The Standing There Productions Diary - the one you are currently reading - was set up so we could track the creative progress and technical development of our projects, whatever they turned out to be. Well, that was about four years ago and lately I've been less than forensic in filling you in on those details.

It has, of late, been what my first year English Literature lecturer would have called "a time of great social upheaval". I've spoken of him here before, I'm sure. My first ever experience of being a university student came a year before I attended university. I was part of a program with the rather Orwellian title of "the Enhancement program", wherein year twelve students undertook a first year undergraduate literature subject on top of our normal curriculum and also on top of having crushes on, fights with, and, in one memorable case, an actual sword fight (the drama teacher took a phone call), with our peers and colleagues.

Anyway, point is, in our "enhancement class", our poor lecturer was immediately imbued with all of our ideas of what our university would become. We thought we were sophisticated, feisty and academically bold. We thought he, our lecturer, was absurdly educated, wrily amusing and probably directly descended from Plato. He was, and remains, a gentleman by the name of Kevin Foster (see? Even the name works! And here is Kevin on the actual internets, continuing to live up to his reputation as a widely read history freak with Stories To Tell). I still believe he is all of those things, by the way, although the descended-from-Plato thing might be slightly difficult ot prove.

But I digress. Within this context, Kevin Foster said to us, "If you decide to continue studying arts subjects at university, you will be told the following in every single subject you ever enrol in, without exception: this subject is about a time of great social upheaval".

Kevin Foster, let me tell you, was not wrong. It got to the point, in my arts degree as well as my law degree, where I would simply write at the top of page one of my exercise book: TGSU. They said it every time. There is not a time in history, nor is there a movement in literature or politics or legal theory, whose context is not able to be summarised as follows: TGSU.

So. It feels weak, somehow, and dishonest, to say that, at the moment, Standing There Productions is undergoing a time of great social upheaval. Even if it were possible to stretch the metaphor and declare this point in time as a Cold War - no stage show, no auditions, just writing and meeting people and creating potentially explosive outcomes - the TGSU label still applies, and it still means nothing, and thus I am lost in a cliche.

Therefore, here is something useful I can say: at the moment, gloriously, I am able to write. I am writing what I want to write - I have an actual aim in mind - and Rita and Stew and I are meeting regularly to talk our way through the kinds of questions we're usually asking ourselves over a wavering Skype video connection at 11pm (including things like: "Are you wearing GOLD pyjamas Rits?" and "Sorry, that's my knee, I'll move over. There. Now where were we?")

So. Let's see how this goes for us. I'll post a few bits about the writers' festival here next. In the meantime, yay for writing and reading and teachers who inspire you, and working with friends who wear gold pyjamas and don't think you're an idiot for leaving the keys in the front door of your house.

Good news for those of you who are me: I'm about to write for a while.

This is excellent news for me because it means I can concentrate on one thing at one time. And it's a thing I love doing, too.

Where the problem arises, you may have noticed, is when I have too many things to do and therefore write things like "wnat", as in "If you wnat something done, ask a busy person".

Well, apparently that is not always the case. The other day, par example, I almost sent the parliamentary member for the area I am visiting for work... a timesheet outlining the hours I had worked on the project I was MEANING to send him a running sheet for.

I am sure this happens to important people, such as that guy who runs the UN. I'm sure every now and then he fedexes someone his shopping list instead of the financial papers relating the Uruguay incident or whatever and I'm sure when he gets an opportunity to focus on one thing and do it, and enjoy it, he relishes it.

I intend to do the smae.

Just kidding. Same. I intend to do the same.

You know what they say, don't you.

They say, if you want something done, ask a busy person.

Mind you, they also say early to bed early to rise, so as far as I'm concerned they're a bunch of sucks who should quite frankly pipe down before one more person says that to me and I accidentally hurl them from a moving train.

Anyway. Thing is, we've been busy. Stew, Rita and I have been busy, as a result of which I have not been updating this page as regularly as I once did.

Be assured, however: things are being done. We're not entirely sure what, and by whom, and by when, but the barrista trade remains fairly robust in the Fitzroy/Carlton area and in certain parts of Sydney when Stew and Rita and I are meeting up in order to have lots of meetings and then meet about those meetings before drawing up documents summarising meetings that we plan to have at a future date to finalise details of the original meetings.

I'm sure they say something about this, too.

Those smug bastards.

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.