A shop called Kevin

Last Night: the launch of Sydney Design 05 at the Powerhouse. There is a coffee table made from what looks like brush brooms joined together. The brush is on top. Fine for displaying coffee table books but not really for cups of coffee, which would seem to be the primary purpose of any coffee table. (Why not tea table, I wonder, and then for an instant I doubt that coffee table really is the name that we all call it. It seems so strange on contemplation.) We speculate about how often you'd need to turn it over to remove the detritus collecting at the bottom of the brush. It should be in proportion to how often you vacuum underneath the cushions of the couch, I think.

Tara says the Sydney Design logo matches my skirt. The logo's green and she seems jaded. Tim has the first copy of his book, though. I see other people from a distance but don't talk to them necessarily. It's Friday and I'm tired.

Noonie is wearing the dress made of old chairs, and people love it.

Twice watiers ask if they can take my wine glass. No, actually, I'm waiting for a refill, I say. The third time, I do feel compelled to surrender it and let them get on with cleaning up.

Later we go to Golden Century and Noonie wangles us a table. Amanda is appointed orderer. I write it down so that we can keep track. It's still in the Bruce Springsteen bag, the order list, visible through the side plastic: whole BBQ duck, minced pork with beans in XO sauce, S + P squid...It should be known as the over-order list.

This morning: A sunny walk to the city. On Kent Street there's a dry cleaning and alterations shop called Kevin. A boy walks past me wearing a navy hoodie with tiny white seagulls on the front and immediately I know he was at Sigur Ros. There's a rotund Indian man on Broadway wearing a bright turquoise parka with a fur collar. And in Sussex Street in Chinatown the sun sparkles off the leaves of the trees so that I can only look at them out of the corner of my eye. I think if this wasn't a city I know so well, that it would be very exciting.

Jonny leaves a message to say that Interpol and Bloc Party are on Music Max on Fox. He knows I don't have Foxtel but thought I might be interested. I wonder if he's stalking me. Michael Winter thinks too much about punctuation, but he had a five hour window in London and spent a large part of it at Cafe Boheme. I love that. And I know it because I'm stalking him virtually, via his blog.