THE FILM FEST & THE FURY

The Melbourne film fest kicked off at the weekend with an emotional rollercoaster ride like no other. I had heard so much about Robert Connelly's BALIBO, a film about what happened to a group of journalists who got stuck reporting on Indonesia's invasion of Timor Leste. I knew that Jose Ramos Horta - the current President of Timor Leste who was in exile for decades and helped guide the Aussie journalists before fleeing the invasion - would be present. I had read that the families of the Balibo Five would be there too.

With a square red carpet (!) outside the magnificent Hamer Hall (part of the Arts Centre) right by the Yarra River and the city centre, the guests gathered in their finest black tie outfits. The atmosphere was wonderfully buzzy, as with the opening of all film festivals I've attended, but by the end of the screening noone could breathe.

At the climatic scene near the end, when Anthony LaPaglia is battling for his life, the soundtrack goes completely quiet. I have never experienced human howls, not just sobs, like that in a screening in my life. And I've never seen so many people scurry away for a quiet cigarette before the party began.

For those of you who don't know, these events happened in the mid 70s and for so long, governments covered up exactly what happened to these young journos (aged between 21 and 28). With a popoulation of onky 700,000 people, the Indonesian occupation of Timor Leste saw 183,000 people murdered. These five Aussie journos are only a small part of a bloody history, but the fact that their deaths were covered up for so many years made this night a hugely significant one for their families.

Ramos Horta is portrayed in the film by an extraordinary young actor - watch out for Oscar Isaac. Forced into exile, it was a long time before he could return to his country and take the position of President. During those years, he fought tirelessly for justice for Timor Leste and received the Nobel Peace Prize in the mid 90s. Ramos Horta took the stage after the screening and he gave an immensely moving speech about humanity and war. Robert Connelly, the film's very talented and humble director introduced him with a few words and then LaPaglia took to the stage in a mohawk and leather jacket and spoke about his commitment to the film. Without him it wouldn't have happened.

Then all the families and other actors took to the stage. It was a night I'll never forget. And I have my old friend Andrew Barlow to thank. He invited a group of us to join him on this special night. He was an Executive Producer on BALIBO and I'm sure his passion for film and his razor sharp instincts will guide his hand as his film career develops. I was truly honourd to be a part of opening night and I've since swapped the red carpet for a red MIFF t-shirt, as I'm volunteering at the festival.

I'm working a bunch of wild special events that range from a beautiful 3D animated feature called Coraline to the craziest performance art I've ever seen. Last night, at a venue called Ding Dong, I saw acts that I hardly know how to describe. The first was a girl raging against the pop culture machine, she projected images from magazines and television and basically gave them a ticking off. She took the piss, she yelled and she sure had an opinion. The highlight was her mash-up of the judges from 'So You Think You Can Dance' and I also have a soft spot for 'Masterchef' so enjoyed her piss take of that too. She even had a song about cellulite that had the audience giggling.

With bleeding ears, (I've never heard anything like it and feel so old for saying so), I retreated to the bathroom after Pig & Machine had given us an onslaught of epileptic dancing, screeching and electro sounds coupled with the most insane guitar playing I've seen. I ran into the ultra hip Asian friend of the lead singer, I asked her what it was that we'd just seen - how would you classify that 'music'? She shrugged and said, "I don't know - electro maybe. She's my friend, so you should ask her. I don't even know. Maybe break-core!" Ok. Said friend is the lead singer, she arrived with a cutesy outfit on but came on stage dressed in zebra hot pants, a traditional Chinese silk jacket and a sequinned head dress that covered her face entirely. Her guitarist was all in black with a sinister black hood (also over his face, though hers came off with her nutty dancing) and white sunnies over the top and the techie on the computer had a white boiler suit and the necessary black Raybans.

