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A new clock. Sydney. October 1st.

October 1, 2017

I slept well. Woke at 6:30am but the clocks changed over night. Fuck knows what that means.

I have, in a couple of weeks, gone from 5 hours behind, to 8 hours behind, to 8/9? hours in front, 10 maybe, and a day evaporated in between.

I’ve no idea where I’m at, or whether my man is sleeping at home, or running, or at work.

It’s a puzzle.

I finish and post yesterday’s
travel-day blog, and have had today planned for one of assimilation.
I’m hoarse from coughing, so glad I have this time.

I go down to breakfast where I find G. finishing hers.
We compare pictures.
Hers are unsurprisingly far superior to mine.
She had sent me a couple, but I hadn’t seen them.

Here is one she took on the way to lunch yesterday.
That big bird had been dive bombed a few times by a little, bossy, scold. Type unknown.
Curly beak bird was evidently a well practised ducker, but is looking the worse for wear.
We thought we were seeing a rarity then.
Later we find they are manifold and are deemed a pest.
I have found a crushed biscuit in my ruck sack and I feel like Mary Poppins.

G. has made arrangements to meet an old college friend that lives here, and invites me to join them on a walk to Bondi Beach.

I gratefully decline.

It will be nice for them to have their space and besides, I will be glad to wander without itinerary.
Time to myself.

The breakfast buffet is really splendid, but again, cold.

Maybe it is that in a hot country heat in food matters not.
For me it separates good from excellent.
I am asbestos personified, without the propensity to murder.
Already though, I like the food better here.
It is less sugary and they have an eye on fresh and nutritious content.
Sheer volume holding meagre value.

I take a bath and this one is certainly fit for purpose. Lush.
I get out thinking to order another case on line, to be delivered to my hotel tomorrow, but I fail, so I get back in again.

I had intended to take myself to the art gallery, but have early filmed promo tomorrow, and decide instead to iron.

It’s a great iron so I iron everything.
I’m shit at ironing and it takes me ages.
I was thorough, though.

I’m going to buy a fuck off iron when I get home.
I’m looking ahead.
I have found ambition.

G picked me up a second case from a mall on the way back from her day out.

I met G and Vib, our Modest Management colleague who works out of Australia, at 6pm in an Italian restaurant to discuss tomorrow’s promo itinerary and catch up.
We had a happy reunion and 2 hours later I am back in my room wondering how I make so much mess.

Everything looks random.

Jazz bedroom.

I’m going to improvise.

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