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Petersfield to Scarborough is a pleasant enough drive. Once you round London and head north up the A1, the years peel away and before long it all looks like an early 1960s British B-movie; the truck stops and roadside terraces of Peterborough and Stevenage give way to the flat badlands of the east of the country and the open miles of long straight fen channels slice up the potato fields like razor wire. In the distance lonely farmhouses hunch from the weather and you remember why Night Heron by Jez Butterworth is such a well-written play. The Bedalian hordes were snoring sweetly on each other’s shoulders by the time we turned right at York; then the East Wolds nursed us through the last fifty miles of cantankerous turns and villages with lonely shops, before finally it was mobile holiday homes and that saddest of signs declaring “Britain’s First Resort”, which of course means it’s Britain’s last resort, if you’ve got any sense or a little money. Unless you’re a student into theatre, in which case you’ll make the unlikely pilgrimage to Ayckbourn’s home town for a windy week every Easter. Except it wasn’t windy. It was dazzlingly hot and multiple stops for lollies and ice creams were the only delay on the way up on traffic free roads.

And bang! You collect your passes and straight away you’re off to your first show. NSDF waits for no one, not even lackadaisical Bedalians.

Line (Horowitz) by York University came and went in an hour of pseudo-absurdism. A gentle enough introduction to the NSDF environment in the converted cinema of The Stephen Joseph Theatre. Five characters involved in psycho-queuing. General approval from Bedalians but  ‘Albee-lite’ said sage Dave Jackson from Reigate Grammar School, between forkfuls of Mushu Pork. Evening entertainment of magicians and music hall saw us home and hosed before pumpkin time.

First workshops in the morning for our students – “very intense” came back one response but the sun was out and the pleasure in spotting cast members round town was starting to become apparent. Party members went pink before we went back indoors to Hull University’s Scarborough campus : Dealer’s Choice (Marbar) by Leeds University, where the clever boys came to play and the script still sparkled from the 1990s and one formidable comic tour de force from Mugsy won over a largely school audience composed of Bedales, Reigate, Oakham, Guernsey and others. A quick sprint down the hill to Five Kinds of Silence (Stevenson) from Warwick University gave us a 90 minute spin through generations of abuse and retribution, via epilepsy and shotguns. Difficult viewing and theatrically messy but now the Bedalians were finding their stride and warming to the task. A brief respite before Nottingham University’s Orphans (Kelly) brought the day to a close with a detailed piece of two hour naturalism about murder, race and class prejudices. Blistering central performance but faint doubts lingered in some as yet another show blew its ending with a clumsy sound cue, this time ‘Sweet Child of Mine’. An early bed – voluntary – saw the teachers in last with a deeply held argument between 4 independent schools Drama Departments detaining us long after Set Menu C was finished, about the relative merits of drama as an academic subject : overall opinion was that it wasn’t and shouldn’t be and that we all wanted a return to the days of school plays with only a minority wanting to cling on to the fond memory of twenty years of devised pieces about eating disorders and serial killers. Banging pipes disturbed us in the small hours but the sun was still shining so all was well….

Bacon roll scores : Gardner 1, Green 2, Brittain 0. The old man was out of the traps with a crafty roll/sandwich combo but Gardner held his own and looks like a worthy opponent. No sign of competitive eating from Brittain but it is only day one.

Workshops in the morning, sun out and the first discussion of the week – 500 people sitting in the round firing questions at two of the cast – great stuff. Then What Do You Want From Me? from Salford University – a sweet piece of dance theatre and at 20 minutes it didn’t outstay its welcome. Extended tea break, with more workshops (Rosie and Maisie raving about John Baxter’s Physical Theatre & Neutral Mask session), before more Nottingham University naturalism with This Wide Night, with two excellent performances at the core of a piece about life after prison, but a flat and opaque script whose narrative arc eluded most of us and some unhelpful directorial decisions almost capsized matters. The day’s session closed with Reading University’s Stop Look Listen; this piece turned out to be theatre evolution in reverse – starting out with a brilliant opening ten minutes that had us rubbing our hands and murmuring approvingly about The NYT, before an adjustment to seeing it as a very good A level piece, then a GCSE scramble before ending in what seemed to be a Year 9 assembly. An evening of solo performance poetry and readings ended the long day in the Spa Centre before bed and sleep.

Bacon roll scores : Gardner 3, Green 3, Brittain 0. Strong come back from the boy Gardner with a nice red sauce / brown sauce combination. Brittain still in the blocks. Maybe she’s planning a big second half of tour push with regard to cooked meat consumption?

By now it was becoming apparent that Bedalians look like most everybody else – something that was not apparent for the first 48 hours, however the ubiquity of student boho-povo-chic is becoming universal to all theatrical visitors. 6.2 thrilled by Facebook stalking the cast of Dealer’s Choice almost as much as doing workshops with The National Theatre of Scotland. Intriguing opening to the day’s performances with The Bristol Old Vic Young Company’s 70’s Landahn spivved-up version of Jason & Medea with stunning Medea, the first gay kiss of the week (there’s always one at NSDF, just to keep you on your toes : ‘look, we might be middle-class, a touch smug and occasionally complacent,’ NSDF says to you, ‘but you’ve got to admit we do a reliable line in mildly shocking…’) and a brave but ultimately unsuccessful live band. Really split the party : “a bad school play”, snarled Callie; but others saw the shoots of something not seen so far – a genuine young company from mixed backgrounds being passionate rather than cerebral. Either way surely the only example of blacking up seen on stage this week? More workshops before The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui (Warwick University); now here I must confess Gardner and Green had to make a tactical withdrawal for sporting reasons but despite rather underwhelming reports before-hand, Brittain reported back that it wasn’t all that bad. Much discussion in the ritual slaughtering of the production in the whole Conference feedback about the lack of political oomph and how hinting at Nick Griffin wasn’t enough and was too easy when you were middle-class and white; equal amounts of consternation about the use of a chorus of cauliflowers, although people thought the make-up was nice. A dance ensemble proved a damp squib at the end of the day but with the weather still roasting and a sense of cultural virtue pervading the party all went to bed happy and tired.

