Makeup smeared across my face I walk into the corridor. For reasons which are complex and many I have just been gagged, blind folded and handcuffed to a table with my feet in a bucket of water. It has, needless to say, been a very long day.
As I turn I see The Boys sitting in the corner.
"There are no no-clapping rules here*" Charming Canadian says.
And The Boys clap.
I may have had something of a Diva Strop when the idea of me - a Writer who privileges sheds and garrets and suchlike - having to perform. A Diva Strop based on something approaching utter horror. And it is lovely - just so lovely - that they have noticed that under the over-dramatised reaction I have done something today that I didn't particularly want to do.
"I've been told I should ask to see your arms" Breakfast Club Boy says.
"Oooh, you've not seen my arms". My arms have become my current party trick.
He catches my eye. "Well, I have seen your arms, just not this week".
I smirk before pulling up the arms of my cardigan to reveal, on each forearm, the large oval shaped bruises that have been such a talking point over the last few days. Because if there is anything I do well then it is bruise. And these bruises - caused by the handcuffing to the table malarky - are, if I do say so, fairly spectacular.
Breakfast Club Boy looks from my arms to my face. "You do know that you don't actually have to hurt yourself - there's this thing - acting".
I wonder whether sticking my tongue out is a mature response.
"You should have seen them on Tuesday" Reggae Boy comments. "They were awful".
Arsenal Fan shakes his head in the manner I can imagine my brother doing. "It's just not right".
I kind of stand there, in the midst of this little circle, and, even given the fact my dress is wet from the water and I suspect that I'm going to get an eye infection from the mascara gloop in my eye, I can't help but smile. If nothing else then this moment confirms I have done the right thing, turning my life if not upside down then certainly inside out, by going back to school.
Because I have met these people.
*Inside the performance space we have been informed - much to our bemusement - that there is to be no clapping. Go figure.