I attend this meeting with Brian Parsons, who is here to direct Jekyll and Hyde. Now, Brian refers to himself as fat. He says this in order to establish a point of reference in the context of a conversation about the ballooning waist lines of other Aquila staff. However, Brian is one of those people who you can't imagine any other way. He came out as a marble, worked up to a cricket ball, swelled to football and has now matured to great big beach ball. Put a grammar school cap and a pair of round framed specs on him and he'd be Billy Bunter.

When you meet someone with whom you're going to working so closely, it's always a little nerve wracking. Whatever, the bravado, you always hope for someone with whom you're going to get on. Intellectually, emotionally and, though I hesitate to mention it in this hallowed space, spiritually. I'll come back to this theme another time. But suffice to say for now, that theatre is an intimate act, as much if not more so in its creation as in performance. The vibe from Brian is very good and we chat with ease about everything from the banal experience of the New York day-to-day, to the philosophical background to the Jekyll and Hyde show. We bond further, when we reflect, with surge of hysterical bemusement, on the fact that neither of us have seen a copy of the Louis' adaptation as yet. I think we'll get on very well.

We are the only two to attend the meeting at the OISS. Kimberley Wetzel gives us the guided tour round all the administrative and legal requirements relative to our time at NYU. One thing catches my eye: bank accounts.

Robert has already mentioned to me that he has put in a call to the Company's bank in Columbia, South Carolina, in order to facilitate the opening of an account for me. It's a mark both of his paternal desire to ensure everyone in the Company is cared for, but also of a rather dysfunctional administration that, after so many years based at NYU, he's not aware that it's very easy for me to open an account myself. Kimberley informs us that, armed with a passport, supplementary visa information, proof of address and NYU Student/Scholar I.D. card, opening an account is a cinch. The only thing we lack is the I.D.. For that, we just need to pick up authorization from the Dean's office.

Well there were hoops. And we jumped through them all. Suffice to say - for the tale of administrative acrobatics is no more riveting here than elsewhere - that the I.D. wasn't available today. Staff away. Forms unavailable... The bank account will just have to wait.

After lunch, Brian goes off to meet an American actor friend, Lucas, who may be interested in taking on Claudius. Just as well someone is. The first performance is on the 31st!

Back at BPAC I help out in Bob's Shakespeare class, thereby releasing him to talk costume with Megan, our sole costume designer, maker and supervisor. I work with them on their audition monologues, and with each one try to dispel the idea that such a speech has anything to do with being alone. I push them to make each thought specific and to find the necessity to speak in the audience.

After continuing with Malvolio for a while, we see another intern candidate for Horatio. Darren looks in his early twenties. Earnest and concentrated, he admits that he's engaged to be married and that, in view of the tiny stipend which the interns receive, he would have to take out a loan in order to take on the tour. I admire his honesty, but at the same time think he'd be too much of a risk.

Leaving BPAC, I call Jamie and discover he's set aside a ticket for me for his show at the Irish Rep at 132 W. 22nd St: Philadelphia Here I come. It's $25, but what the hell.

Having picked up my ticket, I find a fabulous whole food supermarket and lose some more dollars on fruit and a salad for my tea. In his message, James mentioned that we might meet in Mullen's after the show. I find it, and spend a few moments in the air con cool, sipping a beer before reaching the theatre.

Unfortunately, my seat is in the front row. The show's good, the cast is strong, Jamie is, as ever, fabulous, but every time he's off, I struggle to the point of inflicting pain, in order to stay awake. Even when James is not in a scene he remains on stage and I can tell he's spotted me. My embarrassment is not sharp enough to keep my eyes open, so I pinch my forearm as hard as possible...

After, in the bar, James says immediately, "are you still suffering from jet lag? are you really tired?" I mumble something about the heat and the lack of sleep in the hot, airless room in Astoria. I feel the tension, but don't feel up to admitting my struggle with Lethe during the show.

The pinch bruises on my forearm will stay with me for nearly a week