The roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd...

Well, it all went swimmingly, in the end, really.

What did?

Why, the amazing Harry Buttle and his Glamorous Assailants, of course! The last act of Hoxton Bark Cabaret at the Hoxton Hall!

(AKA the amazing mr_flay, ably(-ish) assisted by andyravensable and your humble scribe.)

We came. We saw. In some cases, we letched. Then we went backstage, and sat, trembled, paced, wibbled, told one another crap jokes, twitched, breathed deeply... for about an hour an a half for the rest of the universe and about a week for us. Maybe three.

Then it was the compère, who did an unexpectedly long and hilarious routine involving the spirit of Dame Margot Fontayne dancing the Dance of the Combine Harvester - and pigeons - ask me sometime - and then suddenly... we were on!

Ed strode manfully to the front of the stage. The spotlight fell upon him. Andy and I walked on, exuding menace - 'ere, no, stoppit, we was, I tell you!

I tore off Will's mortarboard and ripped his gown and jacket from his trembling shoulders. We thrust his flaccid, unresisting arms into the straightjacket, span him round, back to the crowd. (I assume there was a crowd. I mean, there'd been people there earlier. I was too busy to even glance.) We strapped him up good 'n' proper, guv. Then I ran off, leaving my hairy accomplice strapping his arms up, grabbed the chain from the cunningly-concealed valise (links obligingly falling everywhere, in accordance with Sod's Law), and we wrapped him thoroughly in chains.

We've done this a lot in rehearsal, now, Mr Burgess and I. Sometimes it took too long, sometimes they all fell off, sometimes a particularly fortuitous set of loops would prove particularly resistant to escape. What I don't think we've ever done before is to do it too fast. We scuttled offstage, me grabbing the gown and coat and completely failing to spot the mortarboard, while the recorded preliminary speech was still going on. We squatted in the wings, watching, in my case, in mute terror that we might have botched it.

It's not easy to jacket and chain a man in 1min45sec, you know. A damned sight easier than getting out of it, I grant you, but I don't think we've ever done it so fast.

But it worked. We all three of us feared a they'll-all-fall-off-when-he-stands-up moment - it has happened before, though of course the object is to ensure that the poor bugger can't stand up - but actually they proved thoroughly resilient and poor Ed had some chewing to do to get one loop over his head.

And in a few brief but fraught minutes he was free, we ran on, grabbed his accoutrements and fled the stage. From my awkward vantage, it seemed to go well.

I have been on BBC TV and radio. I have given a hour-and-a-half talk to a packed house at the Windows Show. I have delivered lectures and convention talks and panels. I have never done anything like this before. It was not my brains or words that mattered this time, but coordination, memory and practise. I was afraid. Not of the crowd, not of being onstage, but of fluffing it.

But it was all right on the night.

Ed's preparations were lavish, thorough and immaculate. His professionalism is unimpeachable. His helpers merely muddled through. I feel glad to be a tiny part of it.

I fear it may happen again. Soon.

Next time, I shall expect you all to be there, is that clear?