an item lost on the Woodford Stage Coach: 'a wicker basket containing a small bandbox tied with packthread' with the appeal: 'If the said box be brought and delivered at the Bar at the Dolphin Tavern in Tower Street, the person who delivers the same shall have four guineas and no question asked.' It sounds like the start of a novel by Henry Fielding. I wonder what was in the box.

Meanwhile on that same Wednesday, at the new Theatre in the Haymarket there seems to be competition from a group of French acrobats: 'The famous Mr Francisco will dance on the stiff rope with fetters at his feet. Mr La Fevre will perform equilibres, and Signor Guilmarine will perform several surprising things the like never yet seen in England.'

But Alix has also found a copy of the first night review of Theobald's play in the Daily Post. This makes the whole thing seem so real and immediate. I can imagine Theobald rushing out to buy his copy of the paper, or reading it in his local ordinary in Great Russell Street. Scanning the page, among the Port-News we read that the King George packet boat had arrived in Falmouth from Lisbon; Mrs Vanderbank, the King's tapestry maker had died, while Mr Cheesdon, on being appointed Her Majesty's surgeon, 'had the honour to kiss the Queen's hand.' And then the following:

'Last Night was acted an original play of William Shakespeare's in Drury-lane, where the audience was very numerous and the most remarkable attention through the whole. Mr Williams supplied, not unsuccessfully, Mr Booth's part; Mrs Booth and Mrs Porter most amiably distinguished themselves; Mr Wilks shone with his usual spirit in the Prologue; and Mrs Oldfield even exceeded herself with the highest gracefulness in the epilogue.'

No mention of Theobald again, but Wilks (who played the villain, Fernando, called Henriquez in Double Falshood) had clearly charmed the house shining 'with his usual spirit' in the prologue. It's a jingoistic piece of verse, in heroic couplets, all about Shakespeare's genius:

'Let Britons boast
The glorious birth, and eager, strive who most
Shall celebrate his verse; for while we raise
Trophies of fame to him, ourselves we praise:
Display the talents of a British mind,
Where all is great, free ,open, unconfin'd'

He goes on (at length) and then rings out:

'O, could the Bard, revisiting our light,
Receive these honours done his shade this tonight,
How would he bless the scene this age displays
Transcending his Eliza's golden days
When great Augustus fills the British throne,
And his loved consort makes the muse her own,
How would he joy to see fair merit's claim
Thus answered in his own reviving fame!'

The prologue also gets in a respectful bow to the new monarch; King George II; crowned two months before at Westminster, with a new coronation anthem composed by Handel. Zadok the Priest has been played at every coronation since.

Finally the prologue imagines Shakespeare crying out with gratitude and pride:

'Oblivion I forgive
This my last child to latest times shall live:
Lost to the world, well for the birth it stayed;
To this auspicious era well delayed.'

It's a pretty neat device to present Double Falshood as a child lost to the world like Perdita, and only now recovered, to the gratitude of Shakespeare himself. Indeed it suggests that the lost play had deliberately waited until now, to this reign and this era to be re-born. Quite a clever tactic!

The notice tells us that the celebrated actress Mrs Oldfield delivered the epilogue. And then far from celebrating the Anglo-Spanish connections between Cervantes and Shakespeare, the Epilogue finishes with the same jingoistic strain which the Prologue boasted, spiced with a dash of xenophobia:

'Tis yours to crown the Bard, whose magic strain
Could charm the heroes of that glorious reign
Which humbled in the dust the pride of Spain.'

The House of Hanover had allied with France and Prussia, at this period, and England was drawn into a short war with Spain between 1726-7. Hence the Spain-bashing.

Nevertheless it is quite another neat tactic, to close the play by telling the audience that it is up to them if they choose to celebrate the genius of the Bard, because he inspired anti-Spanish sentiments in his audience.

In rehearsal we laugh at what sort of a prologue and epilogue we would write today, but in a crowded tube train on the Victoria Line on the way home, I find myself pondering the opportunity...

Sunday evening, and I find my way into London, to Middle Temple Hall for a performance of John Marston's Antonio's Revenge by the boys of King Edward School (KES) in Stratford-upon-Avon.

To enter Middle Temple Hall is to step back in time.

Middle Temple is one of the ancient Inns of Court, and its Great Hall, built while Shakespeare was still a boy, survived the Great Fire of London and the Blitz. Sir Walter Raleigh was admitted here in 1574. John Dowland played in the minstrels' gallery above the magnificent carved oak screen at the eastern end, and one of the tables is said to have been made from the hatch cover of Francis Drake's ship, The Golden Hind after her circumnavigation of the globe. Perhaps most potent of all, Twelfth Night was performed here at 1602.

The genius behind tonight's event is the KES Assistant Headmaster, Perry Mills. I hope the boys know how lucky they are to have such a dedicated enthusiast.

I have seen a number of Elizabethan and Jacobean plays performed by Perry's boys over the last few years, from Middleton's A Mad World My Masters and A Chaste Maid in Cheapside, to extracts from Jonson's Poetaster, and even Lyly's Mother Bombie. As with their predecessors, the boys of St Paul's, in Shakespeare's day, the boys play all the parts male and female. Here they all wear their school uniform under blue boiler suits, adding skirts over the top for the female characters, and wigs.

There is perhaps a rather studied attempt to ignore any ambiguous sexual charge that boys playing girls might ignite. At my school, where all of sixteen years of age, I gave my definitive Lady Macbeth, we tended to go the whole hog. There was padded bra kept in a shoe box in the costume wardrobe under the stage, known as the Brunhilda for its ample proportions. It was an object of fascination to the boys.

In the Prologue to Antonio's Revenge, Marston lowers the very temperature itself, for his 'sullen tragic scene':

The rawish damp of clumsy winter ramps
The fluent summers vein: and drizzling sleet
Chilleth the wan bleak cheek of the numbed earth,
Whilst snarling gusts nibble the juiceless leaves
From the naked shuddering branch...

The KES boys do a great job, with lashings of relish (and admirable diction) they throw themselves into the action, having a particularly good time ripping out the evil Duke Piero's tongue. In the lofty hall of Middle Temple under its magnificent double hammer beam roof, Marston's anarchic gore-fest seems to suit the crepuscular gloom.

It's not hard to see how the novelty of these boy companies found huge popularity in the early 1600's. Rosencrantz tells Hamlet of 'an eyrie of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question and are most tyrannically clapp'd for't'. This 'late innovation' caused some concern among the profession, 'berattled' the common stages, and caused much 'throwing about of brains'. Ben Jonson is said to have liked writing for them because he knew they would not argue back and change his script, or improvise around it.

In the rehearsal room for Cardenio, we are still working on the script.

Our challenge this week is to crack the play's denouement. Lewis Theobald's Double Falshood wraps everything up rather too neatly. He has so many loose ends to tie up, so many revelations to juggle - far more than Cervantes, who only has the quartet of lovers to manage. Double Falshood introduces three different fathers into the action (Fletcher's influence, I suspect). Shakespeare's late plays manage these final scenes brilliantly, perhaps most astonishingly in Cymbeline.

George Bernard Shaw had such a problem with the denouement of this play, he unapologetically 're-finished' it. But he misses the point. In a good production managed well, the revelation piled upon revelation has a joyous effect. More characters have asides in that play than in any other of Shakespeare's canon. These asides are crucial to how the final scene works, because they demand that you the audience see the action from each character's perspective. So when the final impossible outcome is achieved you are waiting eagerly for each of your new confidantes to tell their side of the story.

It must be the same with Cardenio. We have to have made sufficient investment in each character to allow the audience to await the unravelling with eager anticipation. We have to make the audience experience, however unlikely the circumstances, a balance between the fantastic and the plausible - what Coleridge called 'the willing suspension of disbelief'. And we must do that by infusing these 'shadows of imagination' with genuine life-blood.

So there's our task.

Last Thursday morning, the full company had a session together. I asked John Barton to join me for this time, and we worked on a chorus from Henry V and individual sonnets.

At 83 this year, John is celebrating his fiftieth year working for the Royal Shakespeare Company. Patrick Stewart brings up an interesting point: what is the difference between emoting on stage and conveying emotion? John discusses the need to attend to the way the emotion is expressed, often by playing through the argument, rather than wallowing in the emotional state.

Patrick reminds John of a note he gave him probably over thirty years ago, during a run of The Merchant of Venice, the first time he played the role for the RSC at the Donmar in 1980. 'It's good, it's really good, love. You're striking the ball to mid-off and mid-on, you're late-cutting and sweeping to leg beautifully. What you're not doing is hitting the ball back over the bowler's head.' 'Yes,' says John, 'I was very fond of cricketing imagery in those days!' 'It was a priceless note,' says Patrick, 'and totally accurate'. You can spend so much time playing around the line without getting to the direct action intended. I see some of the younger actors scribbling mental notes.

This evening, I head to an event at Stationers' Hall at Amen Corner: 'The Word For All Time: Is the King James Bible really so special?' The RSC are hosting a panel discussion led by David Edgar and chaired by Channel 4 News Presenter Samira Ahmed, with Canon Giles Fraser from St Paul's Cathedral, Peter McCullough, an Oxford academic and Ralph Williams from Michigan University.

Our contribution to the quarto centenary of the KJB will be a new play written by David Edgar, which I am going to direct this autumn in the Swan. Called Written on the Heart, it explores how across an eighty year divide two men translated the word of God into the English tongue. One, William Tyndale, died for it. The other, Lancelot Andrewes, was in line for an archbishop's mitre. The final revision of the KJB took place here in Stationers' Hall itself, which is the reason for choosing this as the venue for our event.

Peter McCullough notes that the publication of the KJB was the greatest non-event of 1611, in direct inversion to the celebrations of 2011. It was what you might call in publishing terms a bit of a slow burner. David points out a simple fact, that if the intention of this new translation was to draw a line under the English Reformation and unify the country, it was a manifest failure, as England was tipped into Civil War within a generation of its publication. Giles Fraser worries about what he calls the aestheticisation of the KJB and raises a rallying cry for Tyndale (whose work represents 80 % of the KJB). He wanted to translate into the vernacular and lost his life for it. And Canon Fraser indicates a savage irony. The Dean of St Paul's at the time burnt as many copies of Tyndale's translation as he could find. There are now only three copies left in the world. St Paul's has one and regards it as one of its greatest treasures.

It's a lively and fascinating debate, and whets my appetite for starting work on David's play. But for now, Cardenio rehearsals beckon...

Outside of the fiesta (see previous post), rehearsals continue at a more sober, steady pace. In one of the fitting rooms, Dorotea (Pippa Nixon), is being taught lace making, by local expert, Marion Stubbings. In Cervantes' novel, Dorotea spends her free time lace-making and playing on the harp. I pop in to say hello. I've brought a copy of a painting by the seventeenth-century Spanish artist Zurbarán of the Virgin Mary as a child. Zurbarán is sometimes known as the Spanish Caravaggio for his use of chiaroscuro - the play of light and dark. In this image, and several like them, the young girl is depicted working on a lace-making cushion.

'Oh no,' says Mary, 'that's a Belgian cushion. This is a Spanish cushion.' She reveals a large oblong block. Not the dainty prop I was looking for. I feel a little churlish, suggesting that the traditional Spanish cushion might be a little too large for our purposes as it requires propping up, and we have nowhere on stage to prop it. And that Belgian or not, the cushion in Zurbarán's painting might just be a little more convenient for us. But for the moment I choose to hold my peace. Marion is an inspiring teacher and gets the girls fiddling their bobbins in no time.

We have been continuing our regular weekly verse and text sessions. I was doing a morning on rhetoric a few weeks ago, concentrating on the first two speeches of Titus Andronicus, and extracting just how much you can tell about the character of the two speakers from the way they construct their arguments. We were joined for the session by the American scholar, James Shapiro (Professor of English and Comparative Literature at Columbia and author of 1599, A Year in the Life of William Shakespeare) he's been giving us insights into the historical background of the plays in the season. After we have examined Saturninus' rant, insisting maniacally on his absolute right to rule, Jim shrugs his shoulders and says: 'It's Hosni Mubarak!' And it could be Gadaffi too. Shakespeare acts like a magnet to the iron filings of contemporary events.

As this is Shrove Tuesday, we should really be rehearsing the Fiesta scene today, but alas it is not my priority day, and Dominic Hill has called most of the company for The City Madam.*

We had a good session on the fiesta last week. Cervantes says that in order to win Dorotea's affection Fernando bribed the servants, and paid for music and dancing in the village every night, so we are staging this in the production. We scanned all the research material we had collected for inspiration: the amazing photographs by Christina Rodero of Spanish Festivals and rituals, Goya's dark carnival painting The Burial of the Sardine and read a lively diatribe against the festivities enjoyed at Shrovetide in 'popish countries' in the sixteenth century by Thomas Kirchmaier, 'englyshed' by Barnabe Googe in 1570. We note how certain factors are common to all: the dressing up, the presence of devils, and masks, and a love of drag!

'But some again the dreadful shape of devils on them take,
And chase such as they meet, and make poor boys to fear and quake.
Some naked run about the streets, their faces hid alone,
With visors close, that so disguised, they might be known of none.
Both men and women change their weed, the men in maid's array,
And wanton wenches dressed like men, do travel by the way,

Some like wild beasts do run abroad in skins that divers be
Arrayed and eke with loathsome shapes, that dreadful are to see:
They counterfeit both bears and wolves, and lions fierce to fight,
And raging bulls. Some play the cranes with wings and stilts upright.
Some like the filthy form of apes, and some like fools dressed,
Which best beseem these papists all, that thus keep Bacchus feast.'

I like the idea of cranes or storks, like the ones we saw on the roof tops of Alacala de Henares. And stilts could be effective. But one detail in Barnabe Googe's apoplectic puritan howl catches the eye of Michael Grady Hall, one of the young actors, who suggests this might be a great addition to our invented scene:

'But others bear a turd, that on a cushion soft they lay,
And one there is that with a flap doth keep the flies away,
I would there might another be, an officer of those,
Whose room might serve to take away the scent from every nose.'

I wonder what the Front of House team would make of that!

Next we peer closely at the intriguing engravings by de Gheyn of masquerade costumes from 1599, with back-to-front people, a man with a turkey wattle mask and a haunting character playing a zambomba (a type of drum).

The V&A, who hold this collection of Masquerade costumes, suggest that the man pictured is stirring a pot, but we think he's playing a zambomba. In the 1950s, Brenan describes the instrument which still featured in Andalucian festivities then: 'pot ar flower pot, rabbit skin'. This sounds like a great noise for our fiesta. Gerard Brenan also describes another carnival feature common to other accounts. He mentions the straw dummies or peleles, which were regularly used as part of midsummer mayhem in Andalucia. These could be very useful. Our resourceful Assistant Stage Manager, Mark, mocks up a pair of peleles for our rehearsal, by stuffing pairs of pyjamas with scrunched up newspaper. His addition of the vegetable genitalia with a stuffed sock raises a great guffaw in the company.

