Sometime in the late morning with the sun beating down like it really is trying to beat me, on this 29th straight day of sun which isn’t a record but is nearly so, with the ubiquitous summer sounds of sprinklers and children laughing, and on the hour every hour of the peak hours first the static and then the plosion of the hippo tour guide’s voice announcing something starboard so that in today’s breeze heads turn alee and hair sweeps across faces and I feel caught deer-like, which turns my gait mechanical and I have to will my next step and the one after that, with so many faces not looking at me but looking in my direction, through me and over me at something not-quite-captivating, with me in the way, my electricity already cut… sometimes when this happens I stop and find a tree branch and hang from it, thinking I’ll traction my back until the yellow-black bus-boat drifts off, knowing I’ll have another hour to myself before I’ll need to find another branch. Book 18: All That Is - James Salter One of my favourite authors. He's an octogenarian now, so I was reflective reaching the end of this novel.

Book 19: The Rosie Project - Graeme Simsion Fun!