A time capsule letter, sent to me a year after I wrote it at an exhibition at Abbotsford Convent. I struggled with the mechanics of the wilful typewriter. I'm not sure which personas I am inhabiting here but it made me guffaw and sigh by turn. I hide little keepsakes to find at later dates. There is one cheap envelope with 'Open in year 2000' on it. It contains a lock of my hair from when I was 12. I keep everything like this locked up in a red Samsonite suitcase from, me thinks, the '60s.
My very best love dove, Wanda, is away in Paris for two months. She has a residency at the Cite de Arts. I am not kidding you, her apartment has a view onto Notre Dame. I lived for two weeks in a 16 euro a night hotel in Montmatre when I was 20. I had a view of a brick wall and a communal shower/toilet block, and still I felt like I was somewhere.
As summer approaches the northern hemisphere, I get melancholy remembering some of the dream bright excursions I have made abroad. Sometimes, just quietly, Australia feel so so small and fragile. You have to keep everything the right way up or it will tip over and break.