So is tomorrow. Another day, that is. And that's when I'll deal with it, or something.

That's all I could write last night after another day at Stratford. It's not Stratford that's tiring and time-consuming, it's the driving there and back. Yesterday heavy traffic pushed us onto a side road en route and heavy rain made the drive back difficult and tiring for my darling driver who had to listen to me prattle too. Besides being a computer genius and my guide and mentor, she is lovely looking and very patient. Just when I think I have wound down, she asks a question I feel inspired to answer - fully.

I could go on and give you a capsule review Of Alice Through the Looking Glass, James Reaney's adaptation, but I must read his script first. I can't believe he wrote some of the things they did. Too much. And the actors/director couldn't make up their minds whether they were playing to children or adults. They came up with a mid-Atlantic version of kidspeak, midway between continents, as it were.

I love audience participation or/and involvement but it has to be integral to the plot. No, no, I won't go on, not until I have read Reaney's version. I want to know whom to blame.

Now I'm almost ready to write today's blog. Soon. Today is yet young