So he's through to the final. Thank goodness I took a chance on it and bought a recording device yesterday because I'm set building on Sunday. I had to go out during the Cilic match this morning so it has already come in useful. The trick will be to get to the recording of the final without having learnt the result.

I was sorry to see Nadal go out in the way he did even though Murray was clearly going to win. But it suited me well in those pre-recorder days since had it gone the distance I would not have got to lesson one of Learn To Sing.

The primary school groaner fights back.

Through in straight sets. Well done Andy. Good luck against the bum scratcher.

When I down-sized my dwelling a few years ago I took zillions of books to a titled lady's cellar in Dublin street for the benefit of Christian Aid. Amongst them was a copy of War and Peace that had lain unread for decades. If I am ever motivated enough to read it I can always get a copy from the library could have been my excuse for ditching a major literary classic. Or maybe I thought I should hold off until I was in a position to read it in the original.

Heroically I held on to my copy of Ulysses (still unread at today's date although there is a postcard some tens of pages in so I may have made an attempt) thinking perhaps that while War and Peace is a story of far off foreign folk that would mean little to me Joyce's tale takes place just across the Irish Sea where 75% of my genes came from and so must speak to me.

I had the luck last night to check out what lessons I might learn from Tolstoy's epic without going to the bother of reading it thanks to the combined forces of Scottish Opera, the RSAMD and the Rostov-on-Don State Rachmaninov Conservatoire, who together mounted the world premiere of the original version of Prokofiev's operatic treatment of the story.

The Theatre Royal in Glasgow was not full to bursting which seems a shame for an event that one presumes is pretty significant even though it's a pro-am effort. I thought the ams were every bit as good as many pros I've seen and heard but as is not infrequent for an operatic experience I appreciated the production rather more than the material. Having said that there are some nice tunes and choruses and the death scene duet is magnificent.

The presentation is very much on the pro side with a versatile two level set, superb lighting, a large cast whose disposition in the space creates wonderful pictures, costumes to die for, efficient and intelligent flow from scene to scene, clever business - everything my own little production strives to achieve. Singers can't always act and actors can't always sing but I had little fault to find in either department. Mind you conscious of my own musical inabilities I'm quite generous when it comes to less than perfect singing even when my ears recognise its deficiencies. My man of the match award goes to the young man who played Napoleon for both his rich baritone and his convincing characterisation. Keep an eye and an ear open for Alexy Gusev in years to come.

And what of Tolstoy's tale? Well it's a fun blend of human interest and global politics. I might even read it one day.

I set my alarm for early this morning only to find that Andy Murray had already won his third round match. It's my incapacity to calculate what day and time it is here given what day and time it is there that's to blame. I'll have to triple check my calculations for the next round.

At least there is a next round which I hope he gets through because then he's up against Nadal who always gives a great performance. I wonder if he still scratches his bum for luck before he serves?

I've always assumed he does it for luck anyway, but I suppose it could be medical - must check the Nadal fanzine.

At long last the Post Office has got around to introducing self-service posting machines that have been common if not ubiquitous in continental Europe for some years.

The one I used in St James Centre on Saturday had all the necessary bells and whistles; large/small letter gauge, weighing machine, touch sensitive screen with all the postal choices you can think of, a coin slot, a note tray, a credit card slot, a stamp printing only facility and all done in a jolly red and white livery.

The only obstacle to postal paradise was a small boy playing drums on the touch sensitive screen but I made short work of him; not in an unkind Giles Coren manner, more in the manner of a traditional ogre.

Another machine that has tickled my fancy this week is my second internet radio. I got fed up moving the first one from bedside to lounge given all the crawling under the bed to unplug it and trailing cables here and there. So I've invested in a little gadget hardly bigger than half a cucumber that sits tidily on top of my hi-fi, is permanently connected to it and brings the world to my ears.

It's currently streaming a station called Barcelona Jazz that may very well wean me away from TSF.

It's not often that I find myself on a bus at 7.30 on a winter's morning. There has to be a good cause involved. The good cause in this case being Marivaux's "Arlequin Poli Par L'Amour" which his departed soul is no doubt looking forward to seeing in the SCDA One-Act Festival next month under its snappy local title of "Polished by Love".

I've yet to see the whole cast make it to a rehearsal but last night we had almost a full set, one of whom must be classed a trouper for having turned out, and the evening was enormously enjoyable. To say the work is rough around the edges would be an act of kindness akin to complimenting Gordon Brown on his charisma. But deep down and glimmering weakly is a little flame.

The challenge is to cajole that little flame into growing into the bonfire that blazes in my imagination. This is such a darling little play and I'm so pleased with the physical shape of the presentation, the look and the sound of it, and there is such potential in the cast that I've just got to strain every sinew to make it as perfect as I possibly can.

So to the bus. Two streets away there's a wood yard from which I ordered material for our set. They agreed to deliver it to our workshop this morning and that entailed someone being there from 8am to accept delivery. I offered to walk round and ride shotgun on the lorry but they wouldn't play so I had to take the bus to Tollcross and hang about until it arrived not long after ten.

While hanging about I got in some saxophone practice and by observing learnt a little about erecting scaffolding. The first stage of the statutory repairs that are going to set us back three grand was getting under way as I arrived.

Peoples' inability to read an email or to turn over a bit of paper to read what is on the other side (even when the first side says Page 1 of 2 and at the bottom of page 1 it says See Overleaf For More Information) never fails to amaze me.

It's almost as amazing as not bringing your script to a rehearsal or having a script in your possession for four weeks and signally failing to read it or more amazing still to decline a script on the basis that you will print your own and reveal four weeks later that you don't have a script because you've had no ink in your printer.

