I've just been out for a walk. Crikey it's cold. I would be surprised if it was any more than five degrees Celsius out there. The backs of my hands are an attractive shade of deep purple with red blotches. A guy was out photographing the museum from across the lake. It might actually come out quite well, with the top of Black Mountain in the background shrouded in fog, but I don't know how he could operate the equipment.
Cold in Canberra usually signifies a biting wind coming in from the mountains, but today is almost still. It is one of those Canberra days when the fog doesn't lift until into the afternoon, and the sun struggles to gain any kind of foothold thereafter. I thought I saw a sliver of sunshine on the foothills of Mount Ainslie just as I was getting back to the office, but it could have been, as Saddam Hussein's Minister of Information (can't they find him a position in the new government?) was heard to say on global television during the so-called Second Gulf War, "an illusion".
It is going to be mighty cold at the boys' swimming lesson tonight. The lessons are held in a tin shed on the edge of town, adjacent to the sleaziest-looking motel I think I have ever seen: it makes the one in Robert Altman's film of Sam Shepard's "Fool for Love" look like the Ritz.
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