2004-03-07 at 11:36 p.m.

Yesterday, I purchased a pair of pants. They fit perfectly.

Today, the very selfsame pants are one-and-a-half sizes too big. I have to pull them up every five minutes to prevent them slithering down and puddling around my ankles. What the fuck is up with that? I know I'm prone to weight fluctuations, but this is ridiculous.

I shall have to invest in a belt.

And while we're on the subject of pants, is there any reason why designers make the legs so long that the cuffs extend four inches over my shoes and I spend the entire day tripping over them? Can I help it if I have short, stumpy legs? Can I? Where are the pants designed for short people? Unite with me and fight for the right to wear well-fitting pants, oh my stumpy bretheren!

My friend Bec and I go way back. As in cradle years back. We're good friends, but we really know how to push each other's buttons. Add the fact that we're both musicians, who specialise in different genres, and the situation becomes a hair pulling, eye gouging bitchfight waiting to happen.

Bec lives in Melbourne, normally, but decided it was time to pay a visit to her old home town. However, the day before she left, she learned of a job opening at a resort for a resturant singer, for which she would have to record a demo and submit it by the end of the week.

The next day, she drove here. And trust me, this town is not the ideal place to record a demo.

And, as usual, I have become her accompanist. And when you read accompanist, read 'indentured servant'. I spent much of the last two days entertaining her, feeding her, and playing ABBA (yes, ABBA) among other things, rehearsing for her demo recording. Tomorrow, I'm meant to be recording this demo with her at the one and only recording studio in this town. And did I mention that the one recording studio in town doesn't contain a piano, and therefore we shall both be forced to spend the entirity of tomorrow morning attempting to track one down?

I should have gone into accountancy.