Afterwards, old rockers Primitive Calculators (don't you love that name?) faced up to images of their old selves and sang along with their backs to the audience. Hmmm. They re-formed a few years ago when their old mucker Nick Cave asked them to play a gig with him. Thankfully they eventually did get up on stage and face their fans. Richard Moore (Festival Director) was rocking around as were other staff groovers (go Daria!) and everyone seemed to be having a blast. By this stage, I was sick of shouting and so my lovely mate Nichole (who I met at Jaipur literature fest and has moved to Melbs) and I ended up in this lush bar drinking red wine.

I've been working my butt off lately getting back into the black. I've been juggling a bunch of jobs (environmental short film comp called Future Shots, auction house and gallery called Moss Green, old mate Amanda McCarthy's fashion label Leonard St and door bitch at The Supper Club) but more on them later. For now, I want to immerse myself in film. There is so much to see. I saw an intense Norweigian film called TROUBLED WATER that was long and harrowing but so beautifully shot and moving and a fantastic documentary on Celia Cruz called CELIA THE QUEEN. Now I must get moving as I've got a load more to see today and many more to plan.

MIGHTY NUMBER FOUR

I admit it, I'm a bogan. True blue. I have embraced the Mighty Magpies with all my heart. We just beat Sydney and are now fourth on the ladder. Hooray! Plus Didak (who wears jersey No.4) is a truly astounding player. Though Leon Davis is a true legend. And I'm coming around to Marty Clarke.

Anway, enough footy but after living next to two stadiums in London (Arsenal and Chelsea) and never feeling a part of the gang, as I appreciate soccer/football but never loved it like Aussie rules. It's funny what gets in your blood. I'm already excited for the next match against Fremantle.

It's been a fantastic weekend. Last night I dressed up as my Latino male alter ego and sang karaoke for hours and hours with a gorgeous gang of new friends. And Hame. Who looked great in a skirt. I had such fun trying to pick up girls, though they weren't fooled. I might have made myself rather too well endowed, but couldn't resist. I had one of the best nights I've had since I got back. I ended up sitting around an open fire in the middle of Federation Square (slap bang in the centre of Melbourne) at 6am. It was surrounded by red earth and had a security guard watching over it. T'was most romantic.

Today I'm gathering myself for the week ahead. Hame is yet to read the re-draft but soon I hope we'll put the script out there to people we trust I can't wait to start being able to actually talk about the story. I had absolute blind faith in this project, despite my decade in the film industry.

This week I find a new mission. I can feel it. It's coming.

I am missing London so much right now. One of my dearest friends, who set up my website for me, the divine Bronwyn van der Merwe is marrying her man next week. Clive Pegg and her have a baby Felix together and the three of them are heading to the Greek Islands for a few weeks before she has to return to work at the BBC. I know she's loathe to do so, but hopefully it will be a positive thing. It must be incredibly hard to go from being a full time Mum, to having to entrust your baby to a stranger's care. I know Anne has had a tough time doing it with Hunter, but it's the reality of modern life. Particularly in London where costs are high.

One of my best, dearest and most gorgeous friends here is Pip Sallabank, now Poddine. Her baby daughter Mila Nicolina is my goddaughter and she had her second birthday not long ago. We had a hilarious afternoon eating fairy bread and coconut ice (my faves!!!!) with her brother Julian and his wife Nicky, their two little boys (Vivian and Monty) and Dorina Sallabank. It was such a special family occasion and I was utterly over the moon to be there. I missed Pip's wedding and the birth of her daughter, but she is such a true friend, she made me godmother in absentia and I'm immensely proud to have such an honour bestowed on me.

Cristian, Pip's husband, is from near Lake Como and the three of them are in Italia at the moment introducing their little angel to his family. What a special time for them all. I miss Pip, I'm realising that with her not working, we've been spending quite a bit of time together and I miss not being able to call her and see little Mila. Pip is a natural mother. She absolutely adores the process and doesn't want to go back to work. Some people find this shocking, which is such an immense turnaround from days of old. She sometimes feels she has to apologise for wanting to be a stay at home Mum. Isn't that just crazy?

