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Sunday 20 November 1994

The USS Indianapolis slips into Hobart today. A Yankee submersible running on neutrons. The Endeavour slips out. No comment.

Drizzle all day so we don't go to church. Sleep in and try to cuddle. Neither of us have exercised for a week wot-wiv-won-ting-und-an-udder... So, late in the afternoon we don skimpy running gear and head up over windy hills and onto the mountain.

Stephen runs ahead into the sleet and I trot in his lee, swapping positions when out of the wind. His muscular arse twitches like a race horse. So when I'm in the lead I'm aware of my bum in a new way. We grumble up gravel slopes and dance down aromatic tracks. Somewhere west of Fossil Hill we take a wrong turn and make a forced descent through sopping, scratchy bush. We arrive home an hour late, hands paralysed with cold...and stumble into a hot shower where we cling and cling.

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