each bigger than the last

I was with my friend in the dark and she was crying. I didn't know why but to make her feel better, I found what I thought was a coarse and scratchy cloth, and rubbed her back with it. It seemed to help and she quieted her crying and felt better. I looked around us as the light brightened and realised that we were on King Street in Newcastle, looking through the windows of a boutique. Inside were beautiful designer clothes, hanging around the walls. I could see that the fabrics were of a fine quality: luxurious silks, draping velvets, sheer gauzes, in wonderful rich colours and crafted into superb garments. I decided to come back here soon, when I was in a position to shop. We walked out of the shop through the glass door and I realised I was still carrying the cloth with which I had rubbed my friend's back. I looked at it and saw that it was actually an extremely beautiful top made of sheer creamy silk decorated with bronze sequins. I quietly slipped back into the shop and arranged it on a glass shelf so that it looked like a display, and left before anyone noticed me. I caught up with my friend, walking back up the street, but we heard barking and looked around to see guard dogs, agitated, sniffing out an intruder. I felt that it must be me, that someone thought that I intended to steal the top. The dogs stopped at the boundaries of the land where the shop was built. Narrow trenches marked the border of the property and we could see behind the shop to vacant land out the back. There were at least six dogs that we could see, snarling and stalking their prey, each bigger than the last. We could also see the corpses of a couple of dogs that they had killed, wasting on the barren vacant lot. We walked away quickly, passing some houses on our right. A woman and child returned home - it was growing late in the day - and we saw the flash of a small golden puppy whisk by. Immediately, a huge lion raced past, golden mane flying back in curls like the lion from The Wizard of Oz, and disappeared into the house. I followed, looking for the lion, but when I searched the property, there was no lion to be seen, just the small golden puppy.
Next, I was sitting with many other people on the rim of the Newcastle cliffs, overlooking the ocean. We were simultaneously watching the waves and watching a documentary about a freak wave incident in which one man, referred to as 'The Fireman', had saved the day and earned a medal. The camera scanned over the faces of the cast of a musical, all men, singing, wearing fire fighter uniforms. Each man appeared to be tougher looking, braver than the next as we wondered which of these men would turn out to be 'The Fireman'. Finally the camera rested on the face of a man, not as handsome or of traditionally heroic appearance as the others around, who turned out to be him. He sang with gusto, his face creasing into happy weathered lines, whist the documentary showed recreated footage of him saving people in the freak wave.
The documentary finished and our attention turned to the present. Someone said that we were expecting a tsunami today. I wondered why then we were perched on the cliffs watching the waves, rather than travelling as far from here as possible. I sat with a man, very much like 'The Fireman' and saw the first wave coming: a giant wave but just the predecessor of the biggest wave. The wave hit us on the cliff and we all lay down, flat to the ground, feeling it thunder over us. The man lay on top of me, further shielding me from the impact. It passed and we all sat back up, watching the water as another wave grew and approached. Again, we pressed ourselves flat to the ground, going under the wave rather than fighting it. More waves grew and approached, each bigger than the last, and we knew to expect eleven of these mammoth waves rising out of the ocean.

fish hook

I was staying in a house around the corner from the home my family built. A few of us were sleeping there and sometime during the early hours of the morning, around four, we woke and prepared to leave. It was time. I packed a bag with my clothes and toiletries; everything I had seemed to be very practical, even a little drab. I also packed the bag of my friend who wasn't there. Where my belongings were very ordinary, everything in her bag was glitzy: silver clothing, costume jewellry, hot pink slips and baubles. Something stabbed my finger as I organised her bag. I pulled out my hand and saw that a fish hook had pierced the pointer finger on my right hand. I removed the hook and reached back into the bag but again, a fish hook pierced the same finger in exactly the same spot. I removed the hook and second time and looked at the wound and into her bag. I could see that there were a dozen more fish hooks inside. I went into a more central room where other people were packing and mentioned to someone that I needed to find some antiseptic and a bandaid to cover the hole, as I was concerned that it may become infected and that I would be caught on a hook a third time, simply because the hole was already there. The person seemed overly concerned and told a man (the adult version of a childhood school friend who I haven't seen since high school) that he needed to operate. He seemed very stressed and I wondered if he was sober as he prepared a needle. He asked me if I had removed all of the hook and I looked and saw that there was a thin silver wire poking out of the hole. He found some pliers and pulled the wire out, ripping the wound open. Blood sprayed the wall and the chest of his white t-shirt but the pain was dull. He then proceeded to stitch the wound back together and seemed to make a terrible mess of the stitching. I doubted that this was the right thing to do.

