The atmosphere was jovial as I entered the Pearse Centre. The previous evening’s run-in with audience members seemed to have given us fresh resolve. Having a pair of rowdy drunks in the audience hadn’t affected the performance of the pieces. At the same time, people were slightly on edge about our final show.

Final shows are the best and the worst. They are fantastic in the sense that they offer a sense of achievement about what has been accomplished over the previous months’ work. It’s usually the night that friends and family of the cast and crew come to watch. The wrap party inevitably happens in some local speakeasy afterwards. All good things.

They are sad however, as it’s the last time the fleeting family of a show will congregate in that exact format. The next show will see some of the same faces, some new ones, and will be equally magical. But the precise configuration of each individual show vanishes at the end of the run. It causes a wistful feeling.

Last night was a full house. That’s always good.

I was backstage during the first act again. Some latecomers had warned us that they’d be arriving after the start. My job was to ensure that they were seated – quietly – during the changeover between pieces. I had them waiting outside the theatre door. Once the applause for ‘The Return’ erupted, I sneaked them in and pointed them in the direction of the front row, while the stage was being set for ‘U-Turn’. It went smoothly.

I was thrilled with the reception for ‘Mother’s Little Holiday’. The actors played a blinder. The audience seemed to enjoy the taste, style and elegance of my leopard-print ladies. After the show someone suggested that I create a web series about Maureen Moore and Carol ‘Vinegar Lips’ Delaney – whereby they could discuss the burning issues of the day, in Maureen’s beautiful IKEA kitchen. It’s an idea that might be pursued. The only reservation I’d have is about budget. How could I possibly afford such a tawdry, animal-print wardrobe?

In O’Neill’s pub at the after-party, we held a glittering awards ceremony. Such was the talent involved in the show, everyone received one of these prestigious, plastic awards. The categories included ‘Best use of non-drip paint’, ‘Best Jiggle’, ‘Mother of the year’, ‘Best pony-tail architect’, ‘Father of the year’, and my personal favourite – ‘Best low-down, devious, good-for-nothing TART’ (which was graciously accepted by Rosario from ‘Mother’s Little Holiday’.

It was a late night.

I need to start writing the next chapter of my magnum opus. I think the title will be ‘Mother’s Little Revenge’.