21 May 2013 – (4.45pm) The Sydney Writers Festival has started, and I feel apart of it. I’m on the bus now heading to a talk at the Macleay Museum at Sydney University. Thanks goodness my friend Kate is driving up from Wollongong and called me to remind me to get out of the fucking door. It starts at 5.
I am trying to work on the bus heading down King Street but actually I just feel motion sick and perhaps might vomit. I remember there was a time when I could read a novel in the car while my mum drove to Canberra. That magical power is now gone. I can barely look at the texts on my phone. I look around at others on the bus in envy.
(6.07 pm ) So that was sort of aimed at journalists and editors. There was not too much content in their for either of us, and we left feeling a bit flat. The museum was great though and we were seated next to these amazing butterflies. They were unlike anything I had ever seen.
Also in their collection was a whale calf skeleton. It was refreshing to get a sense of their size and majesty. Humbling.