I miss M so much there's a dull thudding in my body, that tolls of emptiness. Weekends are the worst, when those 142 characters arrive on the small back-lit screen to say he misses me too, yet those fucking kilometres stretch endless and leering. I know it's only four weeks, but only one of those has passed and it feels like forever. Our little home is looking better and better, and Richard and I live well, side by side.

For the first time in my life, my grandfather didn't recognise me when I called. And he didn't remember that i live in Australia. It was the most difficult 50 second conversation of my life. Our brains turn on us, memory abandons us. Ageing really doesn't have much to recommend it!

I've had a wonderful around-the-house day, the garden is shaping up nicely, if slowly - I've eaten all my meals out on the patio in my pool of sun on my wicker chair.
I've made a big steak and guinness pie, went for a long walk on the wintry beach and even popped in to the city for a wander, and to purchase a miniskirt for $4. Score!

Mornings are so cold now, the grass is frostkissed and I too have taken to sleeping with a heat pack. I shudder at the thought of Paul out on the Nullarbor where nights are about -3, and he's in his swag with only his great moustache to warm him.

I'm feeling too mellow and rested to write about our political situation, but I do have an opinion, it's just not active at the moment.

. . .