Once the company don a few masks we have had brought up from the store, and try on some of the trashy frippery and glistering apparel from the rack, they are transformed, and all inhibitions fly out the window. What unspeakable acts Chris Etteridge (playing the dignified Duke) now dressed as a green devil performs upon the dragged up Nick Day (Don Bernardo) would earn the show an X certificate. I begin to think I had better contact Chris Hill, our Director of Marketing and Sales, about a parental guidance warning!

* As we are cross-rehearsing both Cardenio and The City Madam I have priority for half the week, which means I can call whoever, and however many actors I want in those sessions, and Dominic Hill, directing The City Madam, has the other half in which he can do the same.

The shepherds in the Sierra Morena mountains in Act Four of our play live a hard life. But how are we to recreate that community on stage? We set about some research.

Baron Davillier, who accompanied the illustrator, Gustave Dore on his trip around Spain in 1863, describes the ancient tradition known as mesta, in which thousands of sheep could be moved down from the mountains at the end of summer to the winter pastures to escape the cold. Established as far back as 1501, the mesta was organised in flocks of ten thousand sheep, each directed by a master shepherd, or mayoral, who knew all the best pasture land. He would have had fifty shepherds under his order, and an equal number of dogs. These men were allowed two pounds of bread a day, and though they received minimal pay they could own a certain number of their sheep. The merino wool, prized for its quality, belonged to the proprietor of the flock, but the shepherds could dispose of the meat lambs and the milk.

So the master shepherd in our play, would have been such a mayoral, or as Davillier describes him: 'A general-in-chief of these armies of peace.' Indeed, Don Quixote encounters one of these huge flocks, at one point in the novel. The mad knight mistakes them for an army on the move and attacks them. Gustave Dore accompanies Davillier's description with this illustration.

Apparently this 'transhumancia', or mass movement of sheep, still happens in Spain on the Sunday nearest to the 20th November when shepherds move their stock from the higher mountains in Leon (north of Madrid) through the centre of the capital to the winter pasture in the warmer, flatter Extremadura.

In the fifties, Gerard Brenan describes some of the shepherd boys he met in Andalucia, who having grown up watching their sheep in the high mountains, had almost lost the power of speech, and when spoken to they answered in a kind of sing song voice that was difficult to understand and loud enough to carry from one hill top to another. 'Listening to them', he writes, 'it seemed to me as though in all Mediterranean lands there was one common speech for goatherds, and that a youth from the Spanish sierras would be able to make himself understood in the mountains of Sicily or Albania'. Indeed our researches then uncover a genuine European lingua franca, which is still in use by Spaniards. It is called Silbo.

Silbo is a Spanish form of whistling from La Gomera in the Canary Islands. It was a language invented by the original inhabitants of the islands, the Guanches, and adopted by the Spanish settlers in the sixteenth century. Our sound designer, Martin Slavin, has discovered a film on YouTube which we pull up. It demonstrates the extraordinary tonal whistling language, and sets the actors who are playing shepherds into a spree of tonal whistling.

El Silbo was declared as a Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity by UNESCO in 2009.

We try and imagine what these shepherds might look and sound like. I can hear the sheep bells, I can imagine the dogs barking, and the shepherds' cries echoing in the mountains, but what about their song? The scene starts with such a song among them. I have searched the archives of Alan Lomax, the American folksong archivist. He gathered and recorded many European folk songs, which could date back many centuries. Lomax travelled Spain in the fifties recording songs all over the country. In Extremadura, which borders Andalucia, he spent a night in a chozzo, a shepherd's hut, listening to an old man chant his song. He describes the place in his notes: 'A hut of straw... an oil lamp, a three-legged frying pan in a little square hearth in the centre of the hut, forks and spoons stuck in a wall of rushes, rush beds of aromatic branches around the room... no windows, airy and clean... low stools of cork and knotted branches.' The recording is an archaic chant-like melody about a murdered shepherd whispering his last words to his sheep with his dying breath. But somehow the song is such a specific sound it would be impossible to recreate.

Today we bring all this sporadic research together. Paul Englishby teaches the shepherds the song he has composed. It incorporates an antiphonal call and response, suggesting the cries of shepherds across the valleys. We add some dog barks, I bring in some copper sheep bells I bought on my travels somewhere (which have been hanging in my study so long I can't remember where I got them!) the actors refine their Silbo technique, and the Sierra Mountains begin to emerge in our imaginations.

After our trip to Knightsbridge, to the barracks of the Household Cavalry, we are alert to every reference to horses and horsemanship in the play. In an early scene in the play Camillo, Cardenio's father, muses about his son's hidden skill:

'Horsemanship! What horsemanship has Cardenio? I think he can no more but gallop a hackney, unless he practised riding in France. It may be he did so; for he was there a good continuance.'

France in Shakespeare's day was highly regarded for its horsemanship. As Claudius reminds Laertes in Hamlet, of a gentleman from Normandy, recently arrived at Elsinore:

'Here was a gentleman of Normandy.
I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French,
And they can well on horseback; but this gallant
Had witchcraft in't.'

And of course it is the French in Henry V who make extravagant claims for their horses. This is the Dauphin (in Act 3 scene 7):

'I will not change my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns. Ca, ha! He bounds from the earth, as if his entrails were hairs; le cheval volant, the Pegasus, chez les narines de feu! When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes'.

The prolific writer, Gervase Markham produced his delightful book The Compleat Horseman in 1614. He was a horse breeder himself, and is said to have imported the first Arabian horse to England. It is a great source book of detail about how to breed and break in horses. One of his many book on horses, called Cavelarice included the trade secrets of William Banks, the owner of a remarkable horse called Marocco, the 'dancing horse' referred to by Moth in Love's Labours Lost. In 1601 Banks even took his wonder horse up the thousand steps to the roof of Old St Paul's. Banks would get Marocco to count or to urinate on command, or pick out a virgin from the crowd. He would get the horse to bow for Queen Elizabeth, but when ordered to bow for King Philip of Spain, the horse would bear its teeth and whinny and chase Banks off. A trick referred to by John Donne:

'But to a grave man, he doth move no more
Then the wise politic horse would heretofore,
Or thou, O Elephant, or Ape, wilt do,
When any names the king of Spain to you.'

But when relations between Spain and England improved, horses were often given as presents between the royal houses. When the Earl of Nottingham travelled to Valladolid in 1605 to ratify the peace with Spain, he presented to their Spanish majesties 'six stately horses and saddle cloths, very richly and curiously embroidered'. There were three for the king and three for the queen. And in the aftermath of the Gunpowder Plot a year later, the Spanish Ambassador delivered 'six jennets of Andalusia' to King James. One of them was snow white, with a mane so long it reached the ground.

And of course today Spain is still renowned for its love of horses and for its horsemanship. We all know of the Spanish riding school in Vienna, said to be the oldest riding school in the world, and so named for the Spanish Lipizzan horses which is the breed exclusively used by the school.

King James' son Prince Henry was a great fan of horses, and built himself a riding school at Court to promote the skills of horse riding. One young courtier was so impressed he nearly bankrupted his estate by building his own riding school in imitation. The building still stands today.

The afternoon following the wedding of Elizabeth and Frederick, we learn that the sixteen-year-old Elector Palatine (or Palsgrave as he is here called) was a good horseman:

'That afternoon the King, Prince, Count Palatine, with diverse others, ran at the ring, (a tournament game) and when that was ended and the king and Prince gone, the Palsgrave mounted upon a high-bounding horse which he managed so like a horseman that he was exceedingly commended and had many shouts and acclamations of the beholders, and indeed I never saw any of his age come near him in that exercise.' (From a letter from John Chamberlain to Alice Carleton February 18th 1613)

Is it possible that the references to Cardenio's horsemanship in the play were inserted to flatter the new member of the royal family?Cardenio travels with his new 'friend' the Duke's son, Don Fernando to his home town, Almodovar del Campo, which Cervantes' describes as: 'the best in all Andalucía for horses'. And having picked out several horses, Fernando uses the pretext of sending Cardenio back to Court to fetch money to pay for them, to attempt to seduce his girl friend Luscinda.

Our trip to the barracks of the Household Cavalry is already suggesting ideas about how to convey this love of horsemanship on stage.

A visit to the Household Cavalry Mounted Regiment this morning. While Mike Ashcroft, our choreographer, drills the rest of the company in a bit of movement work, and Paul Englishby teaches the motet* which opens the play, I take Olly Rix and Alex Hassell (playing Cardenio and Fernando, respectively) to the Hyde Park Barracks. Much is made in Cardenio of the eponymous hero's horsemanship. It is for his skill with horses apparently that Cardenio has been called to court to assist the Duke's son Fernando.

Neither Olly nor Alex have had much experience of horses, and we want to explore ways of expressing on stage the close familiarity of working with horses that both men are assumed to possess. How better than to talk to the elite horsemen of the Life Guards and the Blues and Royals?

We are met at the barracks' Ceremonial Gate by our host for the morning, Captain Lukas. He has just come from inspecting the guard who are about to set out for Horse Guards Parade. Ahead of us is a group of young girls from a local pony club. We stand on the veranda and watch while the soldiers line up their splendid black mounts. They look immaculate in their plumed helmets and shiny cuirasses. These are the men who in a few weeks time will undertake all the ceremonial duties required at the Royal Wedding, a far cry from their last posting: on the front line in Afghanistan.

We ask if each man has his breast plate specially fitted, and are greeted with polite laughter. The uniforms look spectacular, but can be incredibly uncomfortable. Apparently there is a saying in the barracks: 'If it hurts, it fits!' I must remember to tell that to our armourer in Stratford, Julian Gilbert, who takes great care to ensure that every piece of armour he makes fits precisely.

We meet up with one of the mounted soldiers in Captain Lukas's troop. His boots have the gleam of patent leather, and we are surprised to learn that in fact they take up to sixty hours of work, plenty of beeswax, polish and elbow grease to make them sparkle like that. I suddenly feel very scruffy indeed.

Our tour includes a visit to the forge, where one trooper, a Geordie lad with the word 'Danger' tattooed on his arm, is shoeing a grey stallion. The ease with which he leans in to the horse and lifts its hoof is remarkable. An acrid stench, like burnt hair, fills the place. On the wall, there is a chart of all the horses in the barracks. There are over 140 animals here. Like car registration numbers, the horses are named with an initial letter according to the year. This year it's K. So there are young horses called Krypton and Kalashnikov. Olly notices one of the oldest: Yorick!

In the stable block, another soldier is grooming Spartacus, one of the heavy horses which carry the great silver kettle drums on parade. Again his ease with the horse, and the gentle manner in which the two work together is impressive. But horses, Captain Lukas tells us, can be very sensitive to anyone around them who is anxious, and can pick up fear, or indecisiveness in their rider. At that moment as if to prove his point, Cedric is led past us. Cedric is renowned in the barracks for his temperament. He has bucked many a nervous new recruit off his back.

In the full dress store we see some of the extraordinary and highly valuable uniforms the regiment possesses. Here are dress coats, and drum banners laden with heavy gold thread and I learn a great new word: 'shabraque' (it's a saddle cloth). Alex tries on one of the regimental plumed helmets adorned with gilded oak and bay leaves (pictured). The red plume on one of the helmets of the Blues and Royals is made of yak hair. The ivory plumes of the Life Guards used to be made of horse hair, but now (rather disappointingly), are made of nylon.

As Corporal Beaumont shows off some choice pieces, I spot a dangerous-looking weapon, a sort of large steel axe on a wooden shaft with a sharp spike on the butt end. It's a poleaxe. They were at one time used for chopping off your horse's hoof if it fell in battle, we are told, to prove it has been killed rather than stolen. So is this what Hamlet's father used in 'an angry parle' when he smote the ice with his poleaxe?

In the saddler's workshop, Corporal Worsley gives us a run down on the kit. The room hums with the tangy smell of the leather. There is an impressive range of snaffles and bits, of military whips and crops, of reins, stirrups, and swan neck spurs; all of which gives us a sense of just how much clobber is involved in working with horses. Jenny, our Deputy Stage Manager, who has come along on the trip, is making a lot of mental notes.

As we come to the end of our visit, it is difficult to know precisely how we will use any of the information we have learned. It is likely that some little moment will have its effect; some sense memory of the symbiosis these soldiers evolve with the horses they work with may inform an element of Olly and Alex's performances, and give a deeper understanding of Cardenio's horsemanship.

* A vocal composition, normally sung in a Catholic church

It seems almost unbelievable, but we are starting our fourth week of rehearsals already. In the Cardenio rehearsal room, we are still mostly sitting around the table. Simon Callow in his book Being an Actor, describes this process beautifully, as we try to feel the play's aura, 'almost its force field.' It is a bit like sitting round a ouija board. The research we do is like lobbing a pebble into the collective pool of our unconscious and watching the ripples. Some research will be useful, some not so.

Last week we were joined by Antonio Alamo, our Spanish Dramaturg. Antonio runs the Lope de Vega Theatre in Seville, and is an author in his own right. He is also a Cervantes nut. I met Antonio at the Almagro Festival in La Mancha, when our production of The Canterbury Tales was on tour in Spain. The then director of the Festival, the Cuba-born firecracker Emilio Hernandez had brought together a series of Spanish theatre practitioners to discuss Spanish classical theatre, and it was he who suggested that Antonio might be very helpful in determining what direction we wanted to take Cardenio.

I visited Antonio in Seville in February 2008. We spent a concentrated couple of days trying to understand what the Cardenio episode meant in the context of Don Quixote; what the impact of the story might have been in seventeenth century Spain and how the central characters were regarded in that country today. All very illuminating. It made me realise that the plot in the Double Falshood had become rather thinned out. Frankly, by adapting the story for the sensibilities and tastes of his eighteenth century audience, Theobald had emasculated play, and we needed to put the Iberian 'cojones' back into it!

To see just what a bit of Spanish flare and passion could produce, last week, Antonio recommended a visit to the Flamenco Festival at Sadlers' Wells where some friends of his were performing. We watched the astonishing iconoclastic Israel Galavan spin flamenco into the twenty-first century. With just the help of David Lagos, a cante jondo (deep, serious vocal style) singer from Jerez, and his brother Alfredo, on guitar, he kept us on the edge of our seats for an hour and a half.

Gerard Brenan, in his book South from Granada, writes about singing of cante jondo, of music that has 'black sounds' in it, and of dancers whose feet can summon up the spirit of 'duende' (a hard to define concept in Spanish arts, a kind of heightened state of emotion in response to music, in particular). That I had witnessed before, but I was not expecting flamenco to make me laugh too, and that is part of Galavan's genius clapping out intoxicating rhythms, even at one point upon his teeth.

The entire acting company have been taking flamenco classes (even the Macbeth and Merchant company, for whom it is not directly relevant) with the inspiring Jaki Wilby so they are learning about how to concentrate and focus a passion that seems to rise from the ground. It is up to Mike Ashcroft, our choreographer, to translate that into a language that the actors can comprehend and master in the time we have. But even after one session last week, the company all seem taller. Perhaps, they are beginning to understand something about the Spanish people that Jan Morris describes beautifully in her book Spain when she says that the Spanish are more 'perpendicular' than any other nation.

