Steve, the straight married colourist, calls himself the hardest man in hairdressing, and looking at the giant brightly coloured dragon newly tattooed on his arm I'm inclined to agree. Of course, I generally do agree with Steve. He mentions the crocodile guy and I'm consciously silent to give him and his Englishness the benefit of the doubt. I'm with Germaine and I don't want to put myself in a feminist camp in disagreement with him. Personal trainers, gym routines and Amy's dad lead us to Shane Warne. I draw the line and stand firm.

At home I eat cooking chocolate for dinner. The house is perfect except there's no food. Outside it's raining and I'm not about to sacrifice my new hair in the wet in order just to eat dinner.

I know that I should be reading Ulysses but instead I'm watching a sensational 9/11 documentary and wondering, wondering still how it can be real.

The curtains are open. I sense each lightening strike above my head and count the seconds till thunder to track the receding storm.

I write this and in the background Maxine's voice is rising: "gentleman, GENTLEMAN. This time tomorrrow we will know the outcome. I wish you both the best."

This time tomorrow we'll have only just finished Ovid and Peter Beattie will still be the Premier of Queensland. Because you can't go past a good bloke...at least at state level.