I couldn't resist that old pun (the definition of a clarinet or a tuba - I forget). I saw The Tempest in Stratford last week, and it could be another reason, not only my new mattress, that my back hurt. Too much time sitting in a car gets very painful and I get very stiff.

Anyway, I was looking forward to seeing Martha Henry, one of my very favourite actors, perform as Prospero. I expected to be blown away by her. I'm sorry to say that I wasn't. Her best scene was the Epilogue and that is a great scene and so was she, but for me she will never replace Bill Hutt as Prospero, the second time. By then he had grown past his ego and he was beatific.

One of my prerogatives as a critic in my own blog is that I can be quite biased and personal and selective. I can tell you that I really disliked Miranda, who squeaked and who was ill-served by two dreadful costumes. Speaking of which, it may be interesting to an archivist that Prospero's robe was made of bits and pieces of Robes Past. To me it looked like a crazy quilt bathrobe. And here again I speak like the old-timer I am - for me there was never a Miranda like Martha Henry's. I can name several other definitive parts she played. Her Prospero isn't one of them - not for me.

Three days later I was fortunate enough to see a DVD of the all-male production, directed by Tim Carroll (now with the Shaw Festival), filmed by the BBC, of Twelfth Night, starring Mark Rylance as Olivia, and with several other British actors, heavy-weights all, who made it the best performance of that play that I have ever seen and who made it clear to me what The Tempest was lacking.

Surprisingly - or it was a surprise to me - The Tempest is not as good a play as Twelfth Night. That's all I can say now. I am as shocked as I think you probably are. I have to think about it, and why.

This is why I love theatre.

I keep thinking I'm making progress but I'm falling behind - or things are getting ahead of me, or something. Going sideways?

You know about my new mattress and what I learned about asking for help . Now I have to learn how to sleep - on a new mattress. It's not the first time, of course. The rough rule is that you should change, that is, replace your mattress every 20 years or so. I never had to think about replacement. We had just bought our new mattress as a twentieth anniversary milestone when Bill died. After almost twenty years in Toronto I moved to Muskoka. Eighteen years later I moved back to Toronto. Each move involved a new mattress: a futon bed in the cottage, my first IKEA bed back in Toronto, which I have just replaced. I don't remember suffering any adjustment (read: pain). I'm older now. Who's counting?

It's a week since I have made my bed and lain in it. I am sleeping better, I think, slightly longer, until last night. But I also have had worse lower back pain and aching hips. I don't take pills. I swim and walk and do leg exercises. I'll go back to the gym and start pedalling and stretching - when it gets a little cooler. But I'm going to have to do something about my mind. My thoughts woke me and kept me awake from 4 to 6 a.m. I'm used to that and I believe in the two-sleeps theory, also in naps. But I like it best when I go to sleep without delay. You may remember I do Jack Reacher's three or four deep breaths and I'm OUT. I don't like it when I keep thinking.

It's my mind not the mattress. I have to beat it into submission - my mind not the mattress.