all quiet on the inner northern front.

I went to pay for something at the art shop yesterday only to discover that the reassuring bulge in my back pocket was not my wallet but a small french dictionary. A little disconcerting.

I've been doing research and development in the world of trinket production and have discovered that the scroll saw will happily cut aluminium sheet; all sorts of fun to be had with that. The broken hand seems to be improving and I'm thinking that i might like to read some Somerset Maugham.

I had a dream the other day that I was visiting Richard and Shandelle in Ballarat. They had bought a house together, and seemed quite happy. Richard in particular seemed settled and at ease with himself having found a calmness and maturity and above all an air of humour without bitterness, that didn't come at someone else's expense. It was a good experience but saddening, to see someone acheive what they never gained while they were alive. As I have grown older that is the thing that has struck me most about the people i have known who have died; they can never change, or understand what their experiences would feel like looking back in five or ten years time, and while I come to understand them differently, there is nothing new that they can add.