Yesterday morning I visited the monks again, watching as they chanted and rang their bells and then settled in to work on their mandala. They group around it, heads down, tails up. One by one they come up for air, heads popping up, like big orange animals drinking water. They are gorgeous, everyone loves them. They are seen wandering around Bathurst. There was one in Zeigler’s cafe today, down the back, having a good old chat, just like the rest of us.

Tonight Steve & I have eaten up a plate of scotch fillet and veges to fuel an evening down at the Indoor Sports Centre, where the monks are going to be playing soccer. We’re going to document this on a VHS video camera, a digital video camera and a still camera, Steve’s beloved new D2H.

Other than that, it’s all work. It’s all emails and phone calls, one thing leading to another. I have no local fauna or flora observations, because I’m too busy to notice much. Well – a glance in the direction of the pansies – they’re going all right. And the dog is still here.

Tibetan monks have taken over the big middle room of the Bathurst Regional Art Gallery. The walls are hung with their bright wall-hangings, there’s a big trestle table covered in trinkets and there are two of those tibetan bowl-chimes Ian Pitt and I played with on New Year’s Eve, 1999-2000 in Yarramalong. Down the front, at 10.10am yesterday, the orange monks chanting, a beautiful welling, ancient sound that went on and on. Small children sat quietly, even though it went on and on, about an hour all up. There was a big green mat on the floor in front of them, and some glass containners. After the chanting, they got up and made a start on their sand mandala, which is actually fine ground coloured marble. They do it from memory. They were being photographed and filmed from all directions, including from mine.

Beautiful doco on ABC Radio National last night, about the descendants of Afghan cameleers and Aborigines. When there was no water to wash themselves before their prayers, Afghan hawkers out in the desert washed their hands in the sand. Afterwards, I spent too long on the internet looking up Cameleers and Astrolabe. And found a site which explained how much clouds weigh & explored whether anyone had ever had sex in space (no-one has ever admitted it). Would an ordinary Afghan hawker have had an astrolabe packed somewhere in his camel-pack? Probably not.

Local flora observations: Just planted pansies in the front garden, watched by Bertie through the bedroom window.

Local fauna observations: Steve going round with the wheelie bin picking up the bits of mattress in the back yard. Steve said, “Bertie’s mattress is like the loaves & fishes, it just keeps expanding.” I said, “I must make him a mattress cover.” There’s a sign on a telegraph pole in Brilliant Street: “I have lost a pure black cat with green eyes, answers to the name Salem.”

World Stage: Lisa texts from Brighton: “Its the middle of the night and i am up watching labour win a historical third term uneven results tho getting a kick up the arse over the war 06.05.05 1.41am”

Local fauna observations: Bertie took my brown shoe (gorgeous Italian leather brown shoe from Angela) out to the side gate. I said to Steve, “Have you searched the whole back yard?” and he said “No”, in the tone of “Why should I? It’s your shoe”. Bertie’s kennel is a converted fridge. Spewing out of it, chunks of foam from his torn-up mattress. Over the past two days, three mice have suddenly lost their lives in the trap on our kitchen bench.

Reading: I’m inching through De Lillo’s Underworld. I want to love it, but it’s Hard Work. I’m reading bits of things: Paul Johnson’s A History of the American People, short stories by Carmel Bird, monologues and plays and stories written by Vince Melton here in Bathurst. I bought Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore at Better Read Than Dead in Newtown the other day. It’s just sitting on the shelf, waiting for Later.

Watching: Nothing at the moment.

Work: It’s all mad at work. I’ve brought the work car home for the weekend. The old VW is sitting alone and undefended outside the office at W9. The work car is a big bulky dark red thing with a fabulous sound system. I drove off from the BP service station in Orange the other day without paying. I remembered later and rang them and paid up with my credit card. It had been registered as a Drive Off.

Drinking: Twining’s Darjeeling tea from the yellow teapot we had in the share house in Chippendale.

WARP TV: On Monday we’re going to film some Tibetan monks creating a sand mandala at the Bathurst Regional Art Gallery and on Wednesday, we’re going to film them playing soccer at the PCYC.

Hello. I’m sitting here at work, papers strewn all over the desk. In just over two weeks’ time I’ll be heading for Kempsey, then Carnarvon. I’m going to write write write write write. Who is this blog for?