The Arch Window number 37, in which we decide that she’ll be right.
I have, for some time, been taken by the fact that when I photograph my children, they frequently manage to look contemplative, and troubled, and tousled, and very, very cool. This might have nothing to do with the fact that
Spring is springing, and with it the quotidian miracle of new life on many fronts, not least in the fifteen centimetres of unpromising dirt that hems one side of our house block. Hard by the corrugated iron fence that daily
Up early, damn, still can’t find the missing key card for the hotel room. Come on, boys, come on, the bags are in the car, we need to be going. Driving, breakfast in Goulburn, driving, feeling drained. Pull over an
I had plans: Questacon, Parliament House, the National Gallery if we had time. After breakfast in Tuggeranong, we made it to Questacon at about 10am. And that was the day. We left when it closed, at 5pm. We did not
Not the best day, although I suspect that I feel it most. Into the city, and there have been changes in the 20 years since I was last here. The most obvious is the sprawling enclosed mall that now essentially
I’m going to be brief today – it’s already tomorrow as I write. The day started with another breakfast meeting. We must be in Sydney. This time it’s Jill, my favourite cousin, with her daughter Rhianna and friend, Nadine. Rhianna,
A day of rest, mostly. I tried to encourage thoughts of Things We Can Only Do In Sydney but it was like pushing blancmange. And fair enough – we have done much, and we needed a break from our holiday.
With his son he’d run and play And giggle, breathe and sing And even sleep as long as they Were in a bed sized king. Oh, what a difference a metre makes. A good night’s sleep and a good thing,
First job of the day: pack to leave hotel. First crisis of the day: cockroach in Raf’s bag. First entomological question of the day: did we bring it with us or do we have the hotel to thank? Close inspection