Thursday 6 January 1994

A possum outside my window in the wattle tree last night. It was trapped by the dog. I was so deep in sleep the dog's barking was like cottonwool falling far off.

Once I woke, I heard the possum expectorating, tough-guying it out with the dog in an angry sputum-clearing, ratchet voice.

It took a while to get back to sleep.

Then followed a morning of staggering from one project to another.

Felt like surfing so I called Katie at midday. We caught a late-afternoon swell at Park Beach. Warmed ourselves by a fire in the evening. A guy called Stephen turned up. Quiet. Nice.