“Sir, I am a true labourer.” We have just finished our first run of the whole thing and my brain feels like it may melt out of my ears. I’m brimming with adrenaline and residual anxiety, my carefully styled hair is a distant memory, I’m sweating more than I’m willing to admit to, and the rehearsal room is a bomb site of purple drapes, fake fir tree branches, and tartan scarves. It’s utter carnage.

We have A Play.

I hope it isn’t bragging to tell you how hard we’ve worked the last week or so to get ourselves to this point; the process of going back over the scenes we sketched out and digging for the detail has been intense but so worthwhile, and it’s paying off in how emotionally wrung out I feel by the time we get to the end. The five of us are properly in our rhythm now, and for all we’re working hard it certainly isn’t all blood, sweat, and tears; there have been plenty of times where we’ve busted up laughing because someone’s found an innuendo in a line, or it gets to the end of the day and we’re all so delirious there’s nothing else to do but descend into manic giggles. We have to be colleagues – we get no say in that matter – but to be friends and to look out for each other in the way that we are is something you hope for on every job as an actor, and it’s an utter gem when you’re fortunate enough to get it. One of our Saturday rehearsals fell on my birthday, and I walked in to balloons, a banner, a card, and a birthday cake – I don’t know if there’s an American equivalent to a Colin the Caterpillar, but if there isn’t I beg you to Google it and try and imagine my joy when my gorgeous team presented me with one. January is a miserable time of year to have a birthday – my mother apologises to me around this time every year – but with these lovely folks in our little room in Brixton, it was a joyous way to kick off the big 2-7.

That supportive energy between us is invaluable to fall back on when we’re building the world of the play – our characters are lovers, enemies, families, best friends, and it can be a strange thing to be crafting a relationship like that with a person you’ve known a little over a month. Our deep-dive proper into Act III Scene iii felt like a pivotal moment in that exploration this week; it’s the scene wherein Orlando meets ‘Ganymede’ (Rosalind’s male alter-ego) in the forest for the first time, and the lack of court pressure or gender oppositions means that Rosalind has a chance to see if he’s really as in love with her as he claims to be in the poems he’s been sticking up everywhere. It’s one of my favourite scenes in the whole play, but a daunting one – there are so many dynamics at play as the two are sizing each other up, dominating each other, and figuring out for themselves what they might be feeling towards the other. It’s also, dare I say it, kind of sexy, and that can be a rather formidable thing to tackle if you don’t trust yourself and the people you’re working with. Luckily, that wasn’t something we had to worry about. Sam is, to put it simply, brilliant – it’s his third go-round with AFTLS and, as a first-timer, to be approaching these scenes with someone as intelligent, generous, and insightful as he is takes a significant amount of fear out of it all. But it’s a room with five directors, and even if one of us isn’t in scene we certainly aren’t resting on our laurels. We had Benjy putting us through our paces, extracting every nuance from all of the layers going on – what is Orlando feeling towards this stranger? How good is Rosalind at the ‘Ganymede’ character? Why do either of them stay in the conversation, and what do they want from the other? Al keeps us in check with our verse speaking and loyalty to every minute piece of punctuation, and Jo even pauses the scene as Celia to build in our given circumstances and really challenge us to hold the tension and stakes of who these people are to each other. It’s a challenge, but one we sure as hell give our all to, and a scene that may have been perfectly serviceable when we first revisited it is now enriched with a subtext that keeps us playful, cautious, flirtatious, and alive.