Antonio Alamo spent his week in rehearsals, sitting and listening. Occasionally he would interrupt and explain precisely how important the word 'honour' is in Spanish culture, and at the same time, how Cervantes (in Don Quixote) deconstructed the nonsense that surrounded the code, in the book that was said to have destroyed a nation.

Or he would argue passionately why, for him, Dorotea is such a determined, strong woman who has no life in society if she does not recover her rightful place as Fernando's wife. Unless he honours his vows to her, she is a non-person in her world. He'd explain that what occasionally might seem black and white melodrama in Double Falshood, is complex and subtle in the novel, and argues that we embrace those nuances.

One night he visited the tiny Union theatre to see Phil Wilmott's fringe production of Double Falshood, and returns perplexed that they have staged one of the scenes which do not appear in that play. They make the Fernando/Henriquez's 'seduction' of Dorotea/Violante a violent rape, with the added insult of money being chucked at the victim as if she were no better than a prostitute. Antonio saw no textual evidence for this in either Theobald or Cervantes, and insisted that it diminishes the story. Although I applaud Phil Wilmott's chutzpah in mounting the play, I have chosen not to go to see the production, as I am right in the centre of rehearsals, but I can see Antonio's point.

Antonio has been invaluable in helping me to untie the convoluted plotting in Double Falshood, and to restore important story beats which render the characters journeys more complex, more satisfying, more 'Cervantian'. Perhaps more Shakespearian too, and certainly more Fletcherian.

If the keynote of this entire project is the spirit of collaboration, then Antonio has been one of its shining lights.

So finally, after weeks of meeting actors and negotiating with my fellow directors, I have a cast. There are 17 actors in Cardenio (12 men and 5 women). All of them are also in Massinger's The City Madam, which has another 5 actors making a company of twenty two altogether. And we all started on Monday, alongside the parallel company which is rehearsing Macbeth and The Merchant of Venice to open the new Main House.

Why is it that every time a new company assembles to start rehearsals, no matter how many times we do this job, it feels just like the first day at school? Well, the first day of rehearsals is really just a means of getting to the second day of rehearsals, so the morning spins by in a whirl of new faces, and welcomes and parish notices.

In the afternoon the Cardenio company assemble in the upstairs room which is going to be our home for the next several weeks, and I begin to chart the history of the project. Chris Godwin, playing Cardenio's father, Don Camillo, was in the first workshop we did on Theobald's Double Falshood back in 2003 in Stratford, when he was in The Taming of the Shrew/Tamer Tamed company. And Pippa Nixon, playing Dorothea, participated in the workshop we did as part of an RSC residency in Michigan last April. On the other hand, Olly Rix, who has landed the part of Cardenio, has never been part of the RSC. In fact, this is his first job. So we are an interesting bunch of people I know well, and don't know at all...

In my pocket I had a piece of amber. It's not a lucky charm, it's something I spotted on my mantelpiece in the morning, and thought I'd bring along. It's from the Baltic, and I bought it from a stall in the cloth market in Krakow some years ago. When you hold it up to the light you start to see within its rich golden glow a number of specks of grit floating inside, and if you look very carefully there is a tiny fly trapped in one corner, suspended in the resin. Who knows how long it has been there. Perhaps millions of years. Perhaps it's the kind of fly from which scientists might extract the DNA of dinosaurs, who knows?

Stanley Wells, the Shakespeare scholar, said he thought that there may well be some Shakespeare DNA in Lewis Theobald's Double Falshood. Trying to spot it is like trying to spot the fly in the corner of this piece of amber. It's intriguing.

Alexander Pope used the image of a piece of amber to describe Lewis Theobald. He wrote:

Yet even this creature may some notice claim
Wrapt round and sanctified with Shakespeare's name;
Pretty, in amber to observe the forms
Of hairs, or straws or dirt, or grubs or worms,
The thing, we know, is neither rich nor rare,
But wonder how the devil it got there.

His accusation is that Theobald is an upstart trying to gain attention by associating himself with the name of Shakespeare.
Theobald had aroused Pope's fury by daring to challenge the edition of Shakespeare's plays he had produced in 1725. Theobald published his response called Shakespeare Restored in 1726. It combed through the plays, focusing particularly on Hamlet in Pope's edition and criticised his emendations and corrections. Theobald felt that Pope's job should have been to reveal what Shakespeare had written, not what he ought to have written.

Shakespeare Restored maintains a polite tone throughout, apparently courteous to his 'fellow scholar' but I suspect Theobald knew just how devastating its effect would be on Pope, and the insult is made explicit in the quotation from Virgil which he places on the frontispiece. It's from book six in The Aeneid, the story of Aeneas journey from Troy to found Rome. I was educated by the Jesuits, and we did the gripping book six in Latin class, so I happen to recognise the quotation. It's the moment when Aeneas goes down into the underworld and sees the mangled corpse of the Trojan prince, Deiphobus:

'...Lariatum corpo toto
Deiphobum vidi et lacerum crudeliter ora,
Ora manusque ambas'

In Dryden's translation the passage is rendered as follows:

Here Priam's son, Deiphobus, he found,
Whose face and limbs were one continued wound:
Dishonest, with lopp'd arms, the youth appears,
Spoil'd of his nose, and shorten'd of his ears.

And it goes on:

He scarcely knew him, striving to disown
His blotted form, and blushing to be known;
And therefore first began: 'O Teucer's race,
Who durst thy faultless figure thus deface?
What heart could wish, what hand inflict, this dire disgrace?'
(Dryden's translation of Virgil's Aeneid, Book Six: circa Line 495)

It must have been clear to any of Theobald's readers who recognised the quotation that he regarded Pope's editing of Shakespeare as a disgraceful mutilation of the text. No wonder Pope was furious.

The great satirist, Jonathan Swift, was staying with his good friend Pope when Theobald's attack on him was published. Swift had just published Gulliver's Travels that same year. It is possible that he suggested to Pope a way to get back at his rival. Whether he did or not, Pope had his revenge when he wrote The Dunciad. The poem's very name echoes The Aeneid, or the Illiad, and suggests its mock-epic flavour. The Dunciad satirises all the dunces in London, the 'sons of Dullness' as he calls them. And whom does Pope make the King of the Dunces? Poor Lewis Theobald.

In future ages how their fame will spread,
For routing triplets and restoring 'ed'
Yet ne'er one sprig of laurel graces these ribbalds
From sanguine Sewell down to Piddling Tibbalds,
Who thinks he reads when he but scans and spells
A word catcher that lives on syllables.

He imagines Theobald working in his study:

Here studious I unlucky moderns save
Nor sleeps one error in its father's grave
Old puns restore, lost blunders nicely seek
And crucify poor Shakespeare once a week.

Lewis Theobald would gain his immortality, but not the fame he sought, consigned to history as a literary footnote, as 'piddling Tibbald'.
Theobald's reputation would finally be redeemed, but just as he prepared his production of Double Falshood, a great coup to follow up his publication of Shakespeare Restored he didn't know what was about to hit him.

On the tube home at the end of our first day of rehearsals, I reach into my pocket, and discover the piece of Baltic amber. I have forgotten to bring it out. There's the minute little fly trapped in the corner.

On our research trip to Spain, with our Spanish fixer Ann Bateson, and designer Niki Turner, we visit the grim grey granite Escorial. The grid-like monastery-fortress was built by Philip II in the hills to the North West of Madrid. We see his bedroom - the sombre little cell where he died in agony, his ulcerating body unable to bear the weight of even a single sheet. It isn't hung with velvet now, 'black and soft as sin', and the dwarves that Velasquez painted so frequently and whose portraits now hang on the walls of the Prado, no longer steal in and out. And I am disappointed to find that the crowned skull he kept by his bedside is no longer there (see image in previous post: 'Toledo and the Prado').

At the far end of the room is a small window from where the sickly monarch could watch the services being conducted on the high altar of the echoing marble basilica below. Philip died early in the morning of September 13th 1598, as the seminary boys were singing the dawn mass, 'the last service held for his health, and the first for his salvation'.

The Pudridero is a rotting chamber, where the corpses of nearly every Spanish monarch since Philip, have been left to decompose, before being deposited in the Kings' pantheon. Unsurprisingly it is not open to visitors. Ann tells us that the present King Juan Carlos' father is still in there. We descend past it, into the sepulchral gloom of a circular vault. It houses the bodies of the kings and queens of Spain, Hapsburg or Bourbon, racked on shelves, in bronze and blue marble coffins.

At the end of several chilly chambers in this necropolis-palace there is a white marble tomb like an iced cake, carved with the image of the hero of Lepanto, the young Don John of Austria himself. Here he is, handsome in death, surprisingly slight , gripping the Toledo sword, (like Othello's sword, 'the ice-brook's temper'), with which perhaps he charged his ships into the smoke of the Turkish lines at Lepanto.

In fact Don John died tragically young, not in the roar of battle, but, like the young Prince Henry of England after him, of typhoid. He was just 30. His legend is enhanced by miraculous events, such as the crucifix he had with him at Lepanto, which he later presented to Barcelona Cathedral. Its body is contorted, it is said, from twisting to escape a cannon ball during the famous battle.

As we wander round this humourless mausoleum of a palace, I get a profound sense of death as a central theme in Spanish life. This persistent flavour of mortality gives me a strong sense of the opening of Cardenio where the Duke Ricardo, contemplating his imminent death with a steady gaze, tells his son not to grieve.

We leave the pantheons of the dead infantas, and head back into the cloisters. The vast spectacular mural painted by Luca Giordano on the vault of the Main Staircase of the Escorial, depicts the then King, Carlos II, at the end of the next century, pointing to the apotheosis of King Philip II as he is welcomed into heaven, surrounded by vast hoards of saints and angels in a vortex of pink and golden clouds. Carlos looks for all the world, as if he is commenting blithely on a particularly charming sunset, and indeed in a way he is, for the sun had set by then upon The Glory of Spanish Monarchy as this baroque masterpiece is known. For with Philip II, the Spanish Empire died also, the empire he had ruled over for so long, slipping into decadence and losing its influence and grip, as the Inca and Aztec gold from its South American empires was frittered away.

The high point of Don John's glorious victory over the Ottoman Empire at the Battle of Lepanto, should have been matched by trouncing the upstart English with a magnificent Spanish Armada in 1588, but instead, their defeat at the hands of the Queen Elizabeth's ships marked the start of a slow decline.

Love-light of Spain- hurrah!
Death-light of Africa!
Don John of Austria
Is riding to the sea.

I don't know when these lines first seeped into my brain. I don't think it was a poem I had to learn at school. But I am sure I was caught in the thrilling rhythm of the poem, before I ever realised what the piece was actually about. Lines like 'Dim drums throbbing, in the hills half heard' create such a sense of tension and excitement and held breath. They come from G.K.Chesterton's poem Lepanto, celebrating Don John of Austria's triumphal naval victory over the Ottoman Turks in 1570.

And like the galloping anapaests of Byron's The Destruction of Sennacherib
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
The poem demands to be spoken out loud.

One verse in Lepanto contrasts Action Man hero Don John with the fungal pallor of King Philip II shut up in the Escorial:

King Philip's in his closet with the Fleece about his neck
(Don John of Austria is armed upon the deck)
The walls are hung with velvet that is black and soft as sin,
And little dwarfs creep out of it and little dwarves creep in.

It's baroque in its depiction of the decaying Spanish king, and its almost comic book in its thrill at the fury of the sea battle:

Don John pounding from the slaughter painted poop,
Purpling all the ocean like a bloody pirate's sloop...

I went back to the poem last week to see how much of it I remembered, and came across a line which obviously had not registered on my young brain. In the last verse Chesterton says:

Cervantes on his galley sets his sword back in the sheath
(Don John of Austria rides homeward with a wreath.)
And he sees across a weary land a straggling road in Spain,
Up which a lean and foolish knight for ever rides in vain,
And he smiles, but not a sultans smile, and settles back the blade...
(But Don John of Austria rides home from the Crusade.)

Yes, Miguel Cervantes fought at the battle of Lepanto. In fact, as he was suffering from malaria, he should not have fought, and had been told by his captain to stay below. Instead, he positioned himself at the head of twelve men in a fighting skiff, alongside the galley ship, La Marquesa, in a sea tinged red with blood. He was shot three times in the chest by an harquebus, and lost the use of his left arm. His valour was later recognised by Don John, who visited him in the army hospital, and wrote letters of recommendation on his behalf. He was twenty three.

During our research trip to Spain, Chesterton's poem keeps ringing in my ears.

The next stop on Davillier and Dore's journey is Toledo, and I am hoping we can fit in a visit on our trip.

I feel as if I already know Toledo, from the famous painting by El Greco, with its violent menace of sky, which he painted at exactly the time that Cervantes published Don Quixote. And it is his painting of The Burial of Count Orgaz, in the church of San Tome which I greatly want to see. He called it 'my sublime work'. A personal favourite of mine is the portrait of his son Jorge Manuel, which I saw in the Museo Provincial de Bellas Artes in Seville. He's a handsome young man, in his early twenties in the painting, and carries a small palette in one hand, (he followed his father into the profession), and the other hand holds a brush which is poised to paint the final flourish. He wears an enormous ruff and a bright twinkle in his eye.

Shakespeare knew of Toledo for its reputation for making the best swords in Europe. It is probably a blade from Toledo that Othello has concealed in his chamber:

'I have another weapon in this chamber;
It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper:—
Mercutio mentions the swords of Spain in the Queen Mab speech:
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscados, Spanish blades!'

Oddly enough when Davillier refers to Mercutio's speech, he quotes from what is presumably a French translation of the time: 'Toledo's trusty, of which a soldier dreams'.

We hope to include Philip II's great Escorial palace in our few days, and the town of Alcala de Henares, the birthplace of Cervantes.
Davillier calls Alcala de Henares 'the learned city, the ancient rival of Salamanca'. Don Carlos (famously the subject of Schiller's play) the son of Philip II was a student here. He fell down a staircase receiving injuries which he felt for the rest of his life. His father the king rushed to Alcala bringing with him the corpse of a Franciscan monk, the blessed Diego, who was reputed to effect miraculous cures. The dead body was then laid on top of poor ailing Don Carlos, who, says Davillier, 'happily escaped death'! But how did he escape the trauma of being smothered by a dead Franciscan, I wonder?

Davillier and Dore were shown the house where Cervantes was born, and visited the church of Santa Maria la Mayor, where he was baptized. Dore includes a drawing of the students of Alcala de Henares conducting their own rather rowdy serenata.