Babies are popping out all over the place. I think there have been at least 6 births that I know about of friends of mine back here since my return. It's only been 4 months. Isn't that mad? Plus a great friend in London is about to pop. Sanna is the tiniest little creature you've ever seen, I just can't imagine her pregnant. I'm sad not to be there for the birth. Her husband Lyall is a Sydney boy (she's Finnish) and was recently home to work on a film project. I was gutted to miss him, but he arrived the week after I'd made my visit. Such a bugger.

Anyway, I think this bloody mary is kicking in now. I must get myself together as I'm heading back to the NGV to get another look at the Dali exhibition. Mum is being taken around by the curator and I'm standing in for Hame (even though I hardly have a voice after last night) as it was such a scrum on opening night. I'm looking forward to taking another look.

Hot Pies!
Lxxx

ARTISTIC IMMERSION ALERT

I'm deep in second draft mode and need to unload. Sometimes I hit a point after writing for an extended period, when I feel like my brain is melting. I'm sure it's my fault for trying to squash this rewrite into a short space of time, but too much else is going on. I've gotta get moving. I need to be in motion.

It's been divine sunshine since I arrived at Flinders, where Mum and the dogs have made me most welcome. Dad is away at the US Open, having a divine time with his mates, so it's been blissful to have some time with Le Muzz. She's just had the most brilliant news about her new exhibition. It sounds like she's sought out just the right partners and all her hard research and preparation has paid off.

Her last exhibition, 'Exiles and Emigrants', was a huge success at the National Gallery of Victoria, it then travelled on to the NGAustralia. It launched when I was last back in Oz and I was so proud to be there for the opening. It explored the voluntary migration from the British Isles to Australia (as opposed to the scurrilous convicts who were unloaded here) in the mid nineteenth century. It's amazing that the script I'm writing is set in that period. It's inspiring delving into the bookshelves here at The gorgeous Moorings. What a home my parents have made here, it's got the warmest welcome. A reflection of them both.

Last week I fell back in love. With Dali. The opening at the NGV was astounding. I had never heard of the cartoon Destino that he worked on with Walt Disney. Sadly it was never completed, but I can't wait to go back and sit and watch more of it. The opening was a total scrum, so I only got a limited view of the incredible exhbition, but it left a huge impression. His works in the 30s and 40s were truly astounding.

On that note, I will never forget Robin Niven's performance in 'August: Osage County'. She portrayed the terrifying matriarch of a truly dysfunctional middle American family. And she was a powerhouse of ferocious frailty. My god, the play went for over 3 hours and it was an amazing experience. The only time it lagged was when Niven wasn't on the stage, which was sadly in the last act.

Then, to add a bit more kulcha to the mix, I went to the magnificent Malthouse Theatre to see my old schoolie Caroline Craig in yet another play, this one called 'Optimism'. I never dreamt that I'd see Barry Otto (remember him in STRICTLY BALLROOM as the downtrodden father? and so much more) dancing topless on the stage in a purple airline stewardess hat and matching skirt and heels. Everyone was brilliant in this play, which felt an awful lot like someone's acid flashback. It was insane. So different to 'August' but most enjoyable.

They're taking 'Optimism' to the Edinburgh Festival, which is great for the cast. The girls were so shattered, as it finished its Malthouse run the night after I took my lovely cuz Nicola. One of the actresses I met, had recently completed a three and a half year stint at the Sydney Theatre Company and spoke highly of everyone there. Gosh they looked exhaustepated. It must be so hard working night after night and giving out all that energy (plus matinees). Clearly it's a fantastically fun occupation and most people dream of being an actor, but the reality of it is so different to the dream. But isn't it always.

I'm three quarters of the way through my rewrite and cannot WAIT to show the script to some people I trust. It is the most amazing feeling to finally be proud of something I've written. I can't describe how much I'm enjoying this process. I'm praying that I won't be too precious about the words when it comes to criticism and deciding what's best for the project. I know it's far from perfect. I just pray I can put on my Producer's hat and separate myself. This film deserves all our efforts. It's something I know we're going to make. It's time for Hamish and I to finally do it. Though the road may be long and winding, well who's kidding who, it most certainly will be. I want to walk it, run it, skip it, whatever it takes.