The thing with Shakespeare is, you can read and analyse and research and talk about it all until the cows (or in the case of this play, the sheep) come home, but you don’t know until you get up on your feet with your fellow actors and have a swing at it. It’s the only way to own it, and to have fun whilst you’re doing so. We’ve found games within the scenes, things to focus our objectives and remind us of what the characters are trying to affect in each other; a game of tag between Phebe, Silvius, ‘Ganymede’, and Orlando was a particular standout, but one-on-one pick-up basketball to work our way through Rosalind and Orlando’s power-flirting definitely gets an honourable mention. That being said, perhaps the biggest game of all this week was all five of us trying to figure out the best way to cut the fabric we have for our boundary into three equal strips – not as easy as it sounds when you’re trying to wrangle 20 feet of purple satin and keep fraying to an absolute minimum. That last part was, of course, a fool’s errand, and triggered a manhunt through Brixton to try and find someone who’d be willing and able to hem that much material for us. LoLo, wherever you are, you’re a God among men, as we ended the week victorious and with our idea for the transition between court and country firmly cementing itself as (thank goodness) possible. With a little more rehearsal and tightening, we may very well get our magic there.

It’s an intimidating thing, getting down to the wire in the way that we are. We’re only a few days out from our final sharing, where we perform the show in its current iteration to AFTLS company members who are tasked with finding ways we can streamline the chaos of the thing and make scene and character transitions as efficient and seamless as possible. We got an email the other day with our full schedule, itinerary, and travel information, and I had to hide under my duvet for a little while because it all felt suddenly incredibly real. It sounds silly, but I haven’t processed the ‘America’ part of this job – I’ve toured before, and I know that the next phase of this whole journey is getting to perform the show we’ve built together, but the travel and the adventure of it still feels slightly far away and unreal. I’m hearing so much about the near-mythical things we’re going to do and see and experience – the pretzel bites at O’Rourke’s, Super Bowl watch parties, the Chicago architecture boat tour, hyper-specific Texan dive bars – and it all feels a bit abstract. I think what it boils down to is I still can’t believe that someone’s paying me to do this amazing thing. I’ve been warned about the extreme cold of Indiana, the madness of early wake-ups and class planning and internal flights, and for all I’m a little nervous there’s this overriding sense of heading into the unknown that I’m so excited by. It even felt this week like London tried its best to give us a little taste of what’s to come, when we had to pause the scene we were working on to rush to the window like kids to look at the snow that was falling over the city. It won’t be a patch on the cold of South Bend, but it’s enough to make it all feel a little more immediate. Bring on the showing, bring on the bittersweet stresses of plane travel, bring on Indiana in all its icy glory. We can take it. 

“Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try.” Everyone told us it would feel real after Christmas. Everyone I spoke to who had done the job before, especially the winter tours, was keen to share the spooky story of how quickly reality would set in once we were back from the festive break. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve always been aware that we’re somewhat against the clock, however this week has felt like something of a crash-landing into the minutiae of everything that goes into putting a play on. I’m suddenly a dance captain, a set dresser, an aficionado of scrolling every possible clothing website to find the exact right cut of long sleeve white blouse for the best possible price. And somewhere in the middle of that, I need to figure out how to be an actor, too. No pressure or anything.

We began a truncated week last week with a day and a half of finishing and consolidating the first two acts of the play – the approach we’re taking right now is to paint the scenes in broad strokes until we have a serviceable version of the whole play, then dive back in with our magnifying glasses and see where we can really get our teeth into the details. That being said, for a first pass at things, I really think we’re doing the play and ourselves justice with the diamonds we’re beginning to mine. Stakes are beginning to come to the surface, character mannerisms beginning to cement and develop, humour and tension and chemistry certainly beginning to make themselves ever more available to us. We work 10am-5pm, which is certainly not the most grueling rehearsal hours I’ve ever worked, but by the end of it I think we all feel the exhaustion of giving our whole, undivided focus to whatever might be in front of us that day. I may be speaking for myself on that, but when we went for drinks after rehearsal last Monday, I managed one 0% Guinness before I had to go home or risk falling asleep on the train. Reader, I am suffering for my art.