We will be staying in Madrid as a base, and I'm keen to show Niki the portraits of Sophonisba Anguissola in the Prado Museum. She was the most extraordinary artist, who lived to the ripe old age of 93. She knew Michaelangelo and Van Dyck. Italian by birth, Anguissola painted Philip II's great adviser, the Duke of Alba in Milan in 1558. The following year, Alba was to stand in for King Philip at his marriage to the French Princess Elizabeth of Valois in Notre Dame in Paris. Alba recommended Sofonisba both as a court painter, and as a lady in waiting for the new queen.

There is a fabulously glamorous portrait of one of one of Elizabeth's daughters, Catalina Michaela in the Glasgow Art Gallery. She looks like a dark haired Grace Kelly, in a white head scarf, and a white fur lined cloak. Elizabeth played quite a strategic political role, in marrying her daughter Catalina to the 'Fire Head' Charles Emmanuel, Duke of Savoy, in order to strengthen the Spanish presence in that region. And Catalina inherited her mother's political nous in marrying her own daughters off to strong political partners. In February 1608 Turin hosted a double wedding of the two Savoyard princesses, Margaret to Francesco Gonzaga of Mantua, and Isabella to Alfonso d'Este, of Modena.

Catalina Michaela had her sights set on the King of England's son Henry for her next daughter, and the ambassador Gabaleone was sent to London to affect the match, as you might remember from earlier in this blog. There are portraits of Margaret (Marguerite) of Savoy and her sister Isabella by the Flemish painter Frans Pourbus the younger and I am hoping to track these down to show Niki Turner, our designer for Cardenio, as well.

I have been looking at Gustave Dore's illustrations for Don Quixote.

I have always been fascinated by Dore's engravings. My Auntie Mary and Uncle Bob in Slaithwaite had a huge old Victorian tome of Dante's Inferno with illustrations by Dore. Whenever we went over to Huddersfield for Christmas or Easter, I would ask to see it, and sit absorbed for hours staring at Dore's terrifying illustrations of the circles of Hell and their tortured inhabitants.

Dore's illustrations for Don Quixote hold a similar fascination for me now, and the scene where the mad Don tilts at the windmills and he and his horse Rozinate are swept high into the air is surely a definitive depiction of that episode.

Dore travelled throughout Spain in the 1860's with the Baron Jean-Charles Davillier, who wrote a book about their travels, which Dore illustrated. He sketches bull fights in Seville, gypsies dancing Flamenco in the grottoes of Sacro-Monte. Here is the mournful magnificence of the Escorial, the great Alcazar of Toledo, the horseshoe arches of the Mezquite mosque in Cordoba, and shifty looking tourists in Granada, chipping out azulejos tiles in the Alhambra. He draws everything from a shepherd in Estremadura, to a procession of penitents in their white pointed hoods.

As I read Davillier's account of their journey through Andalucia, several interesting descriptions leap out, which might be very useful in trying to deepen our understanding of the story of Cardenio. For example, Davillier describes the serenata of Cordoba, and Dore illuminates the scene:

'If Cordova is silent and dreary during the daytime, it seems to awake partially from its repose to listen to the serenades at night. This serenading appeared to us nothing more than a sort of amusing pleasantry... not so with the Andalucians; to them the guitar is a noble instrument, and its jerking notes are listened to with melodramatic seriousness. A Spanish poet touchingly enquires: ''What would an Englishman, Dane or Swede do to convince a lady of his adoration? Would he willingly deprive himself of a night's rest? But with us behold the difference! A majo, guitar in hand, his mantle tossed negligently over his shoulder, sings and sighs his love patiently beneath a balcony, regardless of weather; he waits until daybreak, dreading the frown of his lady-love should he quit his post a moment too soon.'''

Apparently Andalucians have another expression for characterising ardent lovers with their heads bent to the bars of the grille of their beloved's window, 'mascar hierro' to chew iron. Daviller goes on to include a number of the classic serenatas, or coplas de ventas (window couplets) which are sung on these occasions:

'Cuerpo gueno! Alma divina!
Que de fatigas me cuestas!
Despierta, si estas dormida,
Y alivia por Dios, mi pena!'

('Rare beauty! Divine one! What trouble is mine! Wake, if thou sleepest, and for God's sake my sorrows allay!')

'La paloma esta en la cama
Arropadita y caliente
Y el polomo esta en la esquina
Dandose diente con diente.'

('The dove is in bed, snugly wrapped up, while the pigeon waits in the street, cold and gnashing his teeth.')

I'll send these verses to Paul Englishby our composer. They may be useful in developing the kind of music that Fernando brings with him to serenade Dorotea in Act One of Cardenio.

Cervantes' birthplace is just about as authentic as Shakespeare's in Henley Street. It stands on the corner of a pleasant little street in Alcala de Henares. The convent his sister entered as a nun is just around the corner. On a bench in the pedestrianised street outside the house sits the ubiquitous figure of Don Quixote in bronze with Sancho Panza sitting next to him, carving a slice of ham.

Ann Bateson, our Spanish 'fixer' has introduced me to Juan Sanz Ballesteros, a theatre designer, who has helped to give Cervantes' House a sense of atmosphere, and he is my guide as we walk around it. I make notes about the shady courtyard with its linen canopy drawn against the sunlight; about the rather stiff little parlour with its upright chairs, and leather hangings, stamped to make them look as if they are woven, the fascinating low wooden braziers which would have warmed every room, the women's room on the first floor, with its carpeted dais, spread with cushions, its spinning wheel, mandolin, marquetry chests and escritoires and the child's room with its little altar to the Virgin Mary - all very useful material in trying to stage Cardenio.

Across the courtyard landing, in the exhibition room, there are copies of Cervantes' famous novel, Don Quixote, from every intervening century, and in many different languages. I look at the English edition and am astonished to find that Thomas Shelton's 1612 edition is open at the very start of the Cardenio episode. We decide to regard that as a good omen.

But the most special visit we made in Alcala de Henares was to the theatre. When our guide, Juan, was a young man in his twenties he and a friend were poking around the dusty old converted theatre which they had known as a cinema since they were boys and discovered that behind the eighteenth century galleries lay the remains of a courtyard corral theatre from the Golden Age of Spanish Drama, from the time of Cervantes himself.

With the pride of a parent, Juan showed us round the now restored space, from the pebbles of the original courtyard, to the trap doors, wind machines, and thunder rolls still intact under the boards of the seventeenth century stage. What a find! It was in a corral theatre such as this that Cervantes would have seen his early plays performed, and which must have staged the works of his contemporaries, Calderon de la Barca, Tirso de Molina and the prolific Lope de Vega.

Cervantes claimed to have written some twenty or thirty plays, of which only a few are extant. Imagine! Here I am spending all this time and effort wondering what Shakespeare's lost play might have been like, and nearly every play Cervantes ever wrote is missing. Were they any good? In his prologue to eight plays and interludes that he published at the end of his life, he writes with appealing self deprecation, that they were not all that bad: '... at least people didn't throw cucumbers.'

A few weeks ago I was walking through the Avonbank Gardens, between Holy Trinity Church and the Theatre, and stopped to chat to the workman who was wiring up the new lampposts which have recently been installed along the new riverside walkway. And not just any old lampposts. These are all different and all very special. They have been donated to Stratford from all over the world. This one is from the Kingdom of Jordan, that from South Glamorgan. Here's an Edinburgh lamppost and this one is from Copenhagen.

The workman was wiring up the particularly splendid five lanterned lamppost that stands by the gate to the gardens. He felt that it had not been positioned with sufficient care, and that it needed a little low wall around it with some choice planting. I couldn't agree. It seems to me to stand sentinel magnificently at the entrance to what was once the Flower family's own garden. But it is only recently that this great black pillar of lights has had its donator label attached, so I was fascinated to see where it came from, and delighted to read, around a painted Spanish flag, the name Alcala de Henares.

Before starting on the Cardenio Project, I doubt I would have recognised the name. But now I have actually visited the place, and regard it with fond affection, for Alcala de Henares is a little town, north-east of Madrid, which was the birthplace of Don Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, the author of Don Quixote.

Cervantes' statue stands on a plinth in the centre of the little town square in Alcala de Henares. He is dressed in doublet and hose, and neat ruff, and holds an inordinately long quill pen. If you did not know you were in Spain, you would assume this was a statue of his contemporary, William Shakespeare. I had come here as part of our research trip to Spain. Around the town square, La Plaza de Cervantes, white storks were nesting on the rooftops, clattering their bills at each other. They are symbols of luck and prosperity in Spain.

Cervantes seems to me to share the same spirit of compassion and humanity which is evident in the works of Chaucer, Shakespeare and Dickens. But unlike Shakespeare, Cervantes life was comparatively full of adventure. He travelled to Italy, possibly fleeing arrest having wounded a man in a duel. He became a soldier and fought bravely in the naval Battle of Lepanto, (the great triumphant defeat of the Ottoman fleet by the forces of Christian Spain) where he lost the use of his left arm. On his way back to Barcelona, he was captured by corsairs and held prisoner as a slave in Algiers for five years. He made several escape attempts. His accomplice in one such attempt, a gardener, was hanged by the left foot for helping him.

When Cervantes returned to Spain, he married a much younger woman but seems to have abandoned her, first to become a purveyor, travelling all over Spain to requisition supplies for the Armada, and later as a tax collector. He even attempted to get a posting to the New World. Cervantes spent most of his life in debt, and suffered bankruptcy. He found himself in prison on at least two occasions. It was really only the last nine years of his life that El Principe de los Ingenios, or the Prince of Wits as the Spanish call him, that Cervantes settled to write, enjoying a period of relative ease, after the publication and immediate success of Don Quixote (the first modern novel) in 1605.

Next to Cervantes' action packed life, what we know of Shakespeare's seems sedentary by comparison. Anthony Burgess, in a short story called “Meeting at Valladolid”, imagines the two men meeting, during the visit of the Earl of Nottingham to Spain to ratify the 1604 peace treaty. And in the 1920's, in his book of essays “Apes and Angels” J. B. Priestley conjures up a picture of the two great writers looking down from heaven at half timbered Stratford and laughing at the absurdity of the whole Shakespeare industry. What would they have made of the lamppost in the Theatre Gardens?

Shakespeare and Cervantes died on the same date. I say date, rather than day, because the calendars of England and the rest of Europe were out of synch by ten days. If for no other reason, Cardenio is intriguing in that it represents a story written by one and adapted by the other.

I found myself wondering what impressions the young Prince Henry might have had of the Dukedom of Savoy, the home of the Infanta whom his father proposed to be his bride. He might have turned to a book published the previous year in 1611, by the extraordinary Thomas Coryate. Ben Jonson said of Coryate: 'He is always Tongue –Major of the company', which captures something of the lively spirit of this gossipy traveller, so evident in his book.

The lengthy title says it all: 'Coryate's Crudities hastily gobbled up in five months travel, and newly digested in the hungry air of Odcombe in the county of Somerset, and now dispersed to the nourishment of the travelling members of his kingdom'. Coryate dedicated the book to Prince Henry, calling him with ingratiating hyperbole, 'the orient pearl of the Christian world'.

His observations of Savoy are contained in the first volume. At ten o'clock in the morning on Wednesday 8th June 1608, Coryate arrived at the foot of his first Alp. He describes how he was carried shoulder high on a precarious chair litter up the mountains at the start of his week in the dukedom.

He complains of the bad roads 'which were as bad as the worst I ever rode in England in the midst of winter, in so much that the ways of Savoy may be proverbially spoken of as the owls of Athens, the pears of Calabria, and the quails of Delos.' He shudders at the steepness of the roads through the mountain passes: 'If my horse had happened to stumble, he had fallen down with me four or five times as deep in some places as Paul's Tower in London is high.'

He shivers in this chilly, damp Alpine pocket: 'The country of Savoy is very cold and much subject to rain by reason of those clouds that are continually hovering about the Alps.' Once he has passed through the Alps, Coryate admires the vineyards and the fine meadows, the chestnut, walnut and hazel trees, and he marvels at the 'admirable abundance of Butter-flies in many places of Savoy, by the hundredth part more than ever I saw in any country before.'

Oddly he notices how many of the population seem to be afflicted with terrible goitres (swelling of the thyroid gland), which he ascribes to the common drinking of snow water. 'Yea some of their bunches are almost as great as an ordinary football with us in England.'

Coryate always has an eye for the detail of the national costume he sees. In Savoy, he wonders at the high girdled dress of the women, and admires the quaintness of their head gear: 'For they wrap and fold together after a very seemly fashion, almost as much linen upon their heads as the Turks do in those linen caps they wear, which are called Turbents.' A little further along in his journey to Turin, he observes 'the most delicate straw hats, which both men and women use in most places in that province, but especially the women. For those that the women wear are very pretty, some of them having at least an hundred seams with silver and many flowers, borders and branches very curiously wrought in them, in so much that some of them were valued at two duckatons, that is eleven shillings.'

When he arrives in Turin, he has to apologise that his observations of 'so flourishing and beautiful a city' are so brief, because like many a traveller, he became ill. He warns his fellow tourist 'I found so great a distemperature in my body by drinking the sweet wine of Piedmont that caused a grievous inflammation in my face and hands, so that I had but a small desire to walk much abroad in the streets. Therefore I advise all Englishmen that intend to travel into Italy to mingle their wine with water as soon as they come into the country.'

He mentions the present Duke of Savoy, Testa di Feu, Charles Emanuel, and 'the great amity and affinity betwixt the king of Spain and the Duke' because the Duke had married the King's sister Margarita. Coryate has heard of the recent marriages of two of the princesses, one to a Duke of Modena and the other to a Prince of Mantua.

He is very impressed with the Duke's palace, and his new gallery. 'Truly it is incomparably the fairest that ever I saw, saving the King of France's at the Louvre in Paris', and he concludes: 'Thus much of Turin.'

I wonder if Prince Henry consulted his clowning friend, the 'Odcombian Leg-Stretcher' about the home country of his prospective bride.

By the time Cardenio was performed at Whitehall, Coryate had set out on his travels again. He hung up the shoes in which he had walked to Venice in the parish church at Odcombe, (which he calls his 'dear natalitiall place') and set off for the East to Zante, Constantinople, Smyrna, Alexandria and Cairo, to Joppa and Jerusalem, to Aleppo where he joined a caravan for Persia, to Isfahan and Lahore and on to the court of the great Moghul, where he died in 1617 aged 40. There is a famous engraving of the madcap traveller riding an elephant.

A couple of years ago, I decided to check on the online second hand bookshop Abe-books, (to which I am hopelessly addicted), to see if there were any copies of Double Falshood available. I was astonished to discover that there was one, a third edition from 1763, for £65 (it cost one shilling and sixpence originally). I leapt at it. To have an original edition of Theobald's play is about as close to owning a Shakespeare quarto as I am ever likely to get.

I noticed the script was on offer from a shop in Bloomsbury. Jarndyce are an antiquarian booksellers who specialise in London-published books and pamphlets, from the eighteenth and particularly (as their Dickensian name might prompt you to suppose) from the nineteenth century. They are based in Great Russell Street.

