SOME SATURDAY
So we scarpered on down to the farm to collect the fridge. That sounds so simple and would have been, had not the sparky texted as we were sitting in the drenching Friday arvo rush-hour out of Sydney to say he’d be there the next
Wound willy nilly into a fat tail event
What a punishment, egad. A forced morning meander through the Sydney autumn. Back in March when E, forcibly exiled from her beloved film studies in the UK, squeaked back in under the closing portcullis, we had little choice but to quarantine at the farm. (The