Saturday we got DVDs and ice-cream and curled up in front of the TV. Watched the Singapore Short Story Project, which was as bad as it sounds, and The World According To Garp, which was beautifully scripted, acted and directed. Life and death and growing up after the war and the pity of it all. Why haven't our artists mastered subtlety of form or thought or emotion? But I'll not throw stones. Sunday was lunch and shopping with Fay and then a picnic at the Botanic Gardens with bread and cheese and duck rilette and tapenade and hummus and wine and brownies and Scrabble and star-gazing. Su-Lin says it better. Aren't you proud of us for actually having a picnic? Either Monday or Tuesday had powerpoint slides (this will continue for the rest of the week) and half of "Some Came Running". Only Dean Martin can drink tea in white underwear and a grey hat and still look debonair. Tuesday lunch had fish and chips down Riverside Walk and more chocolate than good for anyone at Ricciotti. Let's go back there some day and get shamelessly drunk on wine and chocolate. On Wednesday XZ skived the Life Theatre Awards (or some suchlike) and we got oysters and attempted to get a drink at the Mitre. The doors were thrown open to the night and the lights on but there was no-one at the bar, so we ventured into the backroom and past the clutter of furniture and newspapers and magazines to the room at the far end. Dithered in front of the closed door - we could hear the radio and someone rustling around - and knocked only to have it opened by an European-looking man without a shirt. Er the bar? He: I don't work here. Exit left, sans drink. On Thursday we found Arab-ish cafes and the best ginger tea in town (in Little India, at any rate) and then I went home to look at powerpoint slides. Now it's Friday and there was beer and the second half of "Some Came Running". That's more TV/video than I've watched in a while - probably since the run of Woody Allen movies back in New York. That was two years ago but seems like a year ago - I've completely lost 2004. The days merge ineluctably into each other - and this is an effort to distinguish and preserve some part of them. Call it writing practice and don't ask what the practice is for.