Now by a bizarre coincidence, Lewis Theobald lived in Wyan Court off Great Russell Street. So I went to find Jarndyce Booksellers and discovered it was a shop I knew well. Often, if I am walking in to the RSC offices in Earlham Street, I will pause to browse in their window. Jarndyce is situated in a Georgian house that must have been built while Theobald was still alive. The British Museum rose up opposite the building in the middle years of the nineteenth century, and now its neighbours sell ancient Egyptian tzazkas and roman coins. Later in the century, the children's book illustrator Randolph Caldecott had lodgings in that house, and by 1890 it had become a bookshop.

I have that copy with me now. In Theobald's editor's preface, he writes: 'It has been alledg'd as incredible, that such a Curiosity should be stifled and lost to the world for above a Century. To this my answer is short; that though it never till now made its appearance on the stage, yet one of the Manuscript Copies, which I have, is of above Sixty Years Standing, in the Hand-writing of Mr Downes, the famous Old Prompter; and I am credibly inform'd, was early in the possession of the celebrated Mr Betterton, and by Him design'd to have been usher'd into the World'. Lewis Theobald goes on to say that he has two more copies, of which more later...

We don't know how the manuscript copy in John Downes' hand-writing got into Theobald's hands. He would have only been eighteen when Downes retired and twenty four when we think Downes died and was buried in St Paul's, Covent Garden. But if somehow Theobald knew Downes directly it would seem odd that he would entrust a young man with such a document. Theobald was writing plays by the age of nineteen, albeit he was meant to be training to be an attorney like his father then. The year Downes published Roscius Anglicanus, (1708) Theobald's juvenile tragedy The Persian Princess; or The Royal Villain flopped after two performances at Drury Lane. And we hear nothing more from him until the year after Downes' death when he published a translation of the Life of Cato, hoping to ride on the back of the success of a play about Cato by Addison at Drury Lane.

It is possible that Downes himself gave Theobald - a young budding writer - such a manuscript, though to what end isn't clear, nor why Theobald would then keep it under his hat for the best part of two decades. The Double Falshood Preface does imply that the play had been intended to be staged during the Restoration, and that Betterton himself meant to usher it into the world. This isn't unlikely. His company had performed the two other plays we suppose Fletcher and Shakespeare to have collaborated on, The Two Noble Kinsmen (as Davenant's adaptation The Rivals) and Henry VIII.

Why would John Downes have written out a complete fair copy of Cardenio? If he had an original manuscript copy he would not have needed to do so; unless of course he was writing out a copy of an adaptation of the play for production. So perhaps what Theobald got his hands on was not an original manuscript of Cardenio, but a version, perhaps by Davenant himself, which Betterton intended to mount?

But there is another character in the story who might shed some light on where Theobald got Cardenio, and who gave it him...

Imagine the scene. It is Tuesday July 2nd 1661. An indoor tennis court in Lincoln's Inn Fields has been converted into a theatre, and Sir William Davenant's 'opera' The Siege of Rhodes (Part Two) is being staged. It has just opened. Young Thomas Betterton is playing the great Ottoman Sultan, Suleyman the Magnificent, his wife appears as the heroine Ianthe. Everyone is here. Samuel Pepys has ridden over in his coach from his singing lesson, and records the scene. There is tremendous excitement because the King himself, recently returned from exile in France, restored to the throne and crowned Charles II, is about to arrive. It is the first time he has ever attended a public playhouse.

While the audience is waiting a board breaks in the ceiling over their heads: 'We had a great deal of dust fell into the ladies' necks and the men's hair, which made good sport'. Amidst this laughter the royal party arrives. Pepys continues: 'The King being come, the scene opened; which indeed is very fine and magnificent'. This is indeed a great novelty for the theatre has scenery. A painted backdrop reveals the whole harbour of the Mediterranean Island of Rhodes. Before theatres had only had hangings. This is something splendid.

The action proceeds and the character of the eunuch Haly appears on stage. The music finishes, and he stands there ready to speak. His mouth opens but nothing comes out. He can see the King, and the Duke of York, and the whole assembly of London's finest and best. The lamps flicker and the house goes silent expecting him to begin. His mouth dries, his brain swims and panic seizes his chest and throat. The full house puts him into a sweat, a tremendous agony of nerves. The King, the Duke of York, all the nobility. The august presence simply drives his lines from his head, and he can do nothing but gape. Davenant in the wings must have been clenching his fists in fury. And then the hissing starts.

Every actor can relate to the heart-stopping terror of forgetting lines. I recall playing Octavius Caesar in Terry Hands' production of Julius Caesar, when I first joined the RSC as an actor. One midweek matinee, in the parley before the battle of Philippi, I completely dried. Roger Allam, playing Brutus, (and down stage of me at the time), gave me a wan smile of such abject pity that I think I determined there and then that acting was perhaps not for me after all.

John Downes, the poor soul playing the Eunuch on this occasion, writing nearly fifty years later said of his nightmare that it 'spoil'd me for an actor.' He went into stage management. I concentrated on directing.

In fact John Downes became the prompter and book-keeper of the company. And later in his retirement he wrote Roscius Anglicanus, his pithy account of the theatre of his day. Our knowledge of much of late seventeenth century British theatre is largely due to his book. It was John Downes' job to look after the scripts, to write out all the parts for the actors, to call and attend morning rehearsals and afternoon performances, and indeed to prompt the actors, a responsibility which I suspect he took rather seriously in the light of his own near catastrophe.

And it was John Downes, so it would seem, who wrote out a copy of a manuscript of an old play called The History of Cardenio...

A strange little footnote:
In the royal party, witnessing poor John Downes' humiliation that afternoon at the Lincoln's Inn Theatre was the King's aunt, the Queen of Bohemia, the Winter Queen herself. Now sixty five, Elizabeth Stuart had been the young princess at Whitehall, in that Christmas season of 1612 when Cardenio was first performed. Her marriage to Frederick Elector Palatine had made her briefly the Queen of Bohemia, until his death nearly thirty years ago. She had come to London to visit her nephew, the new King, and she would die here the following February.

Humphrey Moseley left his business to his wife Anne, and a daughter (also called Anne) and they carried on his business after his death. But of course if he did have a copy of the manuscript of Cardenio, and his wife still possessed it after the restoration of the Monarchy in 1660, there was then a very good reason that such a manuscript could have disappeared: the Great Fire of London.

Six years after King Charles I came to the throne his capital was engulfed in an appalling conflagration. As I mentioned in my last blog, many of the stationers who had their stalls in St Paul's Churchyard kept their stock in one of the crypts of St Paul's. If Moseley did, and his wife Anne continued this practice, then it is probable that Cardenio went up in flames, as St Paul's burned.

However, much of Humphrey Moseley's collection of old play manuscripts and his copyrights came into the possession of a man called Henry Herringman (the first man to publish Dryden's works) and he had a reputation as a bookseller who actually profited from the Great Fire of London in which so many of his colleagues lost their stock. So perhaps Cardenio in his hands survived where so much else was destroyed. And if so what happened to it then?

Well, there is good news and bad news.

Many of Moseley's dramatic manuscripts were sold, and eventually came into the possession of one John Warburton. Warburton was the Somerset Herald of Arms in Ordinary at the College of Arms and also a collector of old plays. But he made the mistake of leaving a pile of fifty or so of these manuscript copies in his kitchen one day. A year later he came looking for his collection, only to discover that Betsy Baker, his cook, had used them all as either fire lighters or as linings to the pie dishes. All of them had disappeared. One has to ask why Warburton had left such a valuable pile of treasures in his kitchen?

Mortified, Warburton did at least have the grace to list the plays he thought the star-crossed pile contained. There are thirteen by Philip Massinger, plays by Cyril Tourneur, John Ford, Robert Greene, and Thomas Dekker. There's even one attributed to Marlowe although the title The Maiden's Holiday, sounds rather an unlikely subject for the hell-raiser, atheist, and spy Christopher Marlowe. As an act of vandalism it can scarcely be believed. And it clearly demonstrates just how easily these plays could become 'lost'!

However, in addition to Henry I, and The Duke Humphrey play registered by Moseley, Warburton does also make mention of 'A Play by William Shakespeare' but does not elaborate. So if it survived the Globe Playhouse Fire in 1613, did Cardenio survive Betsy Baker's pie dishes?

Humphrey Moseley was buried in St Gregory by Paul's on February 4th 1661. Of the 86 churches that were destroyed by the Great Fire, Wren decided to rebuild 51, but St Gregory's was not among them, so I can't go and pay my respects. I go instead to St Paul's to see if I can find St Faith's under Paul's, where the Stationers worshipped.

I head for the crypt. I wander past Nelson's great monument placed directly under the dome, and a bust of Lawrence of Arabia (not as good as the one in Dorset by Eric Kennington, who was one of his pall bearers at his funeral in 1935, and who also did the bas reliefs at the front of the Shakespeare Theatre in Stratford).Eventually I discover, with the help of one of the guides, a line on the floor, at the back of the crypt, to the north side of the OBE Chapel. The line is made up of white tessitura, and an inscription runs along it, indicating that this is the line of the wall of the old church of St Faith's virgin and martyr.

I cross over the mosaic line and step in to St Faith's under Paul's, while Paulina's line from The Winter's Tale runs in my head: 'It is required you do awake your faith'. The flagstones beneath my feet were the floor of the crypt. It was into this crypt, with its stone vaulted ceiling, on Tuesday 7th September 1666 which the booksellers, the stationers, ran with their stock, piling their books against the walls, trying to save them from the fire that had broken out in Pudding Lane.

On that day in 1666, John Evelyn records in his diary his walk that morning from Whitehall as far as London Bridge. He describes 'clambering over heaps of yet smoking rubbish' with extraordinary difficulty, frequently mistaking where he was. The ground underneath him was still so hot is burned the soles of his shoes. He finds 'that goodly church St Paul's now a sad ruin.' The portico is 'split asunder', and the immense stones had been 'calcin'd and turned white by the heat so that all the ornaments, columns, freizes, capitals and projectures of Portland stone flew off, even to the very roof, where a sheet of lead covering a great space (no less than 6 acres by measure) was totally melted.' He then reveals a telling detail: 'The ruins of the vaulted roof falling, broke into St Faith's which being filled with the magazines of books belonging to the stationers, and carried thither for safety, they were all consumed, burning for a week following.'

St Faith's under St Paul's, as it was known, was an unusual parish within the city. The actual church had been physically removed in the middle of the 13th century to allow for the eastern expansion of the Old Cathedral. It was here that the booksellers who plied their trade in the churchyard of St Paul's, and in Paternoster Row, worshipped. And it was into this crypt chapel that as the fire caught hold they had transferred their stock for safekeeping. And as the roof of the cathedral collapsed, it was into this crypt that six acres of molten lead poured in glistening arcs, destroying everything within.

St Faith, the patron saint of the ghost church, (or Saint Foy, or Santa Fe) was a French girl from Aquitaine who was tortured for her faith under the Emperor Diocletian. Miracles associated with St Faith are called 'joca', the Latin for tricks or jokes. Ironically considering the fate of the vast quantity of books, St Faith was burnt to death on a red hot brazier. No miracle but a sad, sick joke. Perhaps after all the booksellers should not have put so much faith in their patron saint. I can't help wondering: was the manuscript of Cardenio destroyed in the fire in St Faith's?

Recently I visited the Library and Archives of the Worshipful Company of Stationers and Newspaper Makers, at the Stationers' Hall, at Amen Corner on Ave Maria Lane in London to view the Register for 1653, in order to find out a bit more about the publisher Humphrey Moseley who registered Cardenio in that year.

I decided to walk down the hill from Islington as it was such a beautiful morning. It took me about half an hour to stroll from the Angel to Smithfield. Halfway down St John's Street before you cross the Goshawk road, the dome of St Paul's comes into view. Through the central Grand Avenue that cuts through the Smithfield Market, dividing the poulterers from the butchers, and across to St Barts, and down Guiltspur Street, past Pie Corner and Cock Lane to the corner of Newgate, where the church of St Sepulchre-Without stands. Then down past the Old Bailey, and the end of Limeburner lane, to Ludgate Hill. I turned right into the ward of Farringdon Within, and turn into an alley way. There across the yard in front of me stands Stationers' Hall.

The Stationers Guild, was set up to represent the interests of the booksellers who had their stalls (or stations) in nearby St Paul's Churchyard. The Stationers bought their first premises, St Peters' College in the 1500s. It was one of the many pieces of church property being sold off after the reformation. They then moved into Abergavenny Hall, on this site, which was largely destroyed by the Great Fire of London, along with forty thousand pounds worth of books. The Stationers immediately built this grand edifice before me. I wonder if it was here, outside Hall that the bonfire of books took place on June 4th 1599. Archbishop Whitgift and Richard Bancroft Bishop of London ordered all unlicensed plays and unapproved histories to be burnt alongside a number of satires and elegies. So into the flames went John Marston's The Scourge of Villainy, Thomas Middleton's Six Snarling Satires, Kit Marlowe's raunchy translations of Ovid's Elegies, and all the books of poor Thomas Nashe, whose work was forthwith banned from publication.

I follow signs for the offices and make my way inside to be greeted by a city gent straight from central casting, with a pin stripe suit, and loud pink tie, who greets me cheerily and shows me through to an office where I am welcomed by Deborah Rea, the recently appointed Head of Communications. Deborah shows me the backstage route upstairs to the library through the magnificent livery hall where they are putting out tables for a banquet this evening.

It occurs to me that it must have been in a room on this site four hundred years ago that the representatives of the twelve companies charged with the new translation of the King James Bible had met together to review the whole book. Apparently they tested the efficacy of the translations by reading the text out loud, to hear what it sounded like, and therefore how it would land on the ear of their congregations.

There is a smoky smell in the air. 'We had a fire over the summer' says Deborah, when I ask what it is. It occurred during an event when the hall had been hired out, and the oak screen was badly damaged. Part of it has had to be replaced. Much of the renovation has already been carried out but I can still smell scorched timber. The odd job man who is setting out the tables says: 'It's still all charred at the back. We haven't had time to clean that yet.' When I check the details on the Stationers' Hall website later, I read a note from the clerk, William Alden: 'At one point the flames were floor to ceiling high. It looked as though the whole Hall might be lost. The accident is obviously a tragedy and it is so sad that the 350-year-old screen, which survived the Blitz, should have fallen foul of 21st century electrics!' It strikes me that fire flickers around this story. If the midsummer blaze had got out of hand, even the evidence for Cardenio's existence might have gone up with it.

Deborah shows me up a short flight of stairs into an attic room, where the librarian, Sue Hurley, is on the phone. Her volunteer assistant, a retired gentleman called John, politely waits for Sue to finish her call. There on the table in the middle of the room is a large, calf-bound book on familiar grey foam book rests. It's open at the page I want to see.

At the top of the page it reads 'September 9th 1653', then next to Mr Moseley's name in the first column it says: 'Entered for his copies a play called Alphonso Emperor of Germany by John Peele 6d' and then further down the page under Die Eadem (the same day): 'Entered also for his copies the several plays following' – and the sum of twenty shillings and sixpence. Sue explains that it cost sixpence per entry to register a work for publication which effectively secures the publisher's copyright on that work. The Stationers had a monopoly on book production. So if anyone tried to publish something already registered by another publisher, the company were legally empowered to seize the offending books.

