The Pearl of Beaches and Wilco. Mudge to Come

The sign says: Roy Lamb the Sand Man and I know we're almost there. In years to come I will remember it as the sign on the way to good times. PJ says: my middle name was excess. I've arrived. Have a glass of champagne and contemplate the sea. In the morning we've met the object of affection and sat in the park appreciating good chutney.

I've read short good books. The Girls of Slender Means: good and slight and savage. Amsterdam. LT says I remind her of the dead woman in Amsterdam who somehow puts herself together out of the chaos each day and I'm flattered. Apparently, in L.A. they talk about being present and I understand how hard it can be.

Roy Lamb the Sand Man. The bikini tree on the way to Singleton. These things that mark our inept life. Even if time is a flicker of light and we all have to die alone.

I talk about my boring day and then realise that in the past seventy-two hours I have:
- been with some of my best friends at Pearl Beach stepping from the deck onto the sand
- sat in on a rehearsal of The Year of Magical Thinking that prompted me to cry and resolve to call my mother more often
- witnessed Sylvie Guillem chastising Akram Khan from the third row. Later Rob tells me that he feels privileged to have lived in a time that allowed him to witness Sylvie. I feel such a brat.
- loved Wilco at the Enmore and been so moved to think that what paltry estate I might have at the end of my life should be left to them. The Enmore, not Wilco.

And then bookclub. How to discuss super contemporary alienation when we know that community is what we aim for. Community is what we aim for, yes?