workmen

I was sitting on the floor with B in our apartment, looking out the windows, down to where men were working below. It was not the apartment where I really live now, but an imaginary place. We were talking about this and that and then I warned B that a man was going to look through the window and she should not be alarmed. Sure enough, one of the workmen had climbed a ladder up to our window and looked through. A second workman looked through the other window on the right and passed through a plastic plate with scraps left on it. As he handed it to me, I asked him what I was meant to do with it and he told me I should rinse it. I suggested that he was capable of rinsing it himself, and pointed him in the direction of the kitchen. He was followed by a few more workmen who all came through the window, went into the kitchen and cleaned up after their lunch and also helped themselves to the refrigerator. I thought that perhaps I had been a little harsh with the first workman so I went into the kitchen and asked another man if he needed any help. He answered that he was fine, that I didn't need to clean up after him and addressed me by my name. I remembered that I knew him and so I touched his shoulder as he passed. My familiarity was witnessed by very short workman who came and started joking with me and then touching me, not inappropriately, but annoyingly and in a way that invaded my personal space. At first I humoured him, then I pushed him away, but he kept on at it, trying, for some reason, to poke his finger in my eye. I yelled at him not to touch me and finally asked the others in the room if they could stop him. He seemed to become increasingly menacing until he finally stopped. I left the room and went into what had become a public toilet to wash my face. I heard a sound behind me and I started, splashing water at the poor girl who stood there looking a little surprised. I apologised and told her that I had been upset. I then saw B, who had not been there for the event but looked as though she had learned of it., walking down the hall toward me, and I felt relieved.

visiting or home?

I was staying at my maternal grandparents' home in Newcastle for a week or so. They were alive and well, though they have been long gone from this world. They were as I remember them when they were young enough to be well, active and happy, but still old enough to be 'grandparently'. Whilst I was with them, they simply went about their business, tending to the home and garden. Nanny did the things she did when she was alive: planted seeds, weeded, burnt off the dead wood and leaves 'down the back', mended socks, danced to music, cooked cakes and talked to the dog. Pa did things typical of Pa: read the paper, washed and wiped up, tinkered with something that needed fixing, laughed and joked, wrote things down with his careful hands and talked to Nanny. I felt so welcome there. It was easy to stay awhile with them, so natural, and I felt none of the sadness I feel now in recalling it and writing it down; I felt happy. I felt I should offer to help them with whatever needed doing, and though they allowed me to contribute, it was not expected. It was as though their home was a living, breathing organism that they naturally looked after, without resentment or any of the stress that seems to accompany the rushed house-cleaning of life now. As part of my stay, I had a few outings with old friends: R and A, who, in my dream, were interchangeable. There seemed to be an event like a wedding or a christening, for which I was home, and it revolved around my friend. I remember the final day of the stay, dressing in the last clean pair of socks in my suitcase (I am not sure why I didn't wash them in my grandparents' laundry) and a rather haphazard outfit. Originally we were going to go to the zoo but A told me that we would be too late, that the last bus had gone, so we decided instead to go out and have a coffee. We found ourselves in an otherwise empty Chinese restaurant and we were seated at a table set for six. I sat with my back to the wall and A sat facing me, with her back to the open restaurant. I looked at the menu and was surprised to see that the prices altered radically depending upon where you were seated. The same meal cost me, seated where I was, $100 more than A. The waiter ushered four young men in and seated them at our table. This was slightly uncomfortable to say the least. A wanted to swap places with me and I agreed, so we exchanged seats. A vegetable and rice noodle dish was served, steaming on the table. I tried to talk with A but there was suddenly a white pillar between us, around which I had to duck to see her let alone speak with her. I could understand why this seat was much less expensive than where A now sat.