I just hope I can find a mission to keep me here while the road unfolds. I need to keep the wolf from the door and stimulate other parts of my brain. I say a little prayer that I can find one. That someone will have the faith to take a chance on me. My experience is so varied, I've fought against labels all my life but at times like these I wish I could sum myself up in one word instead of being a slasher (as in writer slash producer slash presenter slash......) as I can imagine it would make finding work a whole lot easier.

Better get some sleep.
Lxxxxx

TIME KEEPS ON TRIPPIN, INTO THE FUTURE

I feel as though I've spent most of my 'adult' life, racing around the world at a breathless pace trying to prove myself and make some sort of mark. It's so strange to reach a point where you must take a long, hard look at what that all amounts to. It's exciting to be at a crossroads and to know in your heart that you're a capable person with talent to share, but my how the head begs to differ.

Are we all our own worst enemies?

I am thrilled that the Aussie film industry is having a bumper year. I'm even more thrilled that SAMSON & DELILAH won the Camera d'Or in Cannes and is proving itself at the box office, the first really successful Aussie film since LANTANA in monetary terms. And critically it's been a smash. As I wrote a while back, I thought it an astounding achievement and a gobsmacking experience to watch. I really don't want to ruin it for anyone who's keen to see it, and to you I say go, support this film and give yourself over to its unique rhythm. It's an Australian story about two young Aboriginals who are struggling to find their path and love. It is funny, thought provoking, terrifying and immensely moving.

I love Melbourne. I love Australia. But what's been going on lately in the outer suburbs of my home town is deeply disturbing, I've been waking at night feeling sick. Young Indian men are being beaten up with alarming regularity and viciousness. As you've probably seen in the media, these attacks have been so brutal and clearly racially motivated that India is rightly appalled and has responded vocally. There was a protest last weekend in the centre of Melbourne and India is already boycotting Australia.

For those of you who came on my Indian journey with me, you'll know that I was welcomed with open arms by almost everyone I came across. It was humbling and life affirming. I've never felt anything quite like it. Even after seven years of living in England, despite being half British, I never felt that sort of warmth, generosity and genuine inquisitiveness. I'm not so naive as to imply that every Indian I met had perfect intentions, or that I didn't experience forms of racism being a light bulb blondie who stuck out a mile, but I was overwhelmingly accepted and respected. For that I will always love India and cannot wait to return.

Nor am I saying that England is utterly standoffish and unwelcoming. I had seven long, fascinating years living there and I met some incredible people. I made friendships with Brits and foreigners alike there that will last forever. I worked for some of the most incredible people I've ever known, but I often felt that the UK kept me at arms length. I had to work so hard to try and fit in, (and afford any sort of lifestyle), at times I felt that it bled me dry of positivity and warmth and strength - three things I like to think I had endless supplies of.

Every country has problems with racism. We live in an incredibly multicultural society and a lot of the time it is tolerant and accepting. Most of the people I know and love in Australia are horrified at what's been happening to these Indian students, young men who've come here to learn from this country and its people - to make a better life for themselves and their family. So why the hatred? Why would a group of young guys attack another group with screwdrivers and fists when they were simply spending the night at a party doing what all young people do - having a bit of fun, a release from their heavy work schedules and the heavy expectations of their families and themselves?

I know this question is complex and throughout history humans have persecuted other humans, sometimes simply in reaction to which god they worship. What I find so completely hideous, is that one young man can look in the eyes of another and just because of the colour of his skin, he can want to kill him. Without knowing his name, his ideals, his family, his history, he can just pick up a screwdriver and attack him and leave him for dead. My heart breaks. It is the ugliest side of this country, of humanity - ignorance that breeds violence is everywhere, but somehow it's worse when it comes from a country that claims to welcome every race, colour and creed. A country that prides itself on diversity and wouldn't be riding out the recession so well, without the hard graft and commitment of the myriad of people from every imaginable background, who keep this country moving forward. Who love this country like their own.

