Eight months into the marathon, and I think you know me well enough to sense that I'm a bit of a daredevil. A thrill-seeker. A speed junky. Always chasing that next high.
So on a Friday night, as the clouds darken and the rain begins to pour, there's only one place I could be heading.
Yup. I'm off to catch for some free outdoor theatre.
Yeah, it's risky. I know. But don't worry. I've checked their Twitter feed and there's no mention of it being called off. And with a six o'clock start, there's still time to run over to a different theatre and catch another show if it does get rained out.
There is the tricky matter of what to wear, but as I'm currently living out of a suitcase, and don't own any waterproofs anyway, I just make sure I've got my scarf in my bag and head off to London Bridge.
On the short walk from the station, umbrellas pop open all around me, but I refuse to give in. I march on, striding between the raindrops and resolutely deciding not to put up my own umbrella.
It's just rain. It's fine. The only thing I have to lose is my eyeliner.
Still, it's not without trepidation that I approach The Scoop.
And not just because everyone seems to be scurrying away in the other direction.
A low stone wall is quarantined behind crowd-control railings. Their only purpose seemingly to stop people from peering down into the stage from above. All I can see is a lighting rig, peeking up from inside the well like a submarine's periscope.
As I walk around, following the path that leads to the bulbous glass shape of City Hall, I finally manage to catch a glimpse of what's happening.
Which is to say: nothing.
Rows and rows of empty seats. Wet and empty seats.
Wide stone steps, circling the floor-level stage, are filled with nothing but the slick sheen of rain.
I press on, walking round towards the entrance.
Two security guards stand around wearing hi-vis jackets. They don't pay me any mind as I walk past.
A woman in a waterproof does. She smiles as I approach, looking damp but resolute.
"Is the performance still going ahead?" I ask, a touch sceptically.
It's a couple of minutes to six. If it's happening, it's has to be soon.
"It is," she says, sounding very stoic about the whole thing.
I am filled with admiration. You have to applaud theatre people. They are the ancestors of those epic posties of old. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these stage managers from putting on a fucking play.
"Oh, you brave souls," I say, really meaning it.
"There's a marquee that you can sit under if you do decide to see it. It's not strictly for the audience, but there are only five people here so..." She lets the sentence trail away.
"I'm going to go for the marquee then," I say, and I do.
I walk around the back of the seating, past a small wooden shed, and find the promised marquee. Underneath there's a tech desk, being kept nice and dry, a small group of people huddling around it, and a dog.
I duck my head under the marquee and find an empty spot.
A gust of wind sneaks in, picking up my skirt just as I'm trying to sit down, and wafting it over the sleeping dog. They lift their head and look at me through half-closed eyes.
"Sorry," I apologise to the dog's owner. "I'll try and keep a hold of my skirt away from him... her? Him? ... her?"
The owner looks at me from under her umbrella. "It doesn't matter," she says before turning away.
Well, alright then.
The dog isn't bothered by either my skirt or my misgendering and they promptly go back to sleep.
A second later, someone arrives with a rolled-up blanket, and the owner carefully tucks the dog in.
The dog sighs contentedly.
They look super comfy.
The rest of us shiver as we wait for the show to start.
A young woman races down the steps towards the stage. We're off! The Sea Queen, a very appropriate title for the weather, as the pirates slop their way across the wet stage.
It's pretty cute. There are songs. And swords. And a girl pirate who don't take no nonsense from any boys.
They're all miced up, but even so, it's hard to hear over the patter of the rain on the roof of the marquee. I strain to make out the lyrics and then, as a cast member darts off to the left, I realise I don't have to. Because there's a captioning screen right there. It's got all the words, and I hadn't even noticed it. So, I can read along the bits I miss.
I'm very happy right now. Even if it's freezing.
As the pirates' shirts grow sodden I scramble about in my bag for a scarf.
More people arrive. A cool looking girl stands on the steps to watch from beneath the shadow of a huge umbrella. People walking past stop to look over the wall. A family appear and the two small girls squirrel themselves under the marquee, sitting close to the dog - but not too close.
But the rain doesn't stop. Puddles begin to form on the stage.
As the actors race about, swashbuckling about with swords, the stage manager comes out. She raises her hand and the battle stops, mid-swash.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she calls out. "Apologies to those that have just arrived, and those in the audience sheltering," she says, indicating our group under the marquee. "We’re just going to pause-"
"-the pivotal moment!" says the girl pirate, earning herself a giggle.
"Pause for health and safety reasons," continues the stage manager. "We're just going to check in with one another."
"We won't tell who wins!" says pirate girl.
"Shame!" calls back one of the marqueers.
The cast all creep their way damply off stage and go to hide behind the set.
The rain continues to pour down onto the marquee, weighing down the roof until a huge flood splashes off and makes us all jump.
Underneath, a gentle camaraderie forms between the marqueers.
A couple gets chatting with the lady at the tech desk. She's the captioner. She was supposed to be doing the show on Wednesday, but it got rescheduled. Because of the rain.
They ask if she's a student and are surprised to learn that no, it's her actual job. Then they ask about the actors, and are again shocked to find out that they've all graduated and are now bona fide working actors.
We wait. This rain really isn't letting up.
I blearily stare at all the office blocks rising above the edge of The Scoop. Odd view. Considering we have the river right behind us. You'd think they'd want Tower Bridge as a backdrop.
Perhaps I should go. Not because I'm damp and cold. I am damp and cold, but the actors must be damper and colder, and I do wonder whether they would feel more comfortable leaving if, well, we weren't here.
"Looks like they're stopping," says someone nodding towards the stage. A couple of actors scuttle out from behind it. They're in costume. But not the pirate costumes from before. They're in doublets. Fancy doublets. With frogging. Not really suitable wear for the high seas. These look altogether more Shakespearian fare.
The family decide to call it quits.
"Thank you for coming," says the captioner. "Sorry we couldn't do anything about the weather."
"Oh, are you in control?" asks the dad.
"Yeah," says the captioner with a sigh. "Sorry."
They say goodbye to everyone and make their way out into the rain.
The rest of us cross our arms and wait for news.
The stage manager reappears.
It isn't looking good.
"Ladies and gents," she starts. "Thank you so much for your patience. That took a little longer than expected. We're going to have to cancel this show, just because the floor is a bit slippy. But the forecast is looking good for later and we're still going ahead with Twelfth Night and we'd love for you to stay and see our beautiful production on the same set. It starts at eight, so don't go too far, go get a drink something warm to eat, and well see you later."
And she's off. Presumably to find a drink and something warm to eat for herself.
More cast members appear. One of them is wearing a massive dress. So massive she needs help keeping the skirts up away from the ground. It's pale cream. Can't be having that dragging only on the damp concrete.
They wave at us as they make their way around the seats, stopping to clap in our direction as they draw near.
We applaud right back.
Not all heroes wear capes. But they frequently wear big arse-dresses and ruffs.
Time to go.
I pull my jacket tight around me and emerge from the marquee.
It's not so bad now that I'm not sitting on a cold stone step.
As I clamber back up the steps, the rain stops. The sky clears.
People start to emerge from the cafes and pubs they'd been hiding in.
I decide to walk to Embankment. Take in the river.
I won't be coming back for the second show. I've already seen two Twelfth Nights this year. I'm sure the cast with cope with my absence. They're made of strong stuff.