All That's Missing Is The Edible Da Vinci Code

The apartment hunt goes not so well, so here's a new plan: camping out in the cavernous, desolate local history sections of area bookshops, of which there are a dizzying number. Copies of John Pilger's collected works will be burned for warmth; or, if warmth is not required, they will be burned on general principle. For a pillow, a copy of Cyril Pearl's wonderful Wild Men of Sydney, which will hopefully make me a better writer by osmosis:

The barrenness of the political scene [in Sydney in the 1890s] can be measured by the fact that Sir Henry Parkes still dominated it. A mature community would have soon wearied of the predatory, vain, and mediocre politican behind the Elder Statesman's aureloe of whiskers.

I'm not done with the book yet, but it's entirely possible that this is the nicest thing he's going to say about anyone in it. Australian politics seems to have been quite a lot of fun:

Violent behaviour and violent language [in Parliament] were condoned or scarcely rebuked; fights between members were not uncommon and the sight of a drunken statesman falling off his bench during a debate excited amusement rather than indignation.

This is a model to bring up the next time anyone starts wanking on about getting young people involved in politics.

In other news, I wish Sydney Craigslist wasn't so dead. I need someone to give me furniture, even if that means I have to start occupying some of the contemporary literature aisles.