For all it was close to Christmas, that day and a half was certainly not spent winding down. By the end of Tuesday morning we’d had, essentially, six full days of rehearsal, and with two acts, five songs, and a jig (we have a jig!) to recap we made use of every possible minute available to us until we all ran off for respective trains to loved ones. And we managed it! Yes, that time pressure was there far in the background, but to have a few days off to enjoy the festive period and to not worry about the state we were leaving the show in felt like a real luxury, and one I’m grateful for. Barring a Zoom line-run to keep things fresh and indicate what might need a refresh before coming back into the room, our focus was off the room and firmly on our families, blood-related or chosen. And then back to London for that post-festive break reality check.

By the way, I’m making it sound like some horrible, crushing, all-consuming fear of what we are about to embark on, and that is far from the case. It’s a wonderful kind of fear, anticipation of the adventure of it all more than anything – there is an overwhelming amount to do but I have no doubt that it will all get done in time, and done to a hell of a high standard at that. Dribs and drabs of costume and set are starting to creep in, like tree roots and vines in Arden – from the internet, from the treasure trove that is Brixton market, from the Mary-Poppins’-bag-esque cupboard at the back of our rehearsal room that houses a veritable museum of past AFTLS productions. Our confidence in our music is growing exponentially, both in instrumentation and vocals – Benjy and Al are taking on the mammoth tasks of not only learning Shakespearean lines and vocal parts, but will be providing the underscoring for the show as well. Jo has also learned several accordion chords so she can accompany when it wouldn’t make sense for Al’s character to play. I’m in awe of them.

We’ve had a group outing to scout hat possibilities for character signifiers, and to purchase material for our boundary – the 20ft x 20ft playing space we mark out and then build our world inside of. This has posed its own challenge, given that the world of the play begins in the oppressive court of Duke Frederick and transitions into the forest, with a few flashes back and forth between the two. A problem to solve for sure, but an opportunity to make a little big of magic too. We certainly ain’t the type to pass that up. The word that keeps popping up for us is ‘ambitious’. It’s been a recurring theme so far, and driven again by our determination to beat that pesky clock. This week we’re aiming to finish the entire show and get a run in of our second half. Ambitious, considering we’re down a day for New Year’s Day, but it all feels quite doable. It’s a hefty schedule, that kicked off on Monday with us crashing right into the 15-page behemoth of Act 3, Scene 3 – Corin and Touchstone arguing! Celia telling Rosalind that Orlando is in the forest! Orlando meeting ‘Ganymede’ and setting up the game of wooing! It’s all kicking off! But I love the way the room works, each of us excited for an opportunity to jump out of a scene to see it from a different angle, or being inside it all and charting a path through.

One challenge I’ve been trying to personally tackle is sitting in the discomfort of trying to figure things out; Al pointed out to me that I have a tendency to try and exorcise tension if my characters are in a bit of a pickle, by moving away or overcompensating with gestures, and he wanted to see what happened to the scene and the character if I held onto that tension. Yes, it can be uncomfortable or vulnerable, but I trust the company and the room and the attention we give each other in it, and for all I know I still have a long way to go, the work we’ve done has already developed beautifully. Seeing Al and Sam being as polite as possible whilst resenting each other under the surface in the scene between Jaques and Orlando had me beaming, and watching Jo and Benjy as Celia and Oliver immediately fall in love the second they clap eyes on each other has had us all giggling like kids.

For all our ambition, we’re sailing through our schedule and we’re largely on track with where we want to be – the thing I keep saying in response to our scheduling is “it’s ambitious, but ambition’s gotten us this far”, and so far ‘this far’ is a pretty great place to be. I’m writing this on New Year’s Day, sitting on my sofa with my partner next to me, one eye on the Middlesbrough game and the other on the scenes we’re looking at when we get back in the room tomorrow. It’s the time of year for taking stock, for assessing where we are and what we want – for making resolutions, famously. Mine is to be kinder to myself, to give myself the grace to not worry about failing as we explore deeper into this beautiful play, to open up and see what possibilities might appear. The conditions are perfect to do it, and there’s no time like the present. From our rehearsal room to wherever you may be, wishing you a very Happy New Year from the five of us, and may your 2026 be filled with as much love, humour, and new opportunities as our characters face in this crazy thing we’re making together. 