Then there is the amazing fact that the day you are chased up for an explanation as to why you have not appeared at rehearsals turns out to be the very day that you were going to send an email resigning from the production.

Next time it's animation and CGI for me.

What does it mean?

1. No entry for pregnant women

2. Hands off it's too late

3. No thanks I've got got more than I can handle already

The beauty of the carpark has not been enhanced by the addition of a double bed mattress, an ugly fabric covered bookcase and various odds and ends.

I suppose this is a small price to pay for the fire brigade's success yesterday morning in enforcing the statutory notice. They have helped keep us safe from an inferno but I wish they had frogmarched the mattress malefactor down to the dump at Craigentinny to dispose of it. Had they done so and had I been there I might have encouraged him to do the honourable thing and leap into the landfill skip to save us all from future distress.

For although the ground floor is now clear of rubbish I fear that the game is not over since some has found its way to the first floor where it is leaning cheekily against the lift door. I dare say it would have been inside had the lift not been out of order.

Perhaps it is a cry for help and we should call NHS24. With luck they would treat him with dignitas.

As for the smoking homeless intruder. All I can tell you is that he was taken away for possession of a controlled substance and is not homeless though thankfully he does not live here.

Event piled upon event.

I was invited/persuaded to go to see Avatar this afternoon. It is complete nonsense of course but an absolutely wonderful film. Reportedly 1000 people worked on it and given the time it took to roll the credits I can believe that. There is no Best Boy credited but that's because this is an entirely different sort of movie. Instead we have a roll call of animation chappies, virtual studio heads, visual whatsits and performance capture TDs. It seems unlikely that Irish parliamentarians were involved so TD must mean something else in this context.

After the film we met Ewan and had a few drinks in the Blue Blazer where we were lucky enough to be picked out to sample three beers from Stewart Brewing. Delicious stuff that I can heartily recommend.

Those beers plus a pitstop at Greyfriars Bobbie on the way home may well have contributed to the slide that floored me outside the Deep Sea Fish Bar though the uncleared pavement must take the major part of the blame. According to Mr. Deep Sea it was the greedy people further up the Walk who had filched all the road salt that he would otherwise have scattered in front of his premises. What's wrong with shifting the snow with a shovel I thought as I lay there recovering my breath, but charitable as ever I held ma wheesht.

100 yards further down the road I realised that Leith Walk was out of focus not because of my having over imbibed but because I was no longer wearing my specs. I retraced my steps and found them undamaged outside the Deep Sea.

I got home after only one more fall and was unsurprised to find that the statutory notice has had all the impact of a savaging by a dead sheep.

Maybe there is something in the homeless smoker after all. The police have just carted off someone from my block.

And am I entirely wrong to suspect who I do? Was it a homeless smoker who dragged the mattress and other junk into the stair?

If I learn more I'll post it.

I was being mildly rebuked last night for having maintained blog silence since before Christmas. Harold MacMillan would no doubt have replied "events, dear girl, events - there haven't been any".

So nothing to write about. But now....I was raised from my bed at 7 this morning by the continuous sounding of a fire alarm that on investigation proved to be the one in my block. Further investigation revealed the presence of a fire engine outside and a couple of firemen inside.

Were they beating back a fierce inferno or at least turning off the alarm? No. There was no inferno, no flame, not even the smell of smoke, no apparent cause for the alarm to have gone off. I engaged them in conversation and through the fingers that were pressed into my ears heard with some astonishment that they were unable to turn off the alarm, lacking the necessary key.

Discussion turned to the reason for the alarm having gone off and I was told that the occupant of one flat had suggested that a homeless person had been smoking in the stair. Leaving aside the absence of the smell of cigarette smoke and the question of how a homeless person had got in (and where he had fled to since the stair was deserted ) the fireman remarked that the presence of a mattress in the stairwell was a cause for concern since a homeless smoker might easily set it alight. Smokers with homes are no doubt more careful.

Ideally he said the mattress should be outside. Indicating the clipboards on which he and a colleague were scribbling he added that that would have avoided all this paperwork. He continued completing a statutory notice under the Civic Government (Scotland) Act 1982 Section 93 later served on all the occupants of the stair notifying us that we were failing in our duty "to keep the common property free of (a) any combustible substances or (b) anything which might obstruct the way out from and access to the property in the event of fire." and giving us 24 hours to get back in line.

The thought did pass through my mind that if they really wanted to avoid paperwork then the two hulking firemen could easily lug the thing outside. But thanks to a story that Fiona had told us just the other night of how she had had to flutter her eyelids and use her helpless little woman routine to melt the hearts of two dishwasher installers and thus persuade them to step beyond the bounds of their remit and disconnect the old one I knew that voicing the thought was pointless.

So I focussed on getting the noise stopped. I roused the poor factor from his bed and he in turn roused a technician who came out and by 8.30 the alarm was off and had been re-jigged so that in future a key is not needed to turn it off. I had a chat with the technician about what could have set off the alarm. He thought it might have been weather related. If temperature changes can disrupt Eurostar trains after all. Could that also be why the lift has broken down again?

I have darker thoughts.

The mattress which worried the firemen has been joined by a growing pile of other junk over the last couple of weeks and for several days I have been on the point of serving a non-statutory notice on the person I suspect of being responsible for putting it there. Strangely enough this is the person who came out with the homeless smoker story.

So my hypothesis is that the junker (who may well have previous as a lift lunatic and stair candle lighter) got tired of waiting for someone fed up with the mess to get rid of his junk for him and thought of the cunning ploy of engaging the services of the fire brigade. Had two less conscientious chaps responded to the call maybe it would have worked.

The question now is will he break under the threat of the statutory notice.