Steve Pemberton's diary

This weekend was my youngest son's sixth birthday so the day was given over to doing whatever he wanted. His presents included tickets to see Matilda the Musical, which he absolutely loved. Consequently I spent much of my Saturday dressed as Miss Trunchbull, chasing toddlers round the house and threatening to lock them in 'the chokey' (in our case a warm airing cupboard). Armed only with a towelling dressing gown, mascara moles and a hairdo made from 30 denier tights, the overall effect was somewhat scarier than the original. The neighbours' children may never come to our house again, but Adam had a ball, which was the main thing.

The dressing up and shouting carried over to Monday morning, as I'm currently rehearsing She Stoops to Conquer at the National Theatre.It's an Oliver Goldsmith comedy, written in 1773, which involves several cases of mistaken identity, a fair bit of confusion and much hilarity.

This morning we were joined for the first time by the band. They play a theme which sounds like an olden-days Fawlty Towers using the percussion of pots and pans. Kind of like a Restoration Stomp. The effect is mesmerising, but our accompanying dancing is something of a shambles. I have to dance with my on-stage wife, played by the wonderful Sophie Thompson, and I don't think we've managed to get through a single practice without dissolving into a giggling heap. I'm trying to caper with panache, but just end up looking like the Michelin Man getting a dose of electric shock therapy. Well, it is meant to be a comedy

Being on stage will mean missing the National Television Awards, a real shame as I'll miss getting together with the rest of the Benidorm cast. We won last year, which was great, apart from the fact that I'd been nominated to do the speech. I've attended a few awards ceremonies in my time and the dread of having to speak almost blights the whole evening, so that not to win can sometimes seem the greater prize. There is no greater feeling than getting backstage and being able to express your real feelings, using language not suitable for a live primetime TV show, and slightly uncouth fist-pumping jubilation.

Rehearsing a play is all-consuming so I haven't had much time to exercise. That's my excuse anyway. Last year I started jogging and dieting and lost more than two stone. I used a jogging app (so 21st century) that takes you from couch potato to running 5km in just two months. A girl with sexy West Country vowels interrupts your music to encourage you and you find yourself not wanting to let her down. I'll start again once the weather improves, just so long as my saucy wench is still there to spur me on.

I've lived in the Fortis Green area between East Finchley and Muswell Hill for almost 15 years now, an area proud not to have caved in to the homogenisation of the high street. You can even buy 'I heart N2' T-shirts, though I don't own one. I like The Clissold Arms for Sunday lunch. It's a proper gastropub and is where The Kinks gave their first public performance. I'm more of a Killers fan, but I love that The Kinks named an album after Muswell Hill.

The press launch for the third series of Whitechapel was a nice excuse to catch up with my co-stars Phil Davis and Rupert Penry-Jones. It's not a show for the faint-hearted and there were lots of questions about how squeamish we are, but it's all in a day's work to me. Growing up I wanted to be a journalist or a detective, so one down, one to go.

Our fascination with psychopaths, and the fact that the murders in the show are all real-life crimes are what make it so popular. The thrill of being scared by a horror film is the same as my six-year-old's desire to be chased, screaming, by Miss Trunchbull. It's a safe environment in which to experience something that scares us. So long as we know it's only Daddy with tights on his head
She Stoops To Conquer runs at the National Theatre until 28 March (020 7452 3000; national theatre.org.uk)