japanese drumming troupe

I was part of a group of Japanese people who were performing for some dinner guests at a Japanese restaurant in the Newcastle mall. We walked up the mall and into a hall where there were a couple of restaurants. The master of the troupe led us up the stairs toward one of the restaurants and I wondered if we were going to the right one. Once there, we filed into a private room where the important international guests were seated. our master announced that we were two hundred drummers welcoming them. I sat with the master at the table at one end, and two women of our party sat with the guests at the other end, whilst one after the other of the drumming troupe came into the room and stood in neat rows close to the table. They were all wearing white and they began to drum a complex rhythm on a variety of instruments including small traditional drums, wood blocks, and other things, some placed in front of them and others hanging about their necks so that they beat their chests. Most of the drummers were quite young: children or youths, trained from a young age. When finished, one of the women sitting at the opposite end of the table read out a beautiful poem and riddle, appearing not to need her script. She spoke in a deliberately slow and calm voice, full of authority. I saw the master scribbling something hastily onto a plate at my right, and when she had finished he passed the plate to me. The crowd waited. I looked at the plate but could not see anything written there as there was food covering it, but when I tipped the plate, I uncovered the message. I began to read it aloud, slowly, not so much imitating the first reader as slowed by my ability to understand the cryptic sentences. I do not now recall exactly what was written, but I remember, as I read, some of the words turned into pictures, photographs of people, so that I had to interpret the meaning and convey it rather than just follow the script. I heard my voice and it sounded sure although I felt so uncertain that I was reading it correctly. When finished, the master of the group of dinner guests commanded our drumming troupe out of the room and everyone quietly filed back outside except our master, the two women and me who remained seated at the table. I wondered at the hierarchy of both groups and though I would not last long having to be obedient and subservient. I was given a plate of food to eat and I felt grateful. The dinner guests' master then ordered that I should go into the adjoining room known as the lounge room. I checked with the drumming troupe master to see if I should go, and he nodded and left the room. I went inside and the other man followed me in. I tried to sit but knew that I lacked the grace and modesty of the other women trained in this way. My kimono opened at the knees and my trousers underneath showed through. The man then demonstrated ways in which to practise precise and discreet movements. He lay on one of the lounges and did exercise akin to childhood somersaults. He then cam over with a pair of chopsticks and playfully stabbed them at me, aiming at my ears. I did not like it but humoured him so he would not become aggressive, and did my best to exit the room. I had to keep pushing him away, treating him as though he were a badly behaved child.

travelling home

I was about to catch an aeroplane flying from Sydney to Brisbane, and I wanted to call B to tell her what time I was arriving. I went into a news agent where I intended to buy a magazine for the flight. I felt as though I had too much racing through my mind to concentrate on reading, so I searched for something with lots of images that I could admire. I found a copy of Black and White magazine, but rather than nude photography, it featured photographs from all of the world of various scenes: geography, landscape, architecture, people and more. I had to step across a pond with a wooden step in the middle, through a small crowd, to reach the magazine, and by the time I bent over to pick it up, it had turned into a pair of shoes. I picked up the shoes and looked at them, but couldn't remember why I wanted them for the flight. I decided to leave the shop, stepping back across the pond and through the small crowd. I had to ask an elderly lady if I could get past her, and she turned to her friend and remarked that I sounded just like her when she was younger. I couldn't hear any resemblance between my voice and hers and I walked out of the shop with the memory of her aged body clad in a red skirt, a white blouse, a cardigan and sensible shoes. The dream seemed to skip and I was underground in a subway that connected Fortitude Valley and Brisbane city. Attached to the underground railway were tunnels, staircases, and a labyrinth of shops lining the walls. It was late in the day, almost evening, and I was trying to get home. The shops all looked fascinating and I thought that if I had realised that I could have walked so easily from the Valley to the city, I would make the journey more often. I needed to go through a door that led up the stairs to the street above, but the door was closing. I raced over and the man let me through but only just; the door grazed the sides of head and pushed against my arms, slamming behind me. Once through, I walked up the stairs. The man followed me and made mention of his property in the Hunter Valley. He was much older than me and sported a grey beard. He gave me his card and suggested that I should visit he and his family down there. Back on the street in the dark, I tried to call B on my mobile, but every time I entered the number, I pushed incorrect buttons. Time and time again, I attempted to make the call, but each time, I did something wrong and had to begin again.

disaster

We were sitting in a room with raked seating, much like a theatre or a cinema, except where the stage or screen would have been were giant windows looking out over Brisbane. We were high up as though the building was perched on Mount Cootha as we could see a great expanse of night sky. As we watched, aeroplanes passed across the skyline, flying in a line sloping up from left to right, having taken off at Brisbane Airport, until they disappeared out of view. From our vantage point, we witnessed one after the other, depart Brisbane. At first, they left only one every minute or so, but soon, they dovetailed one another, enormous people carriers flying in front of jets that were flying in front of domestic aeroplanes. There rose a sense of panic in the theatre: surely this couldn't be right. Planes were evacuating the city at an alarming rate as though something dire was about to occur. We wondered if there was enough air space and navigational space to allow for so many planes in the sky at once. Though the aeroplanes were a couple of kilometres from the theatre, we could see in some of the windows and identify the faces of passengers. There seemed to be lots of international jumbo jets carrying hundreds of people out of Brisbane. Suddenly, one of the large people carriers which seemed to be an American plane, exploded in the sky. I saw the faces of some of the passengers just a fraction of a second before it blew up and there was one man that stood out to me: a tall looking African American man of about 45 to 55 years old. We didn't know if the plane had been bombed or what had happened and the quiet panic that had been growing erupted into terror. I was desperate to find B and I thought she was sitting toward the front of the theatre, so I raced down the central aisle stairs to the front of the room. For a moment, as I stood at the front of the room, I realised that I was the only person running and I wondered if I had succumbed to panic too quickly, but there was little I could do about it. From there I could see B and ran up two steps to where she was sitting and ushered her out of her seat and up the aisle, back to where I had saved a spot for her. I didn't want to be apart in the face of disaster. She sat down then wanted to sit on right hand side of me as she wasn't comfortable on my left, so I swapped seats and covered her with a grey blanket to ensure she was comfortable. We then watched a news broadcast on a screen that appeared to the right of the windows where places still passed and sometimes exploded.