It makes me want to board a plane immediately back to India, to see what I can do to help people there. To seek out the families of those who've been attacked and maimed (some who've died) and apologise to them. To give them all that I have. To let them know that someone really does care about what happened. I am deeply ashamed. Forgive me if you feel I'm being overdramatic, but I have been so happy to be home again. But this feels like a repeat of when I last tried to live back here and the Cronulla riots broke out in Sydney between a bunch of Aussie surfers and some young Lebanese kids. Noone wins in these sort of battles. Bloodshed only breeds pain and suffering.

I keep flashing back to a lovely Indian woman who I met on a train from Jaipur to Lucknow. Her berth was below mine and when the train decided to terminate in Lucknow instead of going on to Varanasi, she heard me talking with a British traveller and her Polish friend about how we'd get there. She got on her phone and organised a car to pick us up (at an ungodly hour) and couldn't have been kinder. When she asked where I was from and I replied, Australia. She smiled. I asked if she'd ever been or wanted to go, she said, "Oh no, I'm afraid I've heard that it's very racist there." I must admit to being taken aback, though she said it without malice, I was a touch put out. It was not the response I was used to when discussing the country of my birth.

Her words keep resounding in my head now. I grew up in the most wonderful country and was mostly blind to the seething hatred that does exist here under the surface (as it did on the estate around the corner from where I lived in Highbury or the neighbourhoods I lived in New York). But if I'm really honest, I remember how some people were teased at school and I remember the shame I felt when friends of mine were mean (and probably I was too) to people who were different, when we should have known better. I clearly recall the effect that Russell Crowe's searing portrayal of a Neo Nazi in ROMPER STOMPER had on me. That was the first time I really saw the dark side of Australia. I had witnessed many news reports of terrible wars and atrocities overseas, but that film's opening sequence was shot in Richmond station. It was a short walk from where I spent my predominantly happy youth. I couldn't believe it.

My father was a newspaperman (and in his heart still is). I used to joke that by the time I awoke, Dad had read at least five newspapers and was ready to discuss the political system in Bulgaria, if you'd let him. Mum and I sometimes rolled our eyes as he spilled information about what had been happening while we slept. (I once gave Mum a keyring that summed us both up, 'I May Rise But I Refuse To Shine') He has always been and continues to be, a sponge for what's going on in the world. I think that made me lazy. He was such a fountain of up to date information, that I hardly needed to open a paper myself. When he hosted a current affairs radio show between 8.30-10 every week morning, he was up at 5am working and reading and researching (there has never been and never will be someone more dilligent than my father), so for 5 years he was gone by the time I made it to breakfast and his voice was the backdrop to many lives during those years.

I try and read the papers and surf a few sites most days, but I must admit that there are those where I get lost inside my own head and don't connect with the world. I take Minnie La Mooch for a walk and connect with Elwood, but I do crave the discipline to consistently look outside myself, to be always grateful for the astounding gifts I have been given in this life and to respect others. I try my best, but I know I could do better.

This week I've been battling with the industry and the internet, trying to extract a job to give my life back here structure. But what sort of meaning am I searching for? I am immensely privileged compared to many in this world, I have a responsibility to do something more with my life. I am proud that I've written a film and achieved some things, but when I compare them to what others have done and are trying to do, I come up short. My grandmother always told us to reach beyond our grasp. I am trying.

In the words of Aretha Franklin, I say a little prayer.

DONE, DUSTED, D'OH!

I finished it! I have written a feature film. So, so, so happy that I made it through last week. After quite a few struggles, I pushed on to 80 pages. On my second last day, I sat down and wrote 10 more and had an 'ah, I'm almost there, this isn't so bad' moment. Advice - don't ever allow yourself that moment before you've finished (bit like the ANZAC day match where one minute before the siren, I relaxed and thought the Maggies had it in the bag and the Bombers snatched it from us)......

