Our little film came into the world last night at 1am after a six month labour and an even longer gestation period. Producers and movie are both happy and well. The little bundle of joy weighed in at nearly fourteen minutes, and visiting hours will be announced on this website very soon. Congratulations to everyone involved!

In order to guard against post-natal-depression, we have decided to get busy planning for the future of our little darling. We will be designing a DVD, we will be going around to all the best festivals and seeing if we can enrol the film (although the waiting lists are very competitive) and we will be organising a naming ceremony, in the form of a cast and crew screening.

I will also be putting my metaphor to death, because I feel I need to press on without it. Hopefully my heavy symbolism will get me through this emotional time.

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.

Well, I would be lying if I said I wasn't pretty disappointed to read in the papers that I Could Be Anybody has not been nominated for an Oscar this year.

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.

Scott Selkirk, the one who looks exhausted in all our stills galleries because he carted our gear around for the entire production of I Could Be Anybody, has subsequently made his own short film which has now been selected in the shortlist for Tropfest this year. Tropfest, for the three or four of you who haven't had films in it at one point or another, is a short film festival in Australia, watched by thousands of shivering people on picnic rugs with sore necks nationwide.

So Scott should be sent to the Congratulatorium. So should Fez (the Sound Magician), Tobes (Music Fingers) and Stewart (Light Nerd), who all worked on It's A Good Thing, the short film in question.

Had we entered I Could Be Anybody in Tropfest, there is an outside chance we would be seething with a white hot jealousy. As it stands at the moment, however, we're claiming It's A Good Thing as our own flesh and blood. Congratulations guys.

So now I know what a colour grade is. It's where you make sure all the separate bits of the film look like each other. Sounds simple enough, but ever since I spent a couple of hours with Marcus from DigitAll, I now look at everything as if it's a colour exam.

"Well, that's clearly not a very realistic green" is the kind of thing I now think when walking past a park. The other night when I was in a tram, I had to stop myself from telling a woman who was checking her appearance in the reflection of the window that she shouldn't worry, because it was just that the light didn't match her skin tone.

So anyway, over the next week I will be discussing colours, shades, darkness and light with Stewart, Marcus and Rita. After that, I will probably have to enrol myself in a course that teaches you how to have normal conversations with people who aren't filmmakers. A rehabilitation, of sorts. I expect this course will take place in a restaurant, a bar, on a beach, or outside somewhere in the sunshine. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to it.

So it’s the end of the working year and even Rita and I have decided to have a couple of days off (Rita would have worked right through Christmas, but I think a representative from Leongatha came to Melbourne and told her that if she didn’t go home she’d have her citizenship revoked). It’s all terribly exciting because the film is really progressing and I’ve started watching it again in my lounge room and muttering three words to myself over and over again. Three words I have come to love with all my heart:

That’s a wrap.

There are two people in Standing There Productions who are allowed to use the magic words that’s a wrap: Eva Tandy (our 1st AD) and Rita Walsh (our producer). Once you’ve had the right to say that’s a wrap bestowed upon you (and yes I think there is some kind of ceremony), the big secret is how to use the phrase. In other words, when to use the phrase. In other words, how to refrain from using it until everyone else has either passed out or gone mad waiting to hear someone say that’s a wrap. It’s a fine art, getting the timing right. Rita and Eva are brilliant at it. Sometimes, though, you have to be careful because a wrap doesn't always mean a wrap. That's a wrap can be shouted at a film set hours before everyone gets to go home. Sometimes, though, you really need to hear it.

Rita said that’s a wrap yesterday. “Well that’s a wrap on the sound”, she said. I nearly married her.

So, we've wrapped the sound, we've wrapped the picture, it's just boring producer type stuff from hereon in. So - and I'm going out of my jurisdiction here - I'd like to declare that that's a wrap on 2005. Thanks everyone for visiting our website, helping us out, supporting us, and hacking our site for no apparent reason. Have a great nondenominational holiday period and we'll see you in the new year. Have fun!