with a view of the Tasman sea

In Australia, the cockatoos wake you up with their sceeches. The steers are aggressive. There is much fun to be had from: driving the truck; pruning the trees; enormous bonfires. In Australia, the world is a long way away. There's no one in the vicinity. Letters are commonplace but not effective. Nice blue airmail letters, which fold out once, twice, three times, and then have a fold on the back. However, Australia is so far away that it's hard for people not to forget you whilst you're there. Australia has maroon tiles in the bathroom. It has a mini-kettle and a mini-fridge. It's made up of units and to all intents and purposes it feels like a motel in the middle of nowhere. With cockatoos to greet you at dawn. There's not a great deal to do at night in Australia. You try and write a diary, but there's nothing to write about. When it becomes too desperate a process you throw the diary in the bonfire. A national tradition.

They have strange crimes in Australia. The animals in the zoo are killed in pairs. Bodies pile up in suburban gardens. Backpackers vanish in the bush. Apparently they have strange wildlife too, but you don't see it. Except in the zoos.

There's a lot of sky in Australia. It presses down on you. A big hand grinding your shoulders down, jabbing at your head. It makes it hard to walk straight. So you walk around as though bent. Like an old man. Even though you're barely a young man. Your feet sometimes sink into the soil. Australia needs people. It's got too much land and not enough people. It will imprison you there if you give it a chance. It will pin you down like a butterfly.