My fricking computer froze on me and I lost 10 pages. That may not sound a lot to some, but when you've just gone from 80 to 90 pages and 100 is your aim, to then go back to 80 when it's mid-afternoon and you're leaving your writing haven the next day - HELL!! So, I huffed and puffed and tried everything to retrieve the missing pages, when I finally realised they were gone forever, I was so tempted to storm next door and complain to Kirst and Nick (her great mate was visiting - he's behind the Playboy with Minnie La Mooch below) but knew instinctively that I'd lose it all in my head.


I sat there and argued with myself. Over and over. Finally I just forced my hands to type. And I did it. I know in my heart that those 10 pages are better for it. Hallelujah. So, I hit page 101 and Kirst popped a bottle of Veuve Cliquot. Owzat! It was the most delicious bottle of champagne ever. My own mini-Cannes.

The next day I packed up and headed back to reality. K dropped me in Mornington just in the nick of time (well the poor guy had to wait a few mins but hey ho) to catch my bus. The sun was shining and I got off in Elwood and walked home feeling light as a feather. I made plans with my oldest, most gorgeous friend Pip for dinner and she took me to an incredible Italian called Da Noi. It was the perfect choice, as it used to be a restaurant called Brummels where I worked when I was a teenager. It was a perfect night. We had about 10 small courses (3 desserts!) and numerous wines - each one was more delicious than the last. Squisito.

The next day I woke up and couldn't help myself, I had to read over the script (despite my promise of the weekend off). Not so bad, but still not happy with the ending. Then I had a fun day meeting my neighbours and getting ready for drinks. I caught up with some friends and had a mini celebration, which was so much fun. I think I played some of the cheesiest tunes in existence - just for a change. Dancing is food for the soul.

Then I took off to Flinders with Dad and did a final edit. Amazing how many mistakes you find when you actually see it on paper. Hame arrived back from the States, where he had a brilliant break and I presented him with the draft. He only finished reading it last night and I asked for positive feedback first, as I know that there are lots of things to improve but it seems he thinks it's a great start. Phew!

We're going to spend the weekend picking it apart and then we start on the long, long, long road of trying to get a feature off the ground. But, I've got a good feeling about this one. I really do.

Now, I have to face the cold, hard truth that I must get a 'real' job. No more spending all my time on docs and writing scripts for a bit. I need to make some cashish and check in properly with the film industry here. I've been under the radar a lot since I got back. Time to get out in the light. Here I am again, reinventing myself for the gazillionth time it seems. It's exciting but so daunting.

Wish me luck.

BATTLING DEMONS BY THE SEA

I'm on a mission. I'm attempting to write my first feature film script in 9 years and I've chosen an Australian period bio-pic.

I'm not allowed to give the story away or my brother, Hamish, will excommunicate me. Safe to say it's a story that we felt driven to tell and we spent considerable time planning and plotting. Then he nicked off for a holiday in America. I think he's just made it to San Francisco. I'm very jealous.

Though I've got the most incredible setting in which to write. I'm poised on the sea front of Portsea, just above Shelley Beach. The view is breathtaking and this is the house where I spent endless, happy, sunburnt summers growing up. It's also the location where I wrote my last screenplay.

I am most definitely making good headway, but I've hit a rough patch and am battling with myself not to give up too easily. It's Day 9 and I'm on page 76. My aim was 10 pages per day and I kept to that until Sunday. That day of enticing sloth.

I have been doing a mini triathalon most mornings (Sunday being the exception!!!) which is most unusual for me. I've done a little yoga, then a run along the beach with dogs yapping at my heels and demanding balls to be thrown (so not really a proper run) and then much to my surprise I've made it into the ocean pretty much every day to swim around the nearest buoy to the end of the jetty. What a wonderful way to start each day. It's heavenly and makes me feel so alive.

