So here I am sitting watching the sun making silver the waves breaking on North Beach as I quietly enjoy a skim flat white. Not Surry Hills.
Yesterday afternoon when I got back from Sydney after the final Elizabeth Street day my neighbour, R, a friendly young guy, fed me with sausages, which the other neighbour, P the Poet, was also offered but declined. P is suffering from some terminal illness, it appears.
Last night strange noises kept me awake for a while. I searched my room at the Bates Motel for a source of these weird clickings, to no avail. Eventually I worked out it was frogs outside. Yes, frogs.
Not used to all this Nature. 😉