It’s a strange process, the world of the demo. In the case of this one, for Mardi Gras in Sydney, (which I regard as hugely important) I spent about twenty two hours on it – the first day going through tracks , then the next two working out the order, changing the tracklisting and practising the mixes. The third day was spent recording it and getting it as close to perfect as I could. After that had I to licence the demo, which cost a fortune, then get it mastered and and have track marks inserted into it (another fortune). Then off the next day to the post office to send it via registered mail, with a photo, a full bio and a cover letter explaining a bit about myself and the cd I’d submitted. Then a suspenseful four day wait to see if I was one of the ones lucky enough to get a phone call saying ‘yes’.

The calls were being made today, and with Sydney being so far ahead of Perth (three hours ) I only had four hours sleep and made myself get up, partly because I was scared I’d miss their call, and partly because I kept having dreams that when they rang, my mobile inexplicably turned into a parrot and flew out the window, which was really freaking me out.

After shuffling around zombie-like for an hour or two, and a couple of foiled attempts at pouring myself a bowl of cereal (my hand eye co-ordination suffers when I’m tired) I started to worry that I hadn’t received a call.

I even held off on having a shower, just in case the phone rang while I was deep pore clean and clear cream cleansing. I know that there have been amazing advances in technology in the past ten years, and that there’s an incredibly handy little invention called voicemail, but I was just too scared that if they couldn’t get me, they’d say ‘well…. let’s just go to our next choice’ and I’d be blacklisted and banned from ever contributing again. Not highly likely, but I like to consider all possibilities.

At about four p.m I decided that I definitely wasn’t one of the lucky ones, and dejectedly zombie-shuffled off to have a shower.

As soon as I’d lathered up, the phone rang. My mobile is set to switch to voicemail after four rings. My heart leapt into my mouth. I flung open the shower screen and tried to run to the phone. This was not a good idea, as I was covered in soap, was very wet, and live in an apartment with polished floorboards.

The thud was enough to make my downstairs neighbour, a huge fan of ‘Donnie Darko’, come sprinting upstairs to see if an airplane had come crashing through my ceiling, causing the opening of a time portal and the appearance of a sinister giant bunny. Needless to say it was hard for her to conceal her disappointment.

My phone showed one missed call, from an unlisted number. They hadn’t left a message. I stood and stared at it, willing them to call back. Nobody did, and after five minutes my neighbour politely suggested I put some clothes on. It was at this point I noticed it was also hard for her to conceal revulsion. So much for six days a week at the gym paying off.

A couple of hours later I received an email from the Mardi Gratians saying ‘thanks but no thanks, extremely high standard this year, please try again for Sleaze ball etc, etc…..’.

I took it really well, insofar that I was completely devastated. I was so devastated, I ate carbs, fats and protein all at the same time for dinner, in completely unmeasured amounts. I was so devastated, when the same unlisted number called again and turned out to be a canvasser for a local gym that had somehow gotten hold of my number, I came pretty close to making young ‘Chantelle in memberships’ cry and want to take her own life. I was so devastated that I drank a 600ml bottle of non-diet coke ™ and didn’t care.

But at least this time I fell over after I’d sent the demo off, and it didn’t involve a staircase or the subsequent destruction of expensive electrical equipment. I’m trying to look on the bright side. As I’ve always said – “If at first you don’t succeed, cry, cry again.”