Just in case you don't know this, I am one of the laziest exercisers on this planet. I love yoga, but prefer to do a bit on my own than venture to a class and I have quickly got used to going for a morning walk with Minnie (Hame's divine black Staffordshire bull terrier) but running/jogging. Mein godt! Funny how I've always thought it was only for very fit people to do. But even unfit, jelly belly ol' moi can do it.

I am an ex-smoking asthmatic, so I don't go very fast or far, but it's easy to do and helps walk the dog that much faster. A revelation!


Talking of dogs, my heavenly host Kirsty Begg and I took her old boy Jaffa, who's recovering from an op, Minnie the Minster and Mum and Dad's fluffy puppy Oscar to A Million Paws on Sunday morn. It was hilarious. I couldn't stop laughing at all the different people and their crazy dogs. I'm a late convert, I've always been a cat person but I am completely and utterly taken with Minnie. Unfortunately the heavens kept opening on us, but we managed to go for a wander and check out the stalls and while sipping our much needed cuppas, we stood by the mini competition circle in the centre. The rain was sleeting down and they were having a Tallest Dog comp. Kirsty asked where the other entrants were (only two massive Great Dane's were walking around the circle) and after being told that they hadn't showed, she promptly entered Jaffa and he got third prize!!!! Clever ducky. As she said, "You've got to be in it, to win it" when the judges were poking a bit of fun at her old boy.

So, I'm sitting here on Tuesday morning and I have a deadline of Friday. I know that I can reach my target by the end of the week, but how do I get past this block? I'm having a 'the last section I wrote is crap and I want to give up coz it's all too hard' moment. It's stupid and completely predictable after 8 days of blissful writing, where it felt like the words were spilling forth with ease. I know in my head that this is a first draft, there will be many more and I just need to get it down. But my heart is saying, see you silly girl, what did you think you could just write this script, you've got no talent, you should give up now and get a real job.

But I love filmmaking, I love being creative and I want to give this my best. So, I'm going to make another pot of tea and face the blank page. Please say a little prayer for me to the writing god. I need it.

Lxxxx

LOGIES TO GOGIS

I caught the Frankston train back to town, (thank you Rob), and got red carpeted at supersonic speed. I had no time to do anything to may hair, but was otherwise together when the cab pulled up. A Croatian guy asked me numerous times how to get to Tony's address and each time I said that I was very rusty as I'd lived away for so long and showed him on the map where we were going. What's happened to the taxi services in this country. I've had so many run ins with taxis not showing up and then when they do (usually late or having to chase them down the street as they refuse to get out of their cars and ever ring a bell) they rarely have any idea how to get around.

Anyway, my very friendly Croatian decides to tell me every detail about the divorce with his wife. Turns out he was a cinematographer back home but couldn't find that work here. He told me all about his travels and many ex-girlfriends, then realised that he'd gone way past the turn off and without any apology, he then made his way back and I went from being early to late. Great!

Tony's car was waiting and I got to give Helen a big hug before we left. It's a tough time for them, but they're so strong. I recounted my weekend's antics as we approached Crown Casino. It was a chilly but clear evening and the crowds were out in force. It took us a while to get through the melee of photographers, cameras and crowds. Tony handled it all so professionally and I posed along side him, wishing I'd ditched my coat, but knowing I'd be happy for it later.

The funniest thing was when we got to the foot of the stairs, Jono Coleman and his radio partner were waiting to interview Tony. He introduced me too and we had such a funny chat. They got the impression that I'd just come back from working for the BBC, so Jono said "I'm sure we worked together in the UK, do you remember?". "It was the highlight of my career thus far", I replied. How funny! They were interviewing Cathy Freeman before us, so we got to have a quick chat with Australia's Olympic gold medallist who's about to get married.

There were amazing frocks everywhere and the stairs we had to climb were very daunting. Luckily at the top was lots of delicious champers and some interesting people. I ended up in a corner with Kerry O'Brien and some other old journos talking about Collingwood and the good ol' days. They all remembered my Dad. It was a lovely feeling. Tony darted around the room and I met all sorts of presenters and newscasters and actors.

