Back to Black

1. In July 2006 I walked into rehearsals for our next show, something like the fifth or sixth in a few months. I'd never been in a rehearsal room like this before. I sat in for a while and the rehearsal I saw was singing, the full cast working on a version of an old military song. They worked on one line, over and over again with the musical director for the entire time I was there. The musical director knew exactly what he wanted from that one line.

2. The day the show opened was a Saturday. I was at the venue all day. I'd never been in a venue like this before either. Never worked on this scale, in this festival, this way. It was brave and big and terrifying. This was a major event, black dresses, heels and hairdos, all taking place tucked away in a cobbled lane outside a drill hall.

3. That first summer was something I'll never forget. The clamour, the fuss, the anxiety, the direct contact and the mental place we found ourselves in. The standing ovations, the emotion, the whirlwind. The buzz.

4. It's been six years and many different incarnations. I've been at the heart of it - watched it countless times with thousands of people, I've sat alongside Sean Connery and I've sat with a group of soldiers and parents of soldiers overcome with grief. I've been at the heart of it.

5. But not so much anymore. I don't have anything to do with it now, I'm not needed. Rehearsals for the next version of it started this week, today is the meet and greet. It's a new generation, in every way, and as we watch the new boys perform parade for us, I stand with a smile on my face, moved in the same way I have always been moved, maybe even a little bit more. There's a thread that connects me to this and it may always be there. A golden thread.