So Moseley was making a considerable investment. 20 shillings and sixpence gives him the copyright of 41 items. And they are listed below. Most are plays even whose titles I am unfamiliar with: Two plays by Ben Jonson's apprentice Richard Brome: Wit in Madness, and The Lovesick Milkmaid; Osman the Great Turk; The Jew of Venice by Thomas Dekker, Davenant's The Siege ( presumably The Siege of Rhodes). I detect a theme emerging in some of the titles: The Puritan Maid, Modest Wife and Wanton Widow; The Widow's Prize by Mr Wm. Samson; The Woman's Mistaken by Drew Davenport, and then there it is: The History of Cardenio by Mr Fletcher & Shakespeare.

The secretary's hand is light and efficient. I wonder if Moseley himself was dictating his list, while the clerk copied down the titles. It strikes me that paying over a pound to secure the right to publish these plays is quite an investment. It also makes me wonder if the reason he wants to make sure that he has the right to publish The History of Cardenio is that there are other copies around and someone else might decide to publish theirs.

Sue and Deborah begin pulling tomes from the shelves to see what else is to be found out about Humphrey Moseley. He was bound to the Company as an apprentice in 1620 and freed in 1627 (from his apprenticeship). He married Anne, and had four children, the last of whom would be still born within a month of this date, on which he was here, registering his list of plays. He set up his first independent shop at the sign of the Three Kings, against the north-eastern wall of St Paul's cathedral, in 1634, but four years later he had acquired premises at the sign of the Prince's Arms, across the churchyard, which he occupied for the rest of his life. When he published Milton's poems he started to become really successful and over the next fifteen years until his death, the list of poets and dramatists whose works appeared under his imprint included Beaumont and Fletcher, Middleton, and Massinger, Shirley, Brome, Davenant, and poets such as Cowley, and Crashaw, Suckling, and Vaughan. By the time of this entry, Moseley was a member of the governing body of the Stationers' Guild, and attended meetings at the Hall.

The surge of excitement I felt at seeing the actual written proof that a play called The History of Cardenio by Mr Fletcher and Shakespeare existed in the possession of Humphrey Moseley is tempered a little when I follow the list down and turn over the page. At the bottom plays by Thomas Middleton are listed, including Women Beware Women, and over the page there are ten by Phillip Massinger . But then there is an item which reads The Merry Devil of Edmonton by William Shakespeare, and under that Henry I & Henry II by Shakespeare and Robert Davenport.

Now the first is perhaps a simple misattribution of a title to Shakespeare. It is regarded as an apocryphal play which was very popular in its day, and went through a number of anonymous quarto editions since its first appearance in 1608. Does Moseley genuinely think it is by Shakespeare, or does the entry suggest that he is just hoping to cash in on his name by attributing the play to him once he publishes it? But what about the second entry - Henry II?

Sue also gets out another register to show me. It is the entry for the First Folio of Shakespeare's works in 1623. The date is November 8th. The ink is noticeably faded on this spread. It has been put on display too often, she says, and deteriorated. We'll only get it out now for particular requests. Someone has even inked their initials next to the entry: GS. Sue says they initialled every Shakespeare entry in that register. Perhaps the Stationers' Library needed an oath like the Bodleian's.

The entry does not include all the plays in the first complete works, only the plays listed are those which have not hitherto been registered for publication. So here are The Tempest, Two Gents, Twelfth Night, Macbeth (spelled with a K), Antony and Cleopatra. It is strange to think that as none of these plays had previously appeared in quarto, they might never have survived, had Hemminge and Condell not brought them to Messrs Jaggard and Blount to publish in the First Folio. And like Cardenio we would know them only in adaptations. What would we think of The Tempest if we only had Davenant's The Enchanted Island? I drag myself away from The Stationers' Hall, pondering about how important to our heritage the work of the Stationers is.

Humphrey Moseley died in 1660, before, it would seem, he had chance to publish Cardenio. Six years later the Great Fire of London razed his city to the ground.

There is no record of a revival performance of Cardenio after the Globe burned down in 1613. Records for any performances are scarce. But I suspect any revival in the plays fortunes would have been directly linked with England's political relations with Spain.

Ten years after the Globe fire the prospective marriage of the Prince of Wales (now James' second son Charles) was again the occasion of a play by the King's Men. Thomas Middleton characterized the tricky diplomatic negotiations for Prince Charles to marry the Infanta Maria, the daughter of the King of Spain as a chess game. King James appears inevitably as the White King, King Philip IV as the Black King. The play centres on the visit of Prince Charles (the White Knight) to Madrid with George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham (the White Duke or Rook) in 1623.

The Spanish Ambassador, the Count Gondomar, was satirized as the Machiavellian Black Knight, and he didn't like it. He recognised himself in the role and complained to the King, who had the play banned. It had a run of nine performances during which it had become the greatest get-penny (or box office hit) of the age.

John Chamberlain wrote to his friend Dudley Carleton: 'I doubt not but you have heard of our famous play of Gondomar, which hath been followed with extraordinary concourse, and frequented, by all sorts of people old and young, rich and poor, masters and servants, papists and puritans, wise men etc... They counterfeited his person to the life, with all his graces and faces, and had gotten they say a cast suit of his apparel for the purpose, and his litter wherein in the world says, lacked nothing but a couple of asses to carry it... But the worst is, in playing him they played somebody else, for which they are forbidden to play that or any other play till the King's pleasure be further known; and they may be glad if they can so scape scot free. The wonder lasted but nine days, for so long they played it.' The Globe was shut down and the King's Men fined, and Middleton never wrote another play.

The Game at Chess catches a strong sense of anti-Spanish feeling, and may have been designed to foster the sentiments of a faction that called for war against Spain. It is unlikely that any play with a Spanish subject, like Cardenio, would have found favour with the Globe audiences at this period.

Fletcher himself died two years later in 1625. Unlike Ben Jonson, his fellow Friday Street Club member at the Mermaid Tavern, Fletcher did not publish his complete works in his lifetime; although John Hemmings and Henry Condell had followed Ben Jonson's example and published Shakespeare's plays together in 1616. So if the play of Cardenio was not revived, nor was published what happened to the manuscript then?

By 1642, the Puritans were in control. Plays were banned, and the theatres were closed. On Monday 15th April 1644 (according to some manuscript additions to a copy of Stowe's Annales): '... the Globe was pulled down to the ground, by Sir Mathew Brand... to make tenements in the room of it.'

The same fate awaited the Blackfriars Theatre. Davenant wrote of its broken shell:

Poor House, that in days of our grandsires
Belongst unto the mendicant friars
And where so often in our fathers days
We have seen so many of Shakespeare's plays,
So many of Jonson's, Beaumont's or Fletcher's
Until I know not what puritan teachers
Have made with their rantings the players as poor
As were the friars and poets before.

The Red Bull in Clerkenwell lasted until just after the Restoration staging rope dancing and prize fights, and the occasional illegal play, but finally it too was closed, as Davenant wrote:

Tell 'em the Red Bull stands empty of fencers
There are no tenants in it but old spiders.

The Fortune was pulled down by soldiers in 1649, but the saddest fate awaited the bears that were baited at the Hope Theatre on Bankside in Southwark: 'Seven of Mr Godfrey's bears by the command of Thomas Pride the High Sheriff of Surrey were then shot to death on Saturday the 9th day of February 1655 by a company of soldiers.'

However, a couple of years before Mr Godfrey's bears were put down, there is a surprising twist in the story of our lost play. It was registered for publication.

On June 8th The King's Men performed Cardenio for Gabaleone, the Ambassador to the Duke of Savoy, at Greenwich. Three weeks later, on St Peter's Day June 29th 1613, they were presenting one of the other plays in which Shakespeare had collaborated with John Fletcher, All is True at their home, the Globe theatre on Bankside when a fire broke out.
It's the party scene in All is True. Cardinal Wolsey is having a banquet, suddenly the young king turns up in disguise among a group of masquers. He's going to have his first fatal encounter with Anne Boleyn. Canons are discharged. Unfortunately some of the wadding lands on the roof, and catches the thatch, setting it alight. In an hour the whole building burns down.

'I will entertain you... with what happened this week at the Bank's side. The King's Players had a new play, called All is True, representing some principal pieces in the reign of Henry VIII, which was set forth with many extraordinary circumstances of pomp and majesty, even to the matting on the stage: the knights of the order with their Georges and garters, the guards with their embroidered coats, and the like - sufficient in truth within a while to make greatness very familiar if not ridiculous. Now King Henry making a masque at the Cardinal Wolsey's house, and certain chambers being shot off at his entry, some of the paper or other stuff wherewith one of them was stopped did light on the thatch, where being thought at first but an idle smoke, and their eyes more attentive on the show, it kindled inwardly and ran round like a train, consuming within less than an hour the whole house to the very grounds. This was the fatal period of that virtuous fabric wherein yet nothing did perish but wood and straw and a few foresaken cloaks. Only one man had his breeches set on fire that would perhaps have broiled him if he had not by the benefit of a provident wit put it out with bottle ale.' (Letter from Sir Henry Wooton to Sir Edmund Bacon 2nd July 1613)

John Heminge rushes about trying to save things. Do they keep their playscripts at the Theatre? If so, the ones that haven't already been published in quarto editions are vulnerable. Are perhaps the parts or the foul papers of the Spanish play they were doing at court three weeks ago lying around on a shelf somewhere. And is that what happens? Shakespeare and Fletcher's play goes up in smoke? Well, it would seem not.

But we hear no more of Cardenio for forty years.

The Memorable Masque began with a procession. Fifty richly attired gentlemen set out on horseback with their footmen from the house of the Master of the Rolls. Next came a mock-masque of little boys dressed as baboons 'in Neopolitan suits and great ruffs, all horsed with asses and dwarf palfreys'.Then followed two triumphal carriages festooned with great gilded mask heads, carrying 'the choice musicians of our kingdom' - and here's the novelty part: 'attired like Virginian priests'. Behind the musicians 'rode the chief masquers in Indian habits'.

The recent colonization of Virginia had provided the entertainment with its imaginative coup. American Indians would seem to present their congratulations to the bridal pair. From the description provided by Chapman, the costumes bore only the vaguest relation to anything a Powhattan chieftain would be seen dead in: 'Strange hoods of feathers...on their heads, turbans, stuck with several coloured feathers, spotted with wings of flies of extraordinary bigness, like those of their country... Betwixt every set of feathers, and about their brows in the under part of their coronets, shined suns of gold plate sprinkled with pearl. In their hands they brandished cane darts of the finest gold: their vizards of olive, but pleasingly visaged; their hair black and large, waving down their shoulders.' Not unsurprisingly the masque itself presented a great rock which split open to reveal 'a rich and refulgent mine of gold', representing the sort of El Dorado which the New World seemed to offer to its new colonizers.

Francis Beaumont's masque was meant to have been performed the next night, Shrove Tuesday. The Masquers this time arrived at Whitehall by water 'in great triumph' in the royal barge 'with a great number of lights, placed in such order as might make the best show.' There was music in accompanying galleys and peals of ordnance being fired off. The Count Palatine and Lady Elizabeth were watching the landing at the palace's water stairs from the privy gallery. But at the last minute, his majesty postponed the masque itself until the following Saturday. An order had gone out that the ladies would not be admitted if they were wearing farthingales, in order to allow more room. But in all the excitement and crush, the hall was not ready for the performers, and the crucial members of the audience could not get to their places.

But the real reason for the postponement was that the irascible King James was worn out with all the festivities, and the idea of sitting through another long masque appalled him. According to John Chamberlain, writing in a letter to his friend Sir Dudley Carleton: 'Sir Francis Bacon (who was the 'chief contriver' of the masque) ventured to entreat His Majesty that by this disgrace he would not as it were bury them quick: and I hear the king should answer that they must bury him quick, for he could last no longer.'

The masque went ahead and was performed the following Saturday (albeit within the Lenten season), and was a great success according to Chamberlain,. The actors 'performed their parts exceedingly well and with great applause, and approbation, both from the king and all the company'; so much so in fact that the king gave them a dinner in their honour the following night.

This final Wedding Masque contains gods and goddesses (interestingly, Iris appears as she does in the masque in The Tempest), as well as dancing statues, and a rustic anti-masque which includes a May Lord and Lady, and a baboon, and which was clearly re-staged as part of The Two Noble Kinsmen at the Globe later that year.

Mercury announces that Jove has sent a message which he then conveys, proposing the revival of the Olympic Games for the wedding:

'The Olympian games,
Which long have slept, at these wished nuptials
He pleas'd to have renew'd, and all his knights
Are gathered hither...'

At which point the knights, all dressed in carnation satin, descend from Olympus and having performed a few exhausting Olympian 'gallairds, durets, corantos etc.', the stage direction announces, 'Then loud music sounds, supposed to call them to their Olympian games.'

Francis Beaumont then concludes the masque with a rather charming wish that the newly married couple, in bed together, should have the power to stop Time itself:

'Alas that he that first
Gave Time wild wings to fly away,
Hath now no power to make him stay !
And though these games must needs be play'd
I would this happy pair when they are laid,
And not a creature nigh 'em
Could catch his scythe, as he doth pass,
And clip his wings and break his glass,
And keep him ever by 'em.'

Masques, as a character in Beaumont and Fletcher's The Maid's Tragedy says, are 'tied to rules of flattery'. And perhaps at a wedding, royal or not, we all understand the etiquette required. But it does seem odd, if Cardenio was indeed written for this particular nuptial, that scenes in which a wedding is presented where the bride is forced against her will to marry. But then, as we know Much Ado was also presented that Christmas. And in that play there is another wedding scene which ends in the groom denouncing his bride at the altar as a whore. Perhaps marriage as a theme, whatever its outcome, was thought appropriate fare for such occasions?

The wedding of James' beloved daughter Bessy, with Frederick, Elector Palatine of the Rhine, took place on Valentine's day 1613. Both were dressed in silver cloth, embroidered in silver thread, and Elizabeth wore an 'exceedingly rich coronet' which her father bragged, rather tactlessly, cost a million crowns. The masques presented for the occasion were all published and provide an insight into the extravagance of the Jacobean Court.

There were three: The Lords' Masque, by Thomas Campion, presented in the Banqueting House on Sunday 14th February - the wedding night itself; The Memorable Masque by George Chapman, presented by the Inns of Court, Middle Temple and Lincoln's Inn, performed at Whitehall on Shrove Monday Night, 15th February; and Francis Beaumont's Masque of the Inner Temple and Gray's Inn which was presented the following Saturday, 20th February.

