In February 2026, I posted a poll on Tumblr, asking voters for their favourite member of the Cornley Drama Society. The poll closed a week later with 149 votes, and here are the results, which I've rearranged in order of popularity:

In case you can't see the image: Trevor is firmly in first place (with 27.5% of the vote), followed by Chris (21.5%), Max (13.4%), Vanessa (10.7%), Annie and Dennis (8.7%), Jonathan (3.4%), Robert and Sandra (2.7%), and Lucy (0.7%).

I'm surprised and a little wounded by my beloved Robert's unpopularity! I'm just going to have to love him hard enough for everyone. (This will not satisfy him.)

Anyway, I wrote a little snippet of the characters reacting to the results:

"This is absolutely outrageous," Robert announces. "Last place? Last place? This poll is clearly rigged."

"I mean, you two aren't actually last, are you?" Annie asks, rubbing Sandra's back as she cries. "There's Lucy."

"Lucy does not count," Robert says. "Lucy shouldn't even be on this poll; she is not an official member of the drama society. She is unnecessarily splitting the Grove vote." He frowns at the results. "And, given that she is here, she should have more than one vote, for God's sake. I personally coached the girl."

"It's fine," Lucy says, quiet but genuine. "I'm happy with one vote. I wasn't expecting to get any."

"Don't even get me started on Trevor," Robert says. "The man's not even an actor; how the hell did he get a full quarter of the 'favourite actor' votes? Nonsense."

"It doesn't say favourite actor, does it?" Trevor asks. "It says favourite member."

"And is that any less strange?" Robert asks. "Who the hell are these people who are watching our productions for the stage manager?" He shakes his head. "Four people. Four people appreciate my art."

"Doesn't mean the others don't like you, does it?" Annie asks. "Maybe you're their second favourite; they just like Chris more."

"God, even worse."

"Something's definitely wrong with the results, I think," Dennis says. "I got votes."

"While we're discussing suspect votes," Robert says, "how about the man who hardly makes it onstage at all?"

They all look over at Jonathan. He's on his knees on the floor, crying with happiness.

"Five," he whispers. "Five people! Five people like me!"

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