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I'm sure you've noticed how, when you have all the time in the world, you just don't get around to doing the things you promised you'd do when you got to have time to do stuff. Well, that's how it goes with me anyway. Today I slept in til 10:30. Couldn't really believe it, that I would sleep so damn much ever, but I did. I justified it to myself by saying to myself that it was a small way of making up for all those hours of lost sleep, that sleep deficit that's even deeper and more hurtful than the credit card debt.

So I got up, showered and breakfasted and went out to Well Connected, the cafe down on Glebe Point Road that makes the best coffee of any place within a radius of several square miles. Had a long black with hot milk on the side, read the Herald pretty much cover to cover, save for the sports and pages 2-5. I then trotted off to Dymocks, not to buy anything, God forbid I'd give a faceless company like that any of my hardearned lucre. Just to use their space to read. Gawd knows they have plenty of quiet cosy comfortable nooks and crannies where you can pull up with a book or six under your arm and go over stuff at your leisure. If I did anything productive today it was simply to start compiling a list in my head of the books I should get round to reading in the coming year. There are a couple by Paul Bowles that are crying out for attention. I've never read him and it seems that I really should, dealing as he does with very similar terrain to my own little stretch of turf. F Scott Fitzgerald also warrants a bit more focus. Maybe a bit of Zola and Orwell, E.L. Doctrow and Don Delillo. There isn't much Delillo left for me to read, Underworld looks daunting to say the least. Don't know if I'll have the perseverence to get through it any more than I was able to persevere with Ulysses all those years ago, but one feels obliged to have a go anyway.