The thrill of the chase.

So, the last post was a tad mooshy. I apologise if you read it while eating. I now have my business head on so that's a relief.

I am finding that there really is no off switch to this whole running-a-theatre-company malarkey. So many things to do. It's a real ride.

And, in fact, something of a rush, even when this week I have found myself almost exclusively sitting in front of the computer, building databases, writing letters, grappling with far from perfect mail merge tools and stuffing envelopes. So far so boring and adminy.

But actually, no. I have found it quite exciting (wait! come back!). You see, the reason for all this office stuff is I am trying to book a proper tour for our new show. By proper I mean one that goes to venues that are new to us, in different and far flung parts of the country, that we can't rely on simply to book us because they know us and quite like to support us. And, ultimately, venues that will pay us.

The excitement comes from the potential for success. There are hundreds of venues out there, all possibly waiting for exactly our show, and any one that might get back to me is a mini triumph that encourages me to think that, yes, we are now being looked at as an actual pro company.

This despite the fact that I am really muddling through, having never been shown how to approach venues, how much to ask for, how to negotiate. I am slow, and inefficient and need to find quicker ways to do things. I sent out nearly 100 letters at the beginning of the week, all of which have now been followed up by emails. Every one I have sent has been posted with this sneaky feeling that I'm kidding myself.

Well you know what? It's only bloody working! Two venues have been booked (these in addition to a week in London) and in the last couple of days two completely new theatres have got back to me expressing their interest. If it isn't naive of me, I reckon that any expression of interest is very likely to turn into a booking. Venues must receive countless appeals like mine, and I think they wouldn't even acknowledge receipt if they didn't want the show.

And this is also at a time when most venue programmers disappear to Edinburgh, so there are plenty more people who might get back later this month and find our show is just what they were looking for.

The optimist in me says that a success rate of just over 2% in a week is actually pretty good going, and if we are capturing the imagination of these venues, then there must be others out there who will feel the same.

This might just work, y'know.

So, are you ready?

This is the question I am being asked with increasing frequency, and understandably so. It alludes, of course, to the impending B-Day (a somewhat alarming three and a half weeks away).

The last time I remember being asked this question so often was just over eight years ago, just before I married Zoe. The answer now, as then, is frustratingly complex. There isn't a word in the English language to articulate the state of readiness for such a life-changing event as marriage or having a baby. So I will invent one, or maybe two.

How does 'Nes' sound? Or maybe 'Yeo'. The truth is that there is no amount of preparation, no class, discussion, book or course that can lead one to the conclusion that one is ready.

It's an odd sensation. It feels as though there is a universal expectation that one will reach a defining moment of readiness. Perhaps one morning I am supposed to wake up, leap out of bed with verve, strike a pose of heroic anticipation and loudly proclaim "I Am Ready" with a voice in which the listener can actually hear the capitalisation.

"Let The Baby Be Born," I should continue. "Before Now, I Was Unready. Now, I Am Fully, Unequivocally Ready!" At which point wife will oblige by punctually dropping the sprog and the heroism will continue for the next who knows how many years of blissful parenthood.

The truth is, of course, much more banal. I wake up in the morning to a wife who is a little bit bigger, a little bit less comfortable and a little bit closer to several hours of pain unimaginable to a male followed by unprecedented joy. Yet all I do is wake up and carry on with life and be thankful that, so far, there has been no cause for worry.

This doesn't answer the question, though. Mother Nature has been generous enough to give us humans nine months or so of preparation for the event, but a lifetime couldn't prepare me for what is about to happen.

I am excited, nervous, curious, hopeful, optimistic, pessimistic, realistic, deterministic, selfless and selfish. But not ready. But yes, at the same time, I Am Ready.

I am ready because people have been having children for tens of thousands of years. Because every living thing on this planet has successfully procreated irrespective of learning, culture, religion, medicine, support groups, birthing pools or Rough Guides to Pregnancy.

I am ready because having this baby now, at a time of national and international upheaval, personal uncertainty and naivety, simply does not, under any circumstance, feel anything other than right.

But mostly I am ready because I know that the mother of this child is Zoe. Whatever my own perception of my potential shortcomings as a father (and they are legion), I know and trust that our child will have the best mother it could have dreamed of. And in my muddle to try and match that pure, natural perfection, I will be looking to Zoe to show me the way.

And, of course, I have been fortunate enough to have experienced the best aspects of fatherhood from my own three Dads. I hope to distil the essence of these brilliant men and emulate the success that they have had in raising their own children.

The very fact that I am worried that I won't be a good father is, perversely, a comfort to me, as I know that it will motivate me to prove myself wrong. My life philosophy has been "I don't know if I can do this. Let's find out." and I am proud to say that, in most cases I have discovered that, in fact, I can.

I hope to continue this trend with the single biggest, most important challenge of my life.

Brace yourselves...