“Now go we in content to liberty, and not to banishment.”

I reread As You Like It for the first time in years when the audition for this job came through, and Celia’s line at the close of the play’s first act was what initially galvanised me to want to be a part of this production. I’d encountered As You Like It before, however never with a great amount of (God forgive me) enthusiasm – it isn’t Shakespeare’s plottiest play, or his goriest, or his most magical. After that first re-read I felt almost ashamed to have been so ambivalent towards it as it may, I would argue, be Shakespeare’s most romantic play, however Me-In-October is not yet aware of this. Me-In-October is instead thinking that it’s the play with all the monologues that remind her of drama school auditions – and no one who’s gone through those wants to be reminded of them.

But speaking of first acts, I should begin this properly. The above ‘me’ in question is, well, me – Grace, 26 years old, and originally from Middlesbrough in the North East of England. As an incredibly clumsy child, my parents enrolled me in ballet classes to try and improve my balance and co-ordination; ballet turned into tap, tap turned into Saturday morning theatre groups, and before anyone really knew it I was eighteen years old with suitcase in hand moving to London to try and be an actor. Several years down the line and here I am, doing just that! The beautiful irony of this is that I am, of course, still as uncoordinated now as I was back then, except now I have a degree to break my fall.

You join us on a particularly rainy afternoon in Brixton, smack in the middle of our first week of rehearsals – Al, Benjy, Joanna, Sam, and I, the intrepid troupe taxed with bringing As You Like It from page to stage. Five actors, no director, twenty-or-so characters, as many props and costumes as we can fit in a 22kg suitcase, and five weeks until we head out stateside to perform at venues from Indiana to Austin. The word ‘daunted’ has never come out of my mouth as often as it has these first few days. I’m a newbie to AFTLS, and I’ve never worked in an environment like this before; self-direction and collaboration and relying on your fellow actors to really build up whatever this weird and wonderful process may take the form of. Not only that, but we’re staring down the barrel of some of Shakespeare’s wittiest, wordiest, and most wonderfully written characters, with so much to unravel and discover in the text and the relationships – as well as how in the world we’re going to do that whilst also, in several cases, playing both characters involved in the relationship in question. Sometimes at the same time. My head’s spinning all over again just writing this, but the reason why I wanted to do this so badly was because of how intimidating I found the prospect of it all – if something scares you just the right amount, all the more reason to sprint towards it screaming.

It must be said, I’m thrilled I sprinted. It’s been a wildly positive start, and I’m already immensely proud of the rehearsal room we’re cultivating together. It’s a room I look forward to walking into every morning, one where we solve problems not by simplifying things but by leaning into the complexities and seeing how best we can unknot ourselves from the tangle we make. Our lack of director may seem slightly bonkers at first, but it’s fascinating to see what springs from us just getting a scene on its feet immediately and working our way through it, via whatever Shakespeare leaves for us on the page blended with wherever our instincts may steer us. Our first proper day was spent running the whole play, beginning to end, with zero preparation, just to see what would come to the surface. It’s mad. It’s exhilarating. It’s brilliant, and I’m having a blast.

And beyond just the work, the five of us feel like a really spectacular team. Truly, if you have people around you who can carry you through a 5:30am alarm for appointments at the US embassy, they’re people that are worth putting your trust in. We’re all vastly different individuals – in approach to the work, in life and perspectives, even in experience working with AFTLS – but we’ve gotten each other few a fair share of challenges already and I look forward to seeing what the next ones we’re facing will be. Today we tackled the wrestling match in Act 1 – which, in our version, sees Sam doubling as Orlando and Charles and, therefore, having a boxing match against himself – and had our first deep-dive into the music of the show; the extremities of focus and laughter and silliness and ingenuity and just sheer joy have all been in full swing. I don’t think we’ll get very far at all without that last one.

