Thursday 1 September 1994

Mettina van Twillert asked me down to Scullys for the view the silver wattles which bloomed like golden snow all over the hills in grand swathes and asthmatic tremulous patches.

I didn't realise it was going to be some sort of religious ceremony.

We got out of her truck and dodged down a corridor that wound through three-metre high bush till we came to a space under an old wattle tree. The ground was soft with moss and damp grass.

Besides Mettinea, there were about ten women there. None of them had a stitch on. Mettina took off her lama cloak and (behold) she was naked, too. I was too surprised not to undress as well. It felt OK. We painted yellow ochre stuff on each other, drank mead from a leather jug and sang a few wobbly songs. Very pleasant. I fell asleep awhile I think. A warm and fuzzy day.