Small but perfectly formed

In Bolton the usher had loved the show – the first time she's cried in years, which I take as a compliment. Here, the usher is already talking about making sure he can work on this show rather than the main house because he wants to see this again. Ushers. They see everything, meet everyone: don't tell the paying audience, but the usher likes the show I'm happy.

We also have a small but perfectly formed audience for our first night at the Carriageworks, and afterwards we head to the bar with some members of it and the mother of a friend of ours, and talk and talk, and not just me. At the end of the show I had been handed some flowers from Natalie, saying “Now, go and talk about death.” She intended for me to get them before the show, but as I hardly every stop talking about death, the timing is immaterial. They are lovely. I remember Kate and Mum sending me flowers for the last show Kate saw me in. I confess, I'm still waiting for Kate's flowers to arrive for this show. I am bought a birthday glass of sparkling water, which is, strangely, just what I want.

It's not too late when we head back to the hotel and my birthday really gets started. We are sharing a twin room. Little do we know at this stage that by Oxford we'll be sharing not only a bed but a duvet as well. The flowers look great in my room with my cards. It's still Seculent so I have chai tea, Martin has some water and we want to take a picture of this after-show birthday party - the hummus! The banana!. Martin suggests we get someone from downstairs to come up and take it. No, say I: too weird. We manage to get the timer working on my camera and document the moment.

Bartelt is very, very excited about the razor. He wants to use it straight away but the manual is barely comprehensible. It's designed to be clear for all language speakers, using the international language of drawings. Internationally unclear, oblique, imprecise drawings. I am trying to persuade Bartelt of two things: he is meant to charge it for 24 hours before using it and he is meant to wash it under the tap. He is very sceptical indeed about both of these suggestions, but then he looks down on those who read instructions and does not like to be told what to do with his own razor. My last action on my birthday is to reach out of my single bed to take a picture of Bartelt with his nose in the instruction manual, lying in his single bed. His being a linguist and his fluency in four languages is holding him back with the manual, that's for sure. The only words he can find are that the razor company will not be held responsible for any scalding incident which might occur when washing the razor: he has a whale of a time reading this out in several languages as I drift off to sleep.