diary of an independent publisher

A cold shower. Still hot. Fire trucks with sirens on racing south on the highway. US volunteers, fighting fires, killed in a plane crash. Moruya still without power. 5pm a martini. Tired after a day of getting support for the Anzac Day edition. Messages from Hamperworld as we both use social media and The Last Post to promote the Cold Chisel concert at BankWest Stadium tomorrow evening. Strong winds. A blowtorch. A neighbours bin blows over, tipping rubbish up and down my driveway. Radio on ABC local for fire updates.
Sunburn
from the wind. There is a fire in your area, they tell us. Keep calm and increase your chances of survival, they say. 5.15pm an icy beer. More lives lost and from afar, news of the death of Python Terry Jones. The summer from hell continues. Skies of orange dust. The Bega Valley Showgrounds, reopening as an evacuation centre. Horses and dogs and cats and lizards and people. When attachment to a faith saves you from nothing but perhaps provides comfort that a god will give you vacancy in the hereafter. Protection of life and property. On the phone with Sirvan, sharing memories of Perth and night surfing at Cottesloe. Delusions disappearing in a time when nature demonstrates its fury and that its beauty cannot be taken for granted. 5.45pm in the kitchen listening to ABC radio. Ants everywhere but I’m not up to giving them refuge. The temperature is dropping and the balcony door is open, inviting in a welcoming breeze. 6.41pm a cleanskin white and Tom Yum noodles and making notes on my
iPad. Music on now. Petula Clark. Late at night after the wind has calmed, putting out the rubbish in my underwear. Still too warm to care. www.thelastpostmagazine.com