All fun and games here, as you can imagine, with only two weeks to go before the removalists turn up. I'm still packing. Or, more accurately, putting things into piles and then shifting them to other piles and then getting cheesed off with the whole process and transferring my attention to something completely different.
That something completely different is writing. (In a local café, of course, where the floors aren't covered in paperwork and the coffee tastes better.) I have several projects on the go, so when I get stuck on one I can always move onto the next. Not sure if this really is the most efficient way of doing things but it seems to work.
Yesterday, I interrupted what I laughingly claim to be a routine to have my birthday lunch with friends in Carlton. (For the record, Cafe Zum Zum in Rathdowne Street.) This time last year I was birdwatching in Mount Molloy, Far North Queensland, where I almost took a decent photo of a spectacled monarch. This time next year I could be anywhere. But I'm hoping to be eleven months into an indefinite stay in a nice little cottage on the Atherton Tablelands and working on book number three or four.
All I need to do now is find that cottage and buy it.