In The Lords' Masque, to the sound of a double consort of instruments, Orpheus emerges in his laurel wreath, a silver bird in his hand, and around him several wild beasts 'tamely placed'. He draws Mania, the goddess of madness, from her cave and warns her to release Entheus from his prison. Entheus, so Campion's notes suggest, represents 'Poetic Fury' (though whether or not his audience would have understood the reference is debatable). Mania concedes and suddenly twelve Frantics emerge 'in sundry habits and humours'. On reading this description I find myself becoming intrigued. Perhaps this will have some bearing on how the actor playing Cardenio would have been expected to depict his madness?

Then Entheus himself is 'hurried forth, and tossed up and down, till by virtue of a change of music, the Lunatics fell into a mad measure, fitted to a loud fantastic tune'.'Tossed up and down'? I wonder if this means literally tossed in a blanket, or merely bustled and jostled about?

Orpheus dismisses the madmen, apologizes to poor old Poetic Fury that he has been wrongly imprisoned with lunatics, and delivers his divine commission:

'Jove... by me commands thee to create
Inventions rare, this night to celebrate
Such as becomes a nuptial...'

Immediately Entheus becomes inspired with his task and espies Prometheus, who suddenly appears (as a curtain falls to reveal him). The descriptions of the scenic effects of these Jacobean Masques are part of their appeal. I want to know how they did them! For example, here is the description of Prometheus' spectacular entry: 'Then in clouds of several colours appeared eight stars of extraordinary bigness, which were so placed, as that they seemed to be fixed between the firmament and the earth. In front of the scene stood Prometheus attired as one of the ancient heroes.'

Then Prometheus' dancing lights begin to 'move in an exceeding strange and delightful manner, and I suppose few have ever seen more neat artifice than Master Inigo Jones showed in contriving their motion'. But we are not finished there. The stars suddenly vanish and in their places appear eight masquers, played by 'persons of rank'.

The description of their gorgeous costumes also designed by Inigo Jones, are worth including too: 'The ground of their attires were massy cloth of silver, embossed with flames of embroidery; on their heads, they had crowns, flames made all of gold late enamelled, and on the top a feather of silk, representing a cloud of smoke'. As it happens we still have a copy of Inigo Jones' designs for these costumes, from the Duke of Devonshire's collection at Chatsworth.

There follows dancing and singing, and the masque climaxes with a marvellous perspective scene, in the middle of which an obelisk was erected 'all of silver, and in it, lights of several colours, on the side of this obelisk, standing on pedestals were the statues of the bride and groom, all of gold, in gracious postures'.

I think we generally have little idea of the spectacular nature of these shows, and the massive expenditure they involved. Who would have thought that lighting effects were possible in that period, or that they could achieve extraordinary scenic effects like the dancing lights, for that matter? And all in a theatre improvised in a banqueting hall!

The Masque closes with Prometheus and Entheus blessing the happy couple and wishing them mutual love and prosperity, and finally Orpheus chases them away:

'Enough of blessing, though too much
Never can be said of such;
But night doth waste, and Hymen chides,
Kind to bridegrooms and to brides.
Then singing, the last dance induce,
So let good night present excuse.'

It would all have ended long after midnight, as the final song suggests:

'The Cocks already crow
Dance then and go!'

George Chapman's Masque had to follow that on Monday night. It was going to have to be Memorable, as its names suggests...

It was such an unlikely event to have occurred. Gabaleone must have thought he had so nearly secured an enormously important royal match, coupling the line of his royal master, Testa di Feu ('Fire Head'), with the crown of England.

After the prince's funeral, the Savoyard ambassador prepared to return home to Turin. Foscarini writes: “Last Saturday, Gableone took his leave of the King.” Apparently James insisted that Savoy could count on the support of England as if the marriage had taken place, and to show his affection for the ambassador he made him a Knight of the Rose (“A Cavalliere di Rosa” says Foscarini) with “the right to wear the rose of England and the thistle of Scotland as crest to his arms.” In a personal gesture of goodwill the king then took off his finger a diamond worth a thousand five hundred crowns and gave it to Gabaleone.

The ambassador's personal influence can also be marked by the fact that the queen herself received him, and spent an hour in conversation with him “though living as much retired as possible” and she too gave Gabaleone a ring, a diamond cluster, of a similar value to the king's gift.

It is possible that the Savoy Ambassador had an idea that he would at some point propose that the Infanta Maria might be an eligible bride for the new heir to the throne, young Prince Charles.

When he returned in June, it is not surprising perhaps that he should be graciously entertained by their royal highnesses, and that the king would command his players to revive the Spanish play they had written especially for the Christmas season, and which because of sad and unforeseen events, the Savoyard ambassador had missed.

There is no record of the play being registered for publication at this time, so, as far as we know, there is no possibility that the Savoyard ambassador returned with a copy of the play to the Court in Turin, and probably little point therefore in launching a search of the Ducal libraries for evidence of its survival.

In fact, as it seems relationships with Spain were distinctly souring at this point, there would perhaps have been little market for a play on a Spanish subject. If the Extraordinary Ambassador to the Court of King Philip in Spain had deigned to attend the wedding Masque and seen the Virginian Indians proclaiming the success of the new colony, he would not have approved. Spain regarded the British expansion into the Americas as treading heavily on their own toes and their own territory. In fact by that time they had launched a fleet of eight warships. James' spies could not initially discover whether the fleet was bound for Ireland, or for the new colony. But the new friendly relationship seemed very close to being over.

We have no idea if the June 8th performance represents the last performance of Cardenio, but it is possible that three weeks later the script was lost forever.

Note: Spare a thought for the Infanta from Savoy who was to have married Prince Henry, what became of her? Maria Apollonia was the same age as Henry. She never married, but like her sister Francesca, she became a nun. Her older brother Maurice had already become a cardinal and bishop of Vercelli aged 14. It seems she ended her days making copies of the family's most precious possession, the Turin shroud, for friends. At least seven are known to exist.

The Christmas season at Court in 1612 was to be a spectacular occasion. Not only was the Princess Elizabeth to marry Frederick Elector Palatine, but the King wanted his son to marry a Catholic Infanta. Shakespeare and Fletcher were ready with a new play on a Spanish subject. They had taken their subject from the global blockbuster which had just emerged from Spain, Don Quixote. Cardenio could well have been the highlight of the season. But suddenly the entire festivity was placed in jeopardy, when that November, the Prince of Wales suddenly died.

Ralegh gave up writing his great History of the World, when young Prince Henry died. “My harp is also turned to mourning and my organ into the voice of them that weep.” The whole country was devastated.

King James was not present at his son's death. He had fled to his palace at Theobald's. The queen had been unable to remain in the princes' sick room, when it became clear that he would not survive.

The Venetian ambassador, Foscarini, tactfully suggests: “It is thought that they cannot bear the spectacle of the Prince their son, dead before their eyes; while the King thinks the solitude of the country more fitting for grief and tears than the bustle of the London and the Court. The Prince's body lay in state at St James' Palace for a month, and then the funeral took place on December 7th.

Poor Frederick, the Elector Palatine. He had arrived in triumph to marry the Princess Elizabeth, but what was to happen now? Would the royal marriage take place at all? Some said that with the heir to the throne dead, and the second son only ten years old, it would not be appropriate for Princess Elizabeth to leave the country with her new husband.

However, the king hastily announced that the Christmas festivities, with all the attendant celebrations for the royal betrothal, would still take place. You can't help thinking that his behaviour displays at the very least, a lack of respect for his eldest son. It is as if he was determined not to be deprived of the splendid party he had organised. The Venetian ambassador gossiped that: “The 600,000 crowns destined for these fetes have grown to a million and those who know say that even this will not suffice.”

Nevertheless, within a fortnight of the funeral, the Christmas season launched into full swing. John Heminges would be paid £93 6s 8d for mounting 14 plays, and then £60 for another six. The wedding which had been postponed until at least Easter was then brought forward to Valentine's Day, so the celebrations would hardly let up until March. Indeed they carried on through with the usual tilt on Lady Day, March 24th, and the departure of the wedded couple for the continent on April 10th.

In the week of the royal wedding, another masque was presented by the scholars of the Middle Temple and Gray's Inn. It was by Fletcher's erstwhile collaborator (and partner) Francis Beaumont and it included a Morris dance with a baboon. This same dance appeared later in The Two Noble Kinsmen - the third play, along with All is True (or Henry VIII) and Cardenio, to be written by Shakespeare and Fletcher.

And what of the Gabaleone, the ambassador from the Duchy of Savoy?

In these blogs, I am chasing the story of the political rows which were simmering at Court leading up to Christmas 1612, when Cardenio was first performed. I want to find out why Shakespeare and Fletcher had chosen to write a play with a Spanish subject. It seems the King wanted to make a name for himself as a unifying figure on the European stage. He had made peace with Spain in 1604, and now wanted to marry his daughter to a Protestant, and his son to a Catholic. But the Prince of Wales was having none of it.

Prince Henry was a popular prince. He had proved himself a remarkable horseman, he showed great interest in reviving the arts of Chivalry, and tournaments, he had overseen the building of a great new warship, the Prince Royal, but he did not always see eye to eye with his father.

Prince Henry may have had some indirect knowledge of the Duchy of Savoy from his friend Thomas Coryate, who had published his book Crudities hastily gobbled up in 5 months travels in France, Savoy etc. Prince Henry was the patron of the book, and indeed kept Coryate as a sort of Court Jester to his circle.

When Prince Henry was thirteen his mother, Queen Anne, had taken the prince to meet the famous Sir Walter Ralegh, who had been locked up in the Tower of London on trumped up charges of treason early in James' reign. “No one but my father would keep such a bird in a cage” he said.

Ralegh wrote the prince a long letter advising him to refuse the match with Savoy. He reminds him that Queen Mary tried to get her sister Elizabeth married off to Savoy, “...which though they failed to get, yet thereby we failed not to lose Calais.” And he lists a gruesome series of examples of treacherous marriages with their terrible consequences: the marriage of 'La Reine Margot' with King Henry of France, which caused so many protestant deaths; Bentivoglio, Prince of Bologna, who married his daughter to a lord of Farenza, “... she caused her husband to be murdered in her own chamber”; or Francis Sforza, Duke of Milan, who married his daughter to “that brave Italian Captain” Piccinius, who was subsequently murdered by Ferdinand of Naples in his own castle. His catalogue of treachery reads like a play by John Webster. “There is a kind of noble and royal deceiving in marriages between kings and princes”, Raleigh warns, “It is the fairest and most unsuspected trade of betraying”. And if that didn't frighten off the young prince then Ralegh moved on to what he regarded as the insidious relationship between Savoy and Spain.

He declared: “Savoy from Spain is inseparable. Spain to which England is irreconcilable”. Not surprising perhaps from a man whose memory of the Spanish Armada was so clear. “If the queen would have believed her men of war, as she did her scribes”, he wrote bitterly, “we had in her time beaten that great empire in pieces, and made their kings kings of figs and oranges as in the old times.
“Yea, in '88, when he made his great and fearful fleet, if the queen would have hearkened to reason, we had burnt all his ships and preparations in his own ports.”

Ralegh's inveterate hatred of Spain burns through the letter. Savoy would be a useless ally he argues, trapped as they are between Spain and France and the Pope (“Our king hath no enemy so malicious as that prelate”), and we don't want to get saddled with them as we are with Ireland, he argues, yet “Ireland is near to us, and in our sight, and yet we have often wished it at the bottom of the sea... it has served us as a grave to our best captains and soldiers.”

He ends his passionate appeal to young Prince Henry advising him to wait: “Seeing his majesty is yet but young, and by God's favour like to live many years... Seeing therefore we have nothing yet in hand, seeing there is nothing moves; seeing the world is yet in a slumber, and that this long calm will shortly break out in some terrible tempest, I would advise the prince to keep his own ground for a while, and no way engage or entangle himself.”

But God's favour was not to be extended to the Prince, and on November 6th 1612, just three weeks after the joyful arrival of the Elector Palatine, his new brother-in-law-to-be, Henry, suddenly, died.

On a drizzly afternoon, dashing to Coventry station to get the quick train back to London, we pass a sign to Coombe Abbey. I must have passed it hundreds of times before, but never noticed it. Coombe Abbey was the house where King James' beloved daughter, Princess Elizabeth, lived for a time. It is odd how one's eyes and ears become particularly sensitive when you are researching a project - attuned to any possible connection that might be useful or interesting. Even though we are pressed for time, I am inclined to make a detour.

Henry's younger sister Elizabeth spent much of her childhood at Coombe Abbey, in the care of Sir John Harrington. After the family came down from Scotland when her father was made King of England on Queen Elizabeth's death, the young Elizabeth (who had been named after her godmother, the late queen) was brought here to be educated. It may seem strange to us that the royal children were brought up separated from their parents, but nevertheless it was so.

There is a painting in the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich of the princess. She is seven years old (it says so on her fan). Sir John Harrington had both the princess and her brother Henry painted at this time, by Robert Peake, perhaps in the rural setting of Coombe Abbey.

But the country retreat nearly proved most dangerous for Elizabeth, for two years after the portrait was painted, in 1605, the Gunpowder plotters planned to abduct the princess from Coombe Abbey and having assassinated King James and his parliament in London they intended to place the little girl on the throne as a puppet monarch. She would have been Queen Elizabeth II.

A later painting of our sparkly-eyed bride-to-be, also by Robert Peake (now owned by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York), shows Elizabeth as the beautiful young woman that Frederick Elector Palatine would have encountered on his arrival in 1612 (see previous blog post). She is dressed in the highest Jacobean fashion, in a silver farthingale sprigged with brightly coloured flowers and foliage and butterflies, with a high lace standing collar. A diamond studded chain hangs from her shoulders, and she wears a pearl necklace around her neck. Her hair, adorned with drop pearl and diamond ornaments, is backcombed into what resembles a sixties' beehive.

Her story is a sad one. After her marriage to Frederick, she became briefly the Queen of Bohemia. He built her a place at Heidelberg with a monkey house and a garden so beautiful it was described as the eighth wonder of the world. But Elizabeth was to become known to history as the Winter Queen, when her husband's Catholic enemies drove the couple away from their throne. Elizabeth's descendants would become the Hanoverian monarchs of England. She was the grandmother of King George I.

I don't have time to detour, and we continue on to Coventry. Coombe Abbey is now a luxury hotel.

The recent announcement, that Prince William is to marry Kate Middleton has generated a great deal of excitement in the media. The wedding proposed for the spring will keep the papers full of speculation for the intervening months. Such also was the excitement in 1612 at the prospect of the wedding of King James's beloved daughter, Elizabeth, to the handsome Frederick.

In the winter of 1612, King James I had welcomed the arrival of Frederick Elector Palatine to England. The Protestant prince was to marry his beloved daughter Bess. As the sixteen-year-old Frederick sailed up the Thames that October, crowds thronged the banks to meet the handsome young prince. Some 150 boats arrived in his flotilla, and were joined by many more. They were saluted by a twenty gun salute from the Tower. It was to be a very grand Royal wedding indeed.

