Actually, it didn't go so bad last night. Our audience just about scraped into double figures, and seemed to like it.
But then, as we valiantly tramped out of our venue, we got stampeded by the crowd desperate to see "Chav! It's a musical innit" and I suddenly felt rather depressed.
Apparently the morning after the first night is always the worst, and god, it's been grim. I've spent it on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, reading a biography of Edward VIIth, and have decided I'm just too low to see a play about lesbian ballroom dancing.
Actually, I just don't want to see anything, in case it has a bigger audience than we get, and I get plunged into more misery and trying to solve the question of whether King Edward really did undertake remarkable social reforms under the cunning disguise of boozing and dames.
I'm also faced with having to be a pretend audience member for the next few nights until the Festival properly starts. It's not only slightly dishonest, it's very boring. Is there anything worse than having to pretend to laugh at your own jokes?
We're all treading around each other a little quietly today. Lots of brave smiles and "it could be worse". Rick points out that we could be doing Huis Clos in Polish. "Bet it gets more people than us," I sigh.
It is Kate who cheers me up. "Oh. We've been invited to a venue party. It's a student theatre, so there'll be lots of vulnerable young student actors."