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.

Better to catch the bus

Getting all the way across town was a considerable distance to walk. "We're very far," I said to myself.

"Who's 'we'?" I replied. Pause.

"I'm very far," I corrected myself.

"Who are you talking to?"

This made me feel foolish, so I stopped talking.

The Adventures of Tom's Lawyer

by Mark Twain

The thrilling construction of the case against Injun Joe, from pretrial hearing through to sentencing.

The French Confection

by Robin Moore

Detectives Edward "Popeye" Egan and Salvatore Grosso bust a drug cartel for smuggling heroin into New York in 60 kilos of profiteroles.

Zeno and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

by Robert Pirsig

Greek philosopher takes a road trip and never reaches his destination.

Bloody hat!

I am sick to bloody death of hat. Every bloody night, it's hat. Akubra hat. Fedora hat. Panama hat. Every bloody night, hat for dinner! For just one bloody night, can we not have steak!?