Sydneyside

At six in the morning the early air on my harbour-side Sydney street is riven with the squall of cockatoos. At half-seven leaf blowers wail and infuriate. At half-eight the helicopters drown them out.

In Summer the thump of party boats is amplified by the harbour glass-flatness. In Winter it all goes quiet. And in Spring the street's honour guard of jacarandas cracks into lilac like fireworks.

Housework

I rearranged the house today. I put the bathroom between the two bedrooms instead of at the end of the hall. It was a great idea in principle—the plan serves both bedrooms much better—but in practice it was a nightmare. All the pipes broke and flooded the apartment, and now I'm busting to take a piss.