That's One Of The Things I Hope

On Melbourne Summer Mornings The Green Trams Go Rolling In Stately Progress Down Tunnels Thick With Leaves: The Bright Air Carries Along The Avenue Their Patient Chime, The Chattering Of Their Wheels.

I Think Writers Are Very Anxious.

Tentatively I Stood A Great Lump Of Wood On The Chopping Block And Bought The Axe Down On It. It Flew Into Two Perfect Halves. Such Was My Elation That I Ran Inside, Put On Our Ancient Cracked Record Of Aretha Franklin Singing Respect And Danced All By Myself For Half An Hour In Our Living Room, Without Inhibition, Almost Crying With Jubilation – Not Just About The Wood, But Because I Could Live Competently Some Of The Time, And Because That Day I Liked Myself.

We Were In A Great, Seething Moment In The 1970s. There Was A New Labour Government And Everything Seemed Full Of Hope... But, As We Got Older And We Saw How Much Women's Behaviour Contributed To What Was Wrong, We Stopped Being Able To See Ourselves Purely As.

It's Disturbing At My Age To Look At A Young Woman's Destructive Behaviour And Hear The Echoes Of It, Of One's Own Destructiveness In Youth.