Off kilter weekend. My head is a box filled with nothing.

I drive down Glebe Point Road, procrastinating. While eating whitebait fritters I read about Rowan Gillies, the head of MSF. It’s a profile mostly done while he’s in Ivory Coast. Every operation involves an amputation. I think these things: how grotesque and vital life there must be, it’s hard to imagine guerillas still seeming dangerous while speaking French, he is the same age as me, I bet MSF get an upsurge in donations now.

Watched The Upside of Anger. Resented the implication that women with husbands are sweet and nice until they get left and then they turn into bitter alcoholics. Still, loved an older female character that’s allowed complex, honest relationships, and some self obsession, even if they are borne of hostility. Compared to Ivory Coast, though, not a lot at stake. Made myself a vodka tonic and marveled at the resurrection of Kevin Costner.

Jarvis says: I am not Jesus though I have the same initials. He also says: I’ve got some matches if you ever need a light.

Barmuda for breakfast. Curly-haired guy invites us to his cabaret show. It’s called The Latte King Sings. Annie says she sees him around all the time and that he always gives her a wink. The last time I was in a taxi on my way to the airport I looked across at the car beside us and he was driving it - crazy, curly-haired Barmuda waiter. I had to look away before he saw me. I don’t know why.