So we’ve been trying to work out what the title of our film is in various different languages, because we’re thinking we might send it to people overseas. It’s arguably fairly presumptuous to believe that the French would be interested in je pourrais être quiconque, but we don’t care because it sounds posh. And anyway it’s true: je pourrais etre quiconque. You can’t deny it.

I think Melbourne and Fitzroy will look way cool to the French anyway. And the Germans. Sure, they’ve got that French tower, and those German beers. But we’ve got Flinders Street Station and nice cheap bottles of wine without labels on them, and trams that pose difficult lighting questions in post production. How can they not think to themselves, “C’est vrai! Je pourrais être quiconque! En Australie!” We’re probably injecting billions of dollars into the Australian tourism industry as we speak.

By the way, Melanie Howlett (one of the Standing There captains of industry) is way clever. She and Nick Jaffe are our official translators. Does anyone out there know Russian? Not much snow in je pourrais être quiconque, but there’s a possibility that in the opening scene someone is having a vodka.

Surely that's what's known in marketing as an "angle". Russia, here we come!

We got the film back from the colourist yesterday and now we're watching it again. We've watched it a few times now. Like, maybe a couple of million. Maybe a trillion. You know China? China's really big. We've watched the film a China-worth of times.

This whole "colours" thing is funny. Weird funny - not amusing - it's the least amusing thing ever. Deeply serious. You sit there, staring at a whole lot of screens and making really rash decisions based on instinct. And it's not even a good instinct, apparently. The colourist (cool job title, don't you think?) - his name's Marcus - he told us that it's a fact (so therefore it is) that humans only retain memory of colour for five seconds. So if I show you a colour and then six seconds later I show you another colour, well frankly I don't care what you think because you don't know what you're talking about.

So, imagine the confidence that piece of information inspires in us as we all sit around watching the same pictures over and over and trying to remember what we think we want.

Anyway, gives a whole new meaning to the expression, "You're looking a little off-colour". Our film was looking quite off-colour for a while there, but it's looking healthier now. It's back on the solids and it isn't watching Oprah and vomitting into a bucket anymore. Hopefully it will be able to go outside and play with its friends soon.

Personally, I can't wait.

Little bastard's been under my feet for months.

I was having a meeting with Stewart in a cafe the other day when a waiter accidentally spilled a litre and a half of water over the two of us. We weren't even being offensive.

Were meetings invented in the eighties? They feel like they were. Well, maybe not the sort of meetings we have. The sorts of meetings we have feel like they were invented by us. They're in a different gene pool from the kind of meetings you can charge to your company account and complain about to your therapist.

Standing There Productions meetings are usually too long. They can be called with little or no notice, they are quite frequently on weekends, and they often involve lengthy and complicated tangents relating to the role of women in traditional cinematic narrative, or discussions regarding what's worse: forgetting your wallet, or running really late (in other words, Rita versus Lorin).

Rita and I met with some excellent people at a DVD place called Eskimo the other day. That was a couch meeting, in an old garage, with beers. That's a good meeting in anyone's book. Then we met with a colourist who was supposed to be at a karaoke night. He didn't even look like he was going to sing, so that was disappointing. And then there was the under-water meeting between Stewart and myself. A litre and a half of water over our heads and all we got was a free drink each. Had we been charging our meeting to a multi billion dollar account, that would have been an outrageous exchange.

"Only a free drink each? After being drenched by a waiter? I say, do you know who I am? Let me introduce you to my lawyer..."

Not for us, though. We felt like royalty. A free drink and a free shower. That's the low-budget filmmakers' equivalent of a corporate credit card.

Now all I need to do is get someone to accidentally attack me with scissors and I'll get that haircut I so desperately need.