As You Like It is a tonally fascinating play – it’s pastoral, but also at times a parody of pastoral, and the main character is a woman but also a man but also a woman-playing-a-man-playing-a-woman, and it’s a love story and maybe even a musical but also there’s war and hatred and bad poetry and identity politics and queerness and, naturally, sheep. To find the joy in all that variation, and so much joy at that, is something I’m grateful for and look forward to us diving into deeper, even as we’re thinking about how best to draw out some of the darker aspects of the play. I’d reassure you we weren’t going too dark by telling you all about the mouth trumpet/kazoo duet, but I fear that may be giving the game away too much. Like all of Shakespeare’s comedies, that vein of darkness can be found easily if you look in the right places; tyranny, murder, fratricide, refugees, it’s a hard tightrope to walk and still keep your audience certain that it’ll all work out alright in the end. And it does, in spades – As You Like It ends with (spoiler alert) no less than four marriages! But then again, when so much of the play is about duality, it makes sense for us as actors/directors/designers/musicians/stage managers/candlestick-makers to feel that duality just as much as the characters do. Throughout this whole adventure there will be good days, and hard days, and even days we will likely neglect to share with this blog entirely, but much like the courtiers venturing into the unknown of Arden, I’m certain we’ll be changed by them. I truly can’t wait to see where this particular liberty might lead us – it feels like somewhere special already.

PS – one of my favourite parts of mounting a new project is creating a character playlist. I love using music as a way into a character’s state of mind, or to explore their tastes or circumstances, plus it’s nice to have a vibe-appropriate warm-up playlist to hand. Hopefully this will work in this format (I am typically something of a tech disaster…) but if you care to have a listen to the music I’ll be using to inspire my spin on Rosalind, a link should be available here:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1nnViaCPfpWQfaGSpgVkQ6?si=xCl_5aQNQRKNCAj9EADEaQ&pi=SxLDk14wR-uSr

The diary of the new girl.

5am pick up from hotel, drive, flight, flight, drive and finally we arrive at our air bnb for the week (the team checked if this would be ok with us, as no hotels close to the theatre were available and we leapt at the opportunity to be roomies for a week). Cory, Director of the Language Department, who picked us up, had brought us his favourite apples from an orchard nearby – they were easily the best apples I’ve ever had.

The house we are staying in is quintessentially American, a big blue chocolate box home with a wrap around porch and pumpkins decorating the stairs. Excitedly, we pick bedrooms and head out to the supermarket, the exhaustion from our travel day briefly replaced by the happy anticipation of a home cooked meal. The sun is setting and the leaves on the trees are orange and gold, are we in a film?

Once back at AFTLS Cottage, Sam put on some Velvet Underground (10/10 tunes) and begins chopping shallots, Anna reads in the living room, Waggy sits on the porch, Michael heads out again as he forgot the most important item from the shop – coffee, and I open a bottle of red wine. Heaven? I think so. We wolf down yummy dinners, and watch the great British bake off before heading to bed not dissimilarly to The Waltons.

Day 2 a few of us head out separately to run around the area, I discover a trail and briefly weep at the natural beauty. We visit the oldest independent book store in New York State and are given free rein to pick some merchandise for the show (an important gag) before heading to tech in the adorable local theatre. Henry, who runs the theatre & light boards is fab and we get through tech pretty painlessly before heading back to our lovely home.

Wednesday was filled with a little drama after I realised I’d been bitten by a tick and had to get to urgent care. I, (as embarrassed as I am to admit it) did panic quite considerably after googling ‘Lyme disease’, (let this be a reminder to NOT use google as a medical professional) but the rest of the company, true to form, had my back, calmed me down and helped me out. By the end of the day tic gate was over and we were in the lovely Colgate Inn splashing out on a fancy dinner. The fire roared behind us, we enjoyed curry, wings, burgers, steak, salad. Some live music after and we head home full of food & country tunes.

