Letters – both writing and receiving them. Reading the scrawl of another and forcing my hieroglyphics on them in turn.
Reading in the bath. And today, for some reason, I particularly miss reading Agatha Christies (whilst I’m in the bath, of course).
Spending ordinary time with my family.
My childhood bedrooms – all of them.
Green tree frogs who sit on the back steps and who hide in squishable places like the hinges of doors.
Sleeping in air-conditioning on hot summer nights, hot spring nights, hot autumn nights.
Playing cards with my parents and drinking while listening to the oldies music station.
Possums and bandicoots in the back yard.
Some of my former housemates. I miss Mathew, of course, and, strangely, Rebekah. It says awful things of me that I am not in contact with any of the people I used to live with.
Sitting in the small patch of sunlight near the backdoor of the Forest Lodge house drinking tea and eating an apple for breakfast at 11a.m.
Painting those giant school canvases.
The art rooms at school whenever I hear Nirvana or Hole or Cyprus Hill.
The coolness of my parents’ bathroom in summer. I used to spend a lot of time in there with the bath. I loved that bath.