There were not only plays that Christmas, but the latest fashion for masques was now traditional seasonal fare. This festive season, it was the turn of the playwright and scholar George Chapman to pen a court masque, with music by Robert Johnson. Like all masques, The Memorable Masque of the Middle Temple and Lincoln's Inn (as it was called) had a political message at its heart: the importance of the colonization of the New World. The masque was performed in the Great Hall of Whitehall, and presented a troop of Virginian Indians with tobacco pipes in their hands, welcoming the glory of King James, a celebration of the success of the now flourishing American colony. It cost Lincoln's Inn over a thousand pounds to mount, for just one night.

As the happy couple, Frederick and admired Elizabeth, sat in the Banqueting Hall at Whitehall to watch the King's Men perform The Tempest, there must have been a frisson of recognition as the goddesses in the masque blessed the union of Prince Ferdinand and the admired Miranda (both bride and groom had turned sixteen that August). But Frederick was a German prince, and one of the staunchest Protestant princes in Europe. What on earth was Shakespeare doing adapting the latest hit novel from Catholic Spain?

There's another clue: the second entry for the lost play in the Court Records at the Bodleian Library (see prevous post). On June 8th, the following year, 1613, there's a payment to the King's Men's for a single performance of 'Cardenna'. It costs £6 31s and 8d, and it is scheduled to entertain 'the Savoyard Ambassador'. Who was this command performance for, and why was he accorded such an honour?

In 1996 I directed the Shakespeare/Fletcher collaboration, All is True in the Swan. It was my first Shakespeare for the company. An academic called Gordon McMullan sat in on rehearsals, as he was editing the play for the new Arden edition. Gordon is a Fletcher fanatic and I asked him for his top five Fletcher favourites. I have since done two of them: The Island Princess, as part of a season of rarely performed Elizabethan and Jacobean plays in the Swan Theatre in Stratford-upon Avon in 2002, and The Tamer Tamed, or The Woman's Prize, in tandem with a production of The Taming of The Shrew in 2003.

It was during this last production that I became intrigued by what was possibly the first Shakespeare/Fletcher collaboration, Cardenio, and having learnt about Lewis Theobald's Double Falshood, decided that we would mount a rehearsed reading of that play with the Tamer Tamed company, and other actors working at Stratford that season. It was a great cast including Anton Lesser, Emma Fielding, and Rory Kinnear. Our rehearsed reading provoked a number of reactions: that the play had a Fletcherian vitality, some wonderful characters and comedy, and occasionally language that was uplifting and memorable; but that problematically there were two scenes missing: a seduction and an abduction from a convent. No doubt Theobald left them out in deference to the nicer sensibilities of the eighteenth century London audience. But without these scenes the play was for us unperformable.

So what to do? Abandon the idea of exploring it further, or try and reconstruct the missing scenes? I became hooked on the story and the mystery of the 'lost Shakespeare'. But I'm rushing ahead. Let's go back to the beginning again...

In a previous blog post I described my visit to the magnificent Bodleian Library in Oxford to see the Court records for 1612-13. So what was happening that Christmas, when Cardenio was first performed? And if Shakespeare was the author (or co-author) why did he choose a Spanish subject?...

It's an important weekend for the company. On Sunday we are having the first sneak preview of the new theatre. We have invited anyone within the company to come and fill both auditoria in both the Swan and the newly re-developed RST, we so that we can practice a full evacuation of the theatres, and hopefully be granted our License. I have devised what happens on stage, but I suspect the event itself will upstage anything we do.

Seeing Niki Turner's model box for the design of Cardenio in the Swan (see previous post) gave me a huge lift. The Swan has been closed since 2007 when the re-development began. It is my favourite theatre. I did my first Shakespeare for the company in this space, and have since been lucky enough to direct some dozen plays here, from All's Well That Ends Well to Ben Jonson's Sejanus. Niki has a history at the Swan too. We did a production of Fletcher's The Island Princess (1619-21) in the Swan as part of the Jacobethan season in 2002. It was the first play on the English stage to be set in the Far East. Because of the quick change-overs to enable a rapidly changing repertoire, the sets were minimal, but Niki managed to evoke the rich aroma of the Spice Islands with a few fretwork arches, and diaphanous drapes.

Having discussed the design together, we head over to the Swan, but are waylaid by Vikki Heywood, (RSC Executive Director) who tells us we have to stop by the new Rooftop Restaurant, where there is a staff tasting taking place. We're delighted to accept the invitation and as we sit chatting through the design, we are given delicious mouthfuls of a mushroom salad in a citrus sauce, pork cheek with skate with a broad bean puree, or parkin with liquorice ice cream - all a great treat, as we were just expecting to snatch a sandwich en route.

Alistair McArthur, the Head of Costume, has also been enticed up for the tasting. He is up to his eyeballs preparing for Matilda. So we get an extra opportunity to fill him in with what sort of costumes we are imagining for the production. Given the period setting, the different social classes, the cast size, and the amount of doubling likely, he can think ahead, and budget accordingly.

Finally we head over to the Swan, which like the rest of the building is being hastily prepared for Sunday's event. As we enter, I can't help grinning. It's like recognising an old friend. Niki is grinning too. And I can really begin to see the production now. I can imagine just how the play may work in this space. It is going to be a real thrill to kick off our 50th Birthday Season with the extraordinary tale of Cervantes' mad man, the crazy Cardenio.

This morning I am seeing Niki Turner to discuss the design of Cardenio.

We meet in the large meeting room in Chapel Lane. I haven't seen Niki since we returned from a research trip to Spain in October. She has brought me some medlars from her garden near Bath. They are the most Shakespearian of fruit. Mercutio refers to them by their expressive country name: 'open-arses'. And sitting in their cardboard punnet, all rude and russet, and full of mellow fruitfulness, we decide they look like a Spanish still life painting by Zurburan.

There is has a huge model box on the table surrounded by little cardboard cut-outs and pieces of perspex and bubble wrap. The model box represents the Swan Theatre, in 1:25 scale. There is always a nerve-wracking moment when you first look at what the designer has placed in the box for you to see. What if they've got it completely wrong, or you hate it? Generally I am surprised, and often relieved, but today I'm thrilled. Niki understands the space. She knows that the theatre itself resists too much set, that it won't be ignored for itself. We settle in front of the model box. I love this bit of my job. We have the whole morning to sit and play. Perhaps it excites something of our childhood fascination for dolls' houses and train sets. For me it recalls the Pollock's Theatre I used to play with for hours.

There are lots of references to things we saw in Spain: the great altar screen in Toledo Cathedral, the faces from the magnificent El Greco painting The Burial of the Count Orgaz, the capering characters from Goya's haunting picture The Burial of the Sardine or the brooding menace of his black paintings in the Prado. The window grills in Alcala de Henares and the household brassier from Cervantes' birthplace.

Niki and her design assistant (Lily) have modelled up various elements, sometimes quite roughly, and sometimes with wonderful ingenuity: the base of one of the little chairs is a small coin; the crown on the tiny statue of the virgin Mary is a bead, and the water jug on the table is cut from a length of plastic piping. We push things around the box, and throw things out, rip up bits of paper and introduce new elements. Her design allows me a lot of flexibility, while at the same time creating the stratification of the Society which is so particularly described in Cervantes' novel.

After a couple of hours, we give our production manager Mark Graham a call. I first worked with Mark as far back as 1992 when I directed Homer's The Odyssey in Derek Walcott's adaptation in TOP (The Other Place - our then studio theatre). We chat him through the story, and how we think the set might be used. There are lots of problems to solve: how to string up something in mid air over the audiences' heads, how to create at least the illusion of candles or firecrackers, how maybe to have a metal floor without the edges curling up and slicing people's toes - as he knows can happen from past experience. But I know that he is endlessly resourceful, tireless in his pursuit of clever ways to make the impossible possible, and can bring Cardenio to life...

The special collections room of the Bodleian Library is being housed temporarily on the second level underground at the Radcliffe Science Library. I settled at a table with my prize, a grey box folder containing the Treasurer's accounts for 1612-1613.

That winter great Court festivities were held to celebrate the marriage of the Prince Frederick, Elector Palatine, to King James' daughter Princess Elizabeth. The King's Men gave twenty performances, including seven plays by Shakespeare, one by Jonson, and four by Fletcher (reflecting his growing popularity with audiences).

A girl asked me to use the grey foam book supports provided, and I opened the box. The large vellum account book had lettering inked on the front. Inside each page was marked up with two parallel lines down the centre of which were itemised the various expenditures of King James' court.

I suddenly realised just how unprepared I was. I had no idea where in this large book two simple accounts would be, and furthermore I couldn't read the hand writing, a swirling copperplate hand - which could be what they call scribe's hand.

The penmanship was beautiful; brown ink in extravagant flourishes. But the short hand and indeed the spelling was hard to read. What seemed to read 'Spoon' I realised was 'upon', although spelled with double 'p'. And 'the' seemed to bear no semblance to the actual word, or any word I recognised.

I pored through the book page by page. Each item transports you back in time. Here were payments to his majesty's watermen, and footmen, for 'apparellings'; for the musical Bassano family, for lute strings; to the keeper of his majesty's gardens at Theobalds; wages for messengers and the like. Occasionally a word is written in a particular clear hand. For example one of the grooms of the chamber is paid 'for keeping and feeding, an ARMADILLO'. Presumably it was a gift to his majesty from one of the early trips to Virginia.

Then suddenly at the bottom of one page, in accounts for the court at Greenwich, I read: 'Item paid to John Heminges*... for himself and for his fellowes... his majesties players... for performing a playe.... before the Duke of Savoyes embassador... on the June 1613'. And then in the most extraordinary script the word 'Cardenna'. The initial C looks like a hot cross bun, a sort of O with a cross through it. The word seemed to have its own enigmatic calligraphic flourish.

And this is the start of the journey.

At the top of the next page there are two items paid to John Heminges, the first for presenting fourteen several plays, at Whitehall. There are references to Fletcher's Philaster, Much Ado about Nothing, The Maid's Tragedy, The Merry Devil of Edmonton, The Tempest, A King and No King, The Winter's Tale, Sir John Falstaff, The Moor of Venice, Caesar's Tragedy, and one other called Love's Lies a bleeding (which I thought was the subtitle to Philaster, but which seems here like a separate play, or perhaps just records a second performance of that play).

I can make out quite clearly The Tempest. It is wonderful to see the names of these plays which are so familiar to us now, but which were new then, and which have gone through so many productions in so many languages in so many parts of the world 'in states unknown and accents yet unborn' all written by quill, at the time of the original performance. The direct connection, the rush of immediacy catches my breath.

The next item lists six several plays, including The Alchemist (the Ben Jonson play) The Hotspur (presumably Henry IV Part One) and a second performance of Much Ado here called Benidicte and Betteris. But one name glows off the page for me: 'one other Cardenno'.

The Duke of Savoy's ambassador is referred to again on the next page, where there is a payment for bear baiting in his honour in July. I need to find out who this man was, and why he was granted the privilege of a special command performance.

I drive back to Stratford pondering 'Cardenno'. So at least there is evidence that this play existed, although the court records attributes no writers' names next to these entries, so they provide no evidence of Shakespeare's authorship of such a play, only that it was in the repertoire of his company. The account book spelling seems to suggest that the Spanish pronunciation of the name Cardenio is correct and that the play should be called Car-den-io, and not Car-deen-io, which is what to date, we had all been saying. So we may not have the actual play, but at least we now know how to pronounce it. Well, it's a start!

(*John Heminges, like many other Jacobeans, spelled his name in a variety of ways, even within the same book. In the First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, which he produced with his friend Henry Condell, he spells name Heminge in the dedicatory epistle, and Hemmings in the list of players! In the Court records, just to confuse things even further, he is referred to as John Heminges, which is how we'll refer to him throughout these blogs.)

"And what exactly are you researching?" the admissions officer enquired. "I'm looking for the evidence of a play said to be written by Shakespeare and based on Cervantes." I said. "Hmmm..." she mused, and perched me on a chair by her desk, while she decided how to process my rather unusual application. I am not an academic, or a student. I stared out of the window at the bright blue early September morning. Oxford looked beautiful. The heads of the Emperors stared immemorially down from their pedestals on the railings around the Sheldonian Theatre next door, looking as startled as when Zuleika Dobson's landau rolled by in the opening pages of Max Beerbohm's Oxford Love Story.

Eventually my papers were passed to another lady who informed me that the book I wanted was held in the Special Collections at the Radcliffe Science Library while the Bodleian itself was being renovated, and she gave me a map. The rules meant I could not use pens, not take in a bag, and of course no food. She suggested I ate my banana on my way up the road. She passed me a laminated card, and asked me to read the oath written on it out loud, which I duly did: "I hereby undertake not to remove from the Library, or to mark, deface, or injure in any way, any volume, document, or other object belonging to it or in its custody; nor to bring into the Library or kindle therein any fire or flame, and not to smoke in the Library; and I promise to obey all rules of the Library."

The first reference to such an oath goes back to 1400's, the lady said, and she ran through a brief history of how the oath had changed over the years. It used to be in Latin, and since 1609 has been declared out loud, and more recently any reference to Almighty God was removed, due to the widening of the readership among different faiths and the secular.

Eventually, after about half an hour, and having paid my fiver, and clutching my new photo ID reader's card, I headed back into the sunshine and off up Parkes Road. I was finally going to see the evidence that a play called Cardenio existed.

"Fantastico!" cried the King of Spain when I told him that Shakespeare may have written a play based on Cervantes, the great Spanish novelist. I was representing the RSC in Cordoba, to collect a Bellas Artes gold medal from His Majesty, in the evocative Mezquitte Mosque. The RSC have toured a number of productions to Spain in recent years, including a season of Spanish Golden Age plays, and we now want to take our collaboration further. The beguiling Cardenio might be precisely the work: England's greatest writer inspired by Spain's greatest. If only the play hadn't been lost for the last four centuries.

We know that the First Part of Cervantes' great novel, Don Quixote was published in an English translation in 1612, by Thomas Shelton, and that Cardenio is one of the characters in the book. All the evidence we have for a play on this subject is a reference in the Court records for a payment to John Heminges, the King's Men's business manager, for a performance of a play called Cardenno in 1613. No such play appears in the First Folio of Shakespeare's plays in 1623, but then neither does Pericles, nor do the other plays in which John Fletcher is supposed to have collaborated with Shakespeare: All is True (or Henry VIII) and The Two Noble Kinsmen.

There is no further reference until the publisher Humphrey Moseley applied to publish The History of Cardenio by John Fletcher and Mr Shakespeare, in 1653. And we know that in 1727, Lewis Theobald produced Double Falshood or the Distrest Lovers claiming that it was his adaptation of a lost Shakespeare play based on Cervantes' novel, which had been given into his keeping.

This blog is the story of my quest to understand what might have happened to Shakespeare's lost play, and to test the theatrical possibilities of Cardenio in the crucible of the Swan theatre, in Stratford.

So the quest - and this blog - begins with the first, and maybe the most important question: How do we know there was a lost play at all?

- Greg Doran