Well, we're back.

All of us.

In Melbourne.

Stew and I left Melbourne in an-only-recently-roadworthy vehicle, which we drove to Goulburn - Australia's first inland town and home of the somewhat alarming giant sheep.

There were many things of interest in Goulburn, including, in its recent history, a woman known to all as "the Queen of the South", who was photographed in one history book looking absent and loopy and wearing a sash and carrying a staff. These days, she would be just another homeless person talking crazy. Back then, she was known affectionately as the Queen of the South because she decided one day that she was the queen, instructed everybody accordingly, and went around the countryside, dressed in regal attire, collecting donations for her "palace", a broken-down old home made of planks of wood and dust, which was a favourite haunt for teenage boys, whose taunts were apparently met by the Queen's decree that they be executed post haste. The Queen of the South looks dangerous in all of her photos and, in one of them, stands furious and defiant out the front of the palace, with a gun in her hand. Once, apparently, the Duke of Windsor came to Goulburn and the Queen of the South went to meet him. A most sober and sincere conversation took place and best wishes were solemnly exchanged to each of the other's extended family.

I decided my favourite thing about Goulburn was the Queen of the South.

Then we went to Sydney, where we stayed with a Fairy God Mother whose magic extended to roast dinner, riotous giggles, and a house among the tree tops.

We had several meetings in Sydney and a most interesting time was had by all, including a meal with Standing There alumni Vic (production manager and runner of the universe from For We Are Young And Free) and Emily (artist extraordinaire from People Watching).

Speaking of friends of Standing There, our good friend Lawrence Leung (who was hilarious in our short film to the point where I had to go away into a room and compose myself before shooting the scene) has been on telly recently on Wednesday nights at 9.30pm. His show is fantastic, see his website here. Wherever we've been lately - Melbourne, Sydney, Goulburn, Canberra - we've made an effort to see it and been richly rewarded. Yay for him.

More on this soon, hopefully with some visual aids, although sadly no photographs of the Queen of the South. Shame.

So you know when you're leaving to get to a theatre show on time or something, and you have one of those "on my way out the door" moments?

Like, on the way out the door I decided I had to go back and get a warmer jacket?

On the way out the door I remembered to check my diary and discovered the start time was actually the following Tuesday?

On our way out the door, the phone rang and I won the lottery and my life changed and I never got to go to the theatre show and I'm sorry I missed it can I take you out to dinner how do you like quail?

You know those ones?

Well, I had one of those today. I was on the phone to my dad. Remember, I'm an adult. My dad said, "Did you get your car checked out before you drive to Sydney in it?"

I said as follows: "Erm".

So on our way out the door, almost, to Sydney, in our car, I took it in to see the nice man who looks at cars for adults who should really think of things before their parents tell them to.

He checked the oil. He said as follows: "You replenish this much?"

I said as follows: "Erm."

He then poured some oil into the bit where the oil goes. You know in cartoons when someone is doing something and it is taking a long time - like when they're falling slowly off a cliff to crash onto a rock below - you know how the bad guy always looks at his watch and whistles by way of marking the glacial passing of time?

Yeah well he did that. He poured oil into that baby for maybe a year. Never has a car needed more oil in the history of automobiles.

So then he decided to check the brakes. He did so. He told me as follows: "It's a good thing you brought this in here. It certainly wouldn't have made it to Sydney without the brakes giving out".

I said as follows: giving out?

He said: yes. Your brakes would have stopped working.

I said as follows: yikes.

Which I followed up rather rapidly with: how much does that cost?

See, now, this is why, when you are good at one part of your life (writing, for instance) you should also be aware of the things you are not so successful at (for example simple mechanics and the ability to exercise forethought).

We may get to Sydney for our meetings. It's not THAT far to walk. Right?

Up until this year, the Standing There Productions development and production timeline went a little something like this:

January/February - Writer (erhem, me) finishes writing script for comedy festival MOMENTS before leaving the house to conduct auditions. Printer breaks mid-print-run, writer's head explodes. Producer (Stew) fixes printer while other producer (Rita) calls from venue to say she has already printed double copies of everything.

Unpaid assistant (read: hoodwinked friend) runs auditions while director and producers audition hundreds of people. At end of day, producers and director hold marriage ceremony whereby they express their undying love for aforementioned unpaid assistant, who at this point no longer cares whether she lives or dies, due to exhaustion.

All attend huge meeting in a cheap, loud Thai restaurant in Sydney Road, consume wine, debate casting choices, almost reach decision, reconsider from another perspective, everyone's heads explode, order more wine, make decision, cast show, start rehearsals.

March - continue rehearsals, push publicity, go on radio, sound like idiot of unsurpassed depth and girth, get photo taken for paper (look like tool with crazy eyes/ smug grin/ wind in hair/ unfortunately large head) and read misquotes in article with utter disbelief. Get posters printed. Notice mistake/s on poster. Kill self. Bump into theatre.

April - Comedy festival (perform, swan about in foyer, eat own bodyweight in only food available: spinach and ricotta parcels, easter eggs, and, quite often, props such as jellybeans, ham sandwiches, bic biros). Producer has birthday party which, in order to attend, his friends must pay for tickets to.

May - Finish show, get flu, run away to Sydney Writers' Festival to sit in sun and listen to smart people talk about books that have nothing to do with what you've been thinking about for months.

June - Work like slaves at day jobs, receive largest amount of money available in entire year: tax return. Purchase car registration. Wonder what to spend remaining $2.80 on.