Bacon roll scores : Gardner 3, Green 4, Brittain 0. The old timer clawed his way back as the kid took a day off the challenge. Brittain’s performance now causing concern as she took to buying fruit - ! – from M&S and eating it in front of the bacon rollers.

Deep breath today as we undertook the two longest shows in the Festival. At almost three hours Edinburgh University’s Amadeus had it all; entire choirs singing Mozart Requiem’s suddenly appearing behind us, a full orchestra, some lovely comic turns, the finest single performance of the week, as well as some spectacularly enjoyable over-acting that reminded me of my old English teacher’s advice on acting – still unsurpassed – to “get down the front and shout a bit”. Then two hours of deeply challenging naturalism from Nottingham University (again) with Kelly’s (again) After The End. I’ll confess here : I left at the interval and sat in the bar doing teaching plans. Look, it’s a personal thing, but since I’ve had kids there’s only so much misery I can take – particularly from earnest students – I mean how much psycho-sadism can one man take? I’ll only end up going back in to therapy and I can’t afford it now. So I rewrote some schemes of work for 45 minutes before everyone else came out chattering nineteen to the dozen and when I heard what I’d missed, I was glad I had. But again the intelligence of the observations and the understanding of the form was really impressing. I may have even been kvelling for a moment. However, most pleasingly the amalgamated independent schools teachers’ table, came second under the moniker There’s No Quizness Like Show Quizness, showing a clean pair of heels to all but one student table. Actually, we were adopted by a local type called Eric, with whom we had no prior contact, but I must sheepishly admit it was Eric’s knowledge of the York branch line and particularly the stations of Seamer and Malton that squeaked us a point clear of the unnecessarily boisterous Quizee Rascal table from Nottingham, so perhaps we weren’t quite as clever as we thought. We gave the fifty quid we won to charity, perhaps out of guilt.

Bacon roll scores : we may have gone too far today. We both added two to our previous totals but Brittain’s decision to taunt us with fruit and the like is turning out to look a sage decision. There was a point today when the previously lithe Gardner actually waddled while walking back to the café for number two roll; this was little shame when compared with the fact that I managed to get wedged in the metal chair in which I sat in outdoors. A man of 45 who gets wedged in blazing sunshine, surrounded by pensioners, would-be-actors and a half eaten bacon roll oozing brown sauce like the lost ambitions of his youth, is in a very sorry place indeed, and I don’t mean Scarborough. I pledge today that I will start running again when I land back in Hampshire.

The last day brought more sunshine and the final shows and workshops. First up was Pornography from Cambridge University; baffled by the central section of incest, staged in an unfortunate and clumsy Benny Hill fashion behind a sofa, the shards of lives based around the 7/7 bombings kept the show afloat although there was a callowness to the acting which undid it. With the misery quotient for the week topped up to brimful, it was with trepidation that we went to see our second Simon Stephens of the day. Now I will confess I had been banging a drum for Stephen’s writing all week. I think he’s a first division writer, the Roy Keane of the modern British stage – sharp, nasty and compelling honesty. Gardner was by now obsessed by Dennis Kelly and I was having a hard time holding Stephens’ flag up as the main man. It was becoming a sort of Mailer/Heller face off but I like to think Bluebird (Nottingham University) may have saved the day for me. Beautifully acted, lit (hurrah – at last) and with moving sound and film, it seemed like we had saved the best for last – misery had redemption and we left I think, feeling a slightly warm glow. A slightly hysterical pyro demonstration by the techies on the sea front, which reminded you why you never give them their head on these matters or they’ll turn The Cherry Orchard in to The Exploding Estate, (apologies, Jo) before Rash Dash’s show which seemed to be enjoyed by all and which I’ll try and get for Bedales. Bed by midnight.

Bacon roll scores : at the end of play we’d both clocked up a mighty seven each – terrific and slightly desperate last push by SG bringing it level. I must say we both looked distinctly worse for the experiment – pasty, blotchy and slightly glassy – a bit wall-eyed and bloated, like a couple of over-weight carp who’ve been loitering in the outflow of a particularly toxic convenience food factory in a particularly seamy Northern Canal, the sort that you might find in a Barry Hines novel. Goodness knows how many gallons of catering branded brown and red sauce we saw off; it doesn’t bear thinking about.

Up, out and off home. What a terrific trip – Bedalians perfect, weather improbably hot, company excellent and theatre refreshing. Just the food left something to be desired and that was probably our fault as Brittain departed for the train north with a spring in her step and a smile on her face : that’s fruit for you I suppose. Home in Hampshire for tea.

With thanks to Steve, Jenni, our driver John, Holly for organizing a cracking NSDF, Gilly, Charlotte, Ali, James, Ian, Sally, Helen, Tim, David and Sarah from Oakham, Reigate GS, Cranleigh and St.Peter’s Drama Departments for the company and of course – to the thirteen intrepid Bedalians for making it such a belting week.