It’s a warm and humid night Brisbane. It feels like I’ve somehow found myself in a bowl of lukewarm soup, albeit the kind that has a hot and spicy aftertaste that digs in beneath the skin. Summer is almost over, but it’s slow to relinquish its grip.
I’ve got the Jane Austen Argument on repeat because they’ve become a kind of soundtrack to the story I’m writing. I’m mostly making do with the songs from their various singles, although I suspect I’ll pre-order their album before the evening is done. I played the hell out of Bad Wine and Lemon Cake and Here in Melbourne on my MP3 player last year, and if the songs on the album are even half as good as what the group has released thus far, it’s going to be pretty spectacular.
And slowly, very slowly, I’m producing new work.
