Two upmarket restaurants look
empty; the menu prices pinned to the front door and the gate give a clue, keep
me away. I end up in an Indian restaurant. The dhal soup and malai kofta are
fresh but bland. Work is paying so I don’t care.
Back at Miners’ Cottage 2 at
The Old Priory I set up the laptop to prepare tomorrow’s slides and spiel.
After two and half hours sleep the previous night I just can’t summon the
energy, set the alarm, and crash. At five in the morning I resume.
The stress gets to me: am I
ready, do I know my stuff, what will my participants be like, what will they
expect? I shit myself empty, take a 20 minute walk, photograph the priory cats.
At eight I set up the room, connect the IT, test that it all works.
Eight people arrive, two half
an hour late. The day goes well, the activities work, my words flow. When they
leave at three I’m stuffed, retire to the cottage, start work preparing
tomorrow’s presentation. I fall asleep with my fingers on the keyboard. Voices
off rouse me. Someone has come to visit me.
It’s a local health promotion
officer; I arranged a late afternoon meeting with her while in Brisbane on
Monday, three days and an eternity ago. We sit on the verandah and natter away.
She’s been around the north-east for years, knows everything and everyone. We
get on well; she’ll be my key to networks in the Hume region.
She knows SKIPS and three of
the participants in my Beechworth workshop. She scoffs when I tell her they
must leave early tomorrow for another meeting. She doesn’t believe a word of it.
At six thirty she departs, still talking as she
disappears round the corner of the building. I tog up, roam the town looking
for dinner. Two pubs invite me in but the fare and the pensioned clientele turn
me off. I get takeaway from the Indian, eat in the cottage, fall asleep, alarm
set for five thirty. Sleeping in.
Rock on.
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