July - Finish circling desired events in Melbourne International Arts Festival guide, realise festival is over, close festival guide, admire new biceps, purchase tickets to Melbourne International Film Festival.

August - Attend Melbourne Fim Festival, contract scurvy.

September - Consider attending Sydney Arts Festival, wonder how far it would be to walk.

October - Register for Comedy Festival again.

November - Submit summary of as yet unwritten festival show and photographs of so far non-existent cast to comedy festival, for program.

December - Start writing festival show. Sometimes witness persons outside in what appears to be sunshine having what appears to be fun. Run away.

Repeat.

This year, we haven't done this. We've been doing something else. It feels weird. It's not a bad weird. It's just a weird. This week, Stew and I are going to Sydney again to have some meetings and hang out with Rita. Apparently the comedy festival will be happening without us. Believe that when I see it. Which I will. From the AUDIENCE.

*head explodes*

I used to be, once upon a time, quite regular and reliable with these updates. I also used to be able to:

- Do a handstand

- Play the oboe

- Say the alphabet backwards

- Eat maybe a hundredweight of baked goods without having to alter my waist band

...so quite frankly this website is the least of my concerns.

HOWEVER I do enjoy a bit of a prattle so I have been missing it, and although I am currently in gorgeous regional Victoria eating the kind of pavlova that can only be made by people who call you "love", I have a few moments to update these pages and so here goes.

Part of my law-talking job, the one I do a few days a week to finance my "habit" of working in the arts for nothing, is travel. I travel frequently for work, to regional Victoria, and when I do I work very hard and seldom have time to scratch myself. I also have no internet access and no time for phone calls.

During these times, without exception, something at Standing There needs to be sorted out immediately as a matter of considerable urgency. One time, I was in Mildura organising an event for 50 locals in a library when we found out we got our Bundanon Artist Residency and I had to make a decision about another job. Another time, I was in Warrnambool talking to a journalist about public perceptions of the legal system when the phone rang because we'd found out the Australian Children's Television Foundation were going to fund the writing of a script of ours. Last time I was in Horsham, we had to decide whether to send this document before that document and who to meet when and we had to decide it within an hour and a half. Today was similar. I am starting to think I should go away more often so that Standing There is busy all year round.

Now all I have to do is convince the law-talking-job that I really must be in regional Victoria at all time, contantly too busy to talk to anyone. Perhaps if I do that I will get a call from a Mr Obama asking for a hand with some speeches he has to nail. Of course, I'll have to put him on hold in order to speak to Aaron Sorkin re his new project, but that's okay. Obama can wait in line.

You know that film Sliding Doors? You know, Gwyneth and the guy with the eyebrows from the funeral in Four Weddings and a?

Yeah well I find the concept of that movie fascinating. For me though, sometimes, I don't have to pretend: I'm living two different versions of my life AT THE SAME TIME.

Next week, I'm going to Horsham, in Victoria, for my law-talking job. I have been on the phone to people called Joy and Graeme discussing the use of the local hall and the whereabouts of extra chairs.

The week after that, Stew and I are going to meet Rita in Sydney again for a bunch of meetings. At no point will we discuss the whereabouts of chairs, extra or otherwise.

Same life, two different universes: very boring film.

By the way, and I know this last bit has very limited appeal to the general population, but hello Felix.

More tomorrow.

L

I just did something totally mental. I checked my email for this time last year, when I was directing our most recent comedy festival show. I say this is mental due to the stark relief it puts my current state of existence into.

This time last year I had hundreds of emails in my inbox, many of which used some or all of the words "quite urgent actually".

One of them was an email from Rita asking if Stew and she could turn up to rehearsal on Thursday to discuss work cover, contracts, props, stage management issues and upcoming photo shoots for local media. One of them was an email regarding prize winners from Melbourne University who had won tickets to the show - one of whom I used to work with. One of them was about the fact that I had to squeeze in a radio interview and two school visits before the weekend, and one of them was from the Red Cross asking if I could donate blood next Tuesday. The Red Cross - I don't know if anyone else has noticed this - has excellent comic timing.

Anyway. So that was this time last year. Today? I called a man from the Horsham RSL and sent a fax to a gallery.

This "concentrating on development rather than production" certainly has a different pace to it, doesn't it.

(Exit stage left to get coffee in sunshine and contemplate what to do over Easter break - BREAK, YOU SAY???)

As per my previous post, below, I have achieved another concrete thing today, as opposed to writing a few pages of something I am bound to delete at a later date, which is what the word "achievement" comes to represent in the world of writing.

I remember once getting the uncontrollable giggles in the audience of a Chekhov play because someone near me in the audience loudly predicted the next line would involve someone yearning for work. The person who predicted this did so in a broad Australian accent, loudly and at a moment of intense silence. I totally lost it. This was of course the great Chekhovian joke, that people in loungerooms sit around all day gossiping and desiring with heartfelt passion to contribute in some small way to society, but never actually contribute to anything apart from the monotony of their own dreary existence.

I don't know about society but I have definitely contributed to the upkeep of my motor vehicle. That is to say, a Mr Rick Thorn contributed to it and Stew and I "helped". As a result of this, I now have a shiny car. Check it out. If you concentrate, you can see Stew in the reflection:

Trouble is, after doing a cut and polish on the car, I have also cut and polish my hands, part of my face, and a section of pant. Oh well. At least I'm a hardcore DIY home improvement nut now. Right?