Clare's in a much better humour: her exoskeleton of control has grown back after being cracked by the surgeon's silver lobster-mallet on Friday. I picked her up from her place at 7am - she was sitting on her front step in the sun, playing her ukulele. "You'll do!" I cried as I pulled up in the car - and we went for a drive down to La Pérouse and swam in the chilly water of Botany Bay.
Afterwards I went to Michael's and took him to buy a Christmas tree from a grocer's on Regent Street.
Laine's wife died this morning. In the afternoon I met Neil and lent him my car to go down and help out.
I ate a chicken burger "meal" for dinner, and started drawing the picture for my Christmas card.
That was my sprawling ungainly Sunday.
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