Hi, Boyd Clack here again. Rehearsals continue in a whirwind of nastiness and backbiting. I intend to keep out of it. The main arena of animosity seems to be between Alan, the writer and John, the director. They don't even try to disguise their mutual contempt. John is constantly belittling Alan. He forced him to wear a chicken costume in yesterdays rehearsal. Every time Alan tried to speak, John would drown him out by clucking loudly. It's childish if you ask me. Remember I said that the girls were frigid? I was wrong. They are nymphos. Ollie and Hugh are getting more outrageous by the hour. The truth is that they are both thick. Hugh in particular can hardly string a coherant thought together. I thinkl he must have taken a sharp blow to the head at one time. He's a grinning imbicile. (No offence meant) Ollie at least has the excuse of drug damage. Ross is plain bizzarre. He told me that he thinks his nose is changing into a rocket ship. He claims it will get to two hundred feet then blast off for Mars. Sharon is drunk again. She tries to disguise it by staggering about singing. It's fooling no-one. So ... I am the only rational person in the company and I think that the others, knowing this, are ganginmg up against me. I think they are planning to do me a mischief. Bring it on Suckers! Lots of love Zorro!