Inside, we were sitting on the Golden Logie table. That's the big award that Tony won in the 80s. We had the most brilliant table. Denise Drysdale was an absolute hoot. Rowena Wallace was ascerbic and full of grace. Mike Willisee came in late with a glamorous brunette and stayed for a short while. But Johnny Young. Sigh! He stole my heart.

Let me pause to say that I had a wonderful night, but unfortunately the idiotic woman (Big Brother host!!!) they chose did such a bad job. Plus the sound was hideous and the screens that were put around the room were so pixellated we couldn't see a damn thing, and the steadi-cam operator on stage kept standing in front of the one good screen. It was a mess. So we all ended up drinking and chatting amongst ourselves. It didn't feel like the awards were inclusive of the audience in the room. They were simply aimed at the television audience.

So, after seeing Rebecca Gibney pick up her awards and looking incredibly stunning, I gathered my courage and went to sit next to Johnny. He remembered my Dad well and when I told him what a huge fan I'd been of Young Talent Time he smiled a knowing smile. "Could you bear to sing All My Lovin'?", I asked breathlessly. He smiled and launched straight into it. I sang along with him and to be honest, I can now die happy.

During the awards I had some fun chats to various people, in particular the gorgeous Ruby Rose. She told me that her necklace was vintage Tiffany's from the 70s and it looked incredible with her glamorous navy gown and her punk rock hair and tatts. What a chick!

The after party is a complete blur of dancing and lychee martinis. I have visions of Tony and I taking turns to get more and more drinks. We were laughing and dancing and had a ball. Suddenly it was time to go home and I'd only had the chance to wave at various friends and acquaintances. I wish I could do it over again, but hey ho.

I feel like I've only just recovered. Luckily I could throw myself into my research for the screenplay and escape to the State Library (WOW) where I disappeared in a pile of books. I am now so excited to have started the script. My first in so long. It feels great to be writing again. I can't give away anything about it (as Hamish would kill me) except to say that it's an Australian story set in the nineteenth century. Clearly an easy one to tackle after so long. Eeeek!

I finished the week with a mother daughter lunch at the Alexandra Club. It was such a funny experience, but filled with some lovely people. Most who hadn't seen me since I was tiny wee. I sat next to a woman who told me stories about her husband that made my blood run cold. Note to self - never, every marry a selfish prick who gambles all day and plays Playstation all night while you look after the kids.

Seated next to her was the wife of Charles Searby who is Ian Darling's screenwriting partner. Oh, I forgot that Ian's wonderful doc OASIS was up for a Logie but sadly didn't win. I went over to commiserate and then brought him back to our table. I also ran into Alison Wyatt and Caroline Craig at various stages of the night.

So I'm not really supposed to talk about GOGI. It's a bit like fight club. But I just have to say that I'm so glad I stuck around in Melbs for our inaugural event. I met so many brilliant people and am so excited about our next meet. I need to do more to take me outside of my comfort zone in Melbs. There are so many interesting adventures just waiting, and people to meet.

Forgot to mention an art opening for Sarah Rennolds (sorry Sarah can't remember your maiden name) who has married Steve. The Nellie Castan Gallery on River St hosted a preview last week and it was such fun to see her work. She's very talented and I'm excited to see where she goes next. It was seriously trippy running into SO many faces, many I hadn't seen since teenage years, in the one small, sweaty room. My gorgeous mate Stelllar showed up and we ended up having a fantabulous evening after.

Congrats to Steve and Sarah and the various other pregnant couples I know (some I can't mention by name). And to my cousin Charlie and his fiancee Katie - such divine news. Oh yeah, and to all those who've just had a little one (Dave and Penny, Ridders and his lady....) many congrats everybody. My what a productive time it is. I'm just trying to give birth to a script. Say a little prayer to the writing god for me. Bless you Kirst, for giving me somewhere to escape to and just write, write, write.

I'll be back when I've come up for air.
Lxxxxx