One of these days I might get around to writing about what I saw at the Sydney Writers' Festival and how it made me think big thoughts. In the meantime:

I TOTALLY HAD A DREAM I WAS BLONDE!

If you've had the displeasure of never having seen me, I have dark hair with extremely dark Frieda-Khalo-esque eyebrows. Me being blonde is just the most ridiculous idea ever. Apart from maybe dreadlocks, or me being a lawyer or similar. But in the dream, I was totally gorgeous! All my problems vanished, all my dreams had been fulfilled, and I was swanning about accepting huge literary prizes and shaking my blonde hair in total disbelief that this could be happening to me.

Blonde. Wow. Maybe my dreams are speaking to me. Peroxide anyone?

They say that in order to be able to write well, you should write what you know.

So, honestly, with people like this guy still kicking about, what the hell am I doing with my time?

Having been in Sydney, it's so nice to come to Melbourne and experience the fog. There's something about fogs that tickles the imagination. You can become transported, out of space and time, merely by virtue of the fact that you can't see your hand in front of your face.

It's so nice to be home.

When one is sick, or has down time, or is merely coasting from one busy part of life to the other, it is important to note one's achievements, or one will go mental. Here are my achievements, so far as I can tell, from my time being sick:

1. I read Tim Winton's new book, Breath.
2. I read a short story book by Anne Enright.
3. I read almost all of a Meg Rossof young adult fiction book (it is excellent, read it: How I Live Now).
4. I typed up some notes from the writers' festival like the true nerd I am.
5. I did a load of washing. Probably my biggest achievement since January.
6. I watched Withnail and I for the first time in maybe ten years. Still brilliant. Good to know.
7. I did an experiment to see how little I could tase by attempting to eat raw ginger. I couldn't taste a thing.
8. I did the same test with garlic and my face almost fell off. Scientific experimentation postponed indefinitely due to objective and justification of experiment being retrospectively quite hard to establish.
9. I got sick of those noodle soup in a cup things. Yes this is an achievement. Previously, I was trying to refrain from having them for breakfast.
10. I saved at least three dollars a day by not drinking coffee. Naturally, my ginger and garlic budget soared this month and a cost benefit analysis is forthcoming.

Now, I'm feeling slightly better and am desperate to know about the magic that is antibiotics. How the HELL does that stuff work? In three days I will no longer care, but for the time being, Wikipedia is getting a flogging.

x x x Nice to be better. Hope this finds you the same. x x x

And then She cometh home from the festival of scribbling and Lo but she was stricken.

Stricken with the throat of fire and the head of death. Yea but I have already been strucken, she retorts to the authorities, cans't thou not spare me a second affliction right when I was supposed to be getting on with things? Seriously, you should see my bank account.

The booming response cometh. "But Lo! What is this column on the left? It doth report plenty of enjoyment and not enough rest! THOU MUST REST ON THE SEVENTH DAY, AND IF THOU DOST REFUSE, THOU WILT BECOME STRICKEN WITH THE POX, OR SIMILAR."

But I'm not even religious, She complaineth.

Pox, retorteth the authorities. Throat of fire and head of death. Get thee to a bulk billery.

And so she donneth the tracksuit pants of hideom and she begat the hell out of here to someplace medical.

Last year, I wrote about the rather baffling "Sydney versus Melbourne" phenomenon. I never believed in it. I thought the two cities both had their charms and that Sydney is gorgeous, fun, accessible for everyone and Melbourne is full of secret corners and fun bars and culture and sometimes, streams of people wearing the same scarf and walking in cold groups from a brightly lit oval to a warm pub, or waving their fists out the windows of passing cars.

But sometimes myths perpetuate themselves. Wearing our normal clothes, ie not a suit, Stew and I just tried to get a cup of coffee in Sydney. We were refused at Young Alfred by a waiter who apparently is the most important person in the world if anyone's been wondering where you mind find him. Apparently, at this cafe, you had to order food. If you had just had breakfast five minutes ago, that was tough luck. Please order a wafer with some goats cheese and a herb infused gonad covered in withered spinach.

THEN, we finally got into a place that wasn't Starbucks (I was actually tempted) and the guy said "Hm. Just wait there, we'll get you a table". He got us an unmade table which he plonked away from the other patrons, whose tables had tablecloths on them and who were looking at laptops. Now, I can look at laptops as well as the next person. And, if I wanted to, I could have a job that forced me into wearing a suit, daily. BUT I DON'T. And I shouldn't have to. And I like Melbourne. In Melbourne, I accidentally didn't have enough money once foa coffee (I had forgotten to check) and instead of taking me up on my offer to hold my credit card until I got back from the ATM, they said "Bring it in next time".

Dear Mr Waiter, you are an ambassador for your city and even if we stick to your bakrupt logic that you only serve rich people, I may be the richest woman in the world. I may not look it, but I have a billion dollars in my back pocket. I heart Melbourne.

During the comedy festival, my head empties itself of all useful information in order to make way for budget considerations, house sizes, other peoples' names, news on whose show is doing well, what's going on with the actors, what's going on with the reviews, how much sleep I can squeeze in between appointments, and whether or not I can stand to eat one more roast potato from the place on the corner.

That's why I love coming to Sydney for the writers' festival. My empty head has to expand (I'm like a lollypop at the moment). There are sessions about war, environment, history, memory, disease, humour, kids, adults, families, wars, fascism, politics, music, science, space and time.

We're about to go and check out the Press Photography exhibition, which is always very sobering. Not sure if the learnings will fit inside my skull, but I'm going to give it a go.

By the way, I'm on timed internets here, so please excuse the shambles.