Our shows were fun, we tried new things & enjoyed the different audience vibes. The theatre even looked a bit like a ship, acoustics were good and we head to the local Bar Bar after each show to decompress and evaluate. The actor Matt Malloy who lives in Hamilton, came to see the show and loved it, invited us all to his house on the Sunday for sauna, a cold plunge in the lake, use of his hot tub and a home cooked breakfast. No one quite appreciates a home cooked breakfast like an actor on tour.

Other highlights from this week include sitting in the garden of the air bnb after a show doing some star gazing, dancing in the laundrette, watching bake off with our pre show meal and Matt’s lovely dog, Louis. Next week is our final week in the states, sunny Alabama awaits.

The diary of the new girl.

Was Winona Rider named after Winona Lake? We arrived Monday late afternoon, the other 4 went to the nearby Italian restaurant, Papa Vinos, for some pasta, I was so exhausted I opted for pot noodle in bed. Tuesday was rainy and chilly, but by the end of the day the sun was back out and we donned our gladrags to have dinner with the Grace team. The sun set over the lake through the windows of Cerulean as we enjoyed our cheese boards, wine, duck breast and crème brulee, we discussed favourite bands, books & food.

Back at the hotel, Michael introduced us all to the game, Ex Libris, and we played and laughed for a good couple of hours (would highly recommend this game post dinner). Wednesday we teched the little theatre, a sweet, shallow proscenium arch with an intimate, puppet show feel. We made a trip to sit by the lake in the sun for a bit, before exploring Walmart and then heading to Mad Anthony’s brewery in Warsaw.

The shows went well, we played the smaller space with a different energy, trying new things. We had to rethink the washing line moment and used the wings a little more as there was no space behind our chairs on stage, changing it up made it feel fresh and fun. Laughs landed in different places, we stayed on our toes and on the second night had to run back on to bow again.

Friday was a big day for all of us. Anna went Jean shopping (which anyone who’s ever been Jean shopping before will know, is practically a competitive sport) the trip ended in a successful purchase, a picture of the jeans will surely feature in an upcoming blog. Michael, having been a guest on Pat Loebs’ podcast that day, popped into his Block Party Post Show, where he met a man called Jared, who happened to be a custodian of THE Billy Sunday’s house, Michael then managed to sweet talk his way into a private tour of the house on Sunday.

The gang took me for my FIRST EVER drive through experience. Culvers did not disappoint- the woman who took our order through the strange microphone machine was in hysterical laughter, and even asked us “is this real?” (probably due to our English accents), so much so that her colleague had to take over the order, but by this time the car was already laughter infected, and we giggled the rest of the way home, enjoying our burgers, chips & cheese curds in the lobby.

On Saturday morning Sam & I ran around the lake as the sun rose (Sam hit an impressive 10k PB which needs a mention), and Waggy & Anna found proper coffee at the farmers market. Scot came to see the final show and we put the world to rights in the lobby (this lobby has never seen such excitement as it has this week). Sunday was Michael’s house tour, an experience he described as “suspended in time”. Much to the dismay of the hotel staff, the rest of us took chairs from the lobby and sat in the sun beaming down on the car park at the front of the hotel with some snacks I’d picked up from Walmart. Trust the British people to find any sliver of sun and make the most of it.

Once Michael was back, he drove us to Ledge View Brewery, where we sat in the beer garden (Waggy threw a double corn hole, if you don’t know what this is, just trust me – very impressive) until we were chased inside by a swarm of wasps. We tested all the hot sauces they had and rated them, we ate more sweet potato fries than you’d think is humanly possible, we discussed our dream music festivals, we got an early night before a 5am pick up. New York, watch out, five silly actors are coming your way.