reckless driving

I was in Newcastle, standing outside the house my family built. A blue VW came along the street and parked outside. I don't know who was driving it. I jumped in and drove around the block a few times, pretending that this was the first time I had ever driven a car. I wanted to surprise my family with my seemingly innate driving skills. I was going a little too fast, steering wildly around the corners, but I was enjoying the ride. I drove further away, around the immediate suburb, sitting high in the seat as though perched on the car like riding a bike rather that sitting inside it. I then realised three things: I was not wearing a seatbelt; this was a manual car and, although in waking life I have driven manual cars for years, I could not recall how to change gears; and I couldn't reach the breaks. I hurtled along, looking for a good place to pull over so I could put on the seat belt but the suburb had developed a lot and was much busier than when I lived there, over twenty years ago. The road sides were jammed tight with parked cars or else had yellow lines and 'no stopping' signs, warning against parking. I slowed at the traffic lights using the upward sloping hill as a means to decrease my pace; they turned green before I could adjust the seat belt or observe the gears to jog my memory about how to drive this car well. I turned up the street toward home, again using the slope to decrease my speed, and saw another car driving in the wrong lane, heading directly toward me. I sounded the horn and the driver shifted into the correct lane, but looked at me, disgruntled, as though I shouldn't have honked. I then saw that the road was semi-blocked off and that police cars were manning the area. I was nervous as I drove through, aware that at any moment I could be stopped and booked for not wearing my seat belt.

giant wave of change

I was searching for a place that we could go for a few days to get away, hopefully by the sea. I searched the Internet but the places I found for the budget I had were inappropriate - temporary houses made of cardboard, run down hotels, or nice places near the water that were too costly. I can remember seeing the prices of the places listed change as I watched them, rising or falling unpredictably. Suddenly we were staying in a house on a bay. The house had a rather old feel about it and was furnished with 70s style lounge chairs and furniture in browns and green. I left the bedroom, walked into the living room where some of my family were seated, and went to look out the large glass doors. I could see a vast body of water and an old wooden jetty below the house, down a steep cliff. The day was overcast with a green tinge to the sky and the water looked deep and brownish green. I was trying to ascertain if it would be safe to swim here. I glanced into the far horizon for a moment when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, something move in the water below, perhaps fish jumping. I wondered if there was something under the water scaring the fish. As I looked, I began to make out a fish-shaped shadow lurking in the water. It stayed relatively still and I wondered if it was a shark. It became clearer still and I could see that it was a giant fish, much like a gold fish but perhaps four metres long, waiting in the water. Suddenly, I was in the water down below the house, swimming with my sister or my brother: there was only one sibling with me but at times it was one of them and then the other - they were interchangeable. We felt unsettled as we swam and then saw a huge king wave coming. I knew that there was something dire wrong with the environment, that this was a point of great crisis. I felt the pull and drag of the water as the wave approached so I grabbed my sibling's hand and we dived as deep as we could go whilst the wave thundered over our heads. Surfacing, I saw the wave hit the cliff on which the house was perched, the tip of the wave slamming into the house, water rushing in the open glass doors. We saw another wave approaching so again we dived, waiting for the wave to pass. We surfaced and saw a third wave about to strike; we gulped air deep into our lungs and dived a third time. This time the wave seemed to go on and on. I held onto my sibling, forcing him/her to stay below for fear of surfacing to soon and being crushed by the power of the mammoth wave crashing against the cliff. When we finally surfaced, we were out of breath but safe. There were no more waves visible against the horizon. We climbed out of the water and ran up the stone stairs cut into the cliff, all the way back up to the house. My brother/sister splashed straight through the house and out onto the street, searching for our family. Before joining them, I went first to the bedroom, wading through ankle-deep water, to check if my friend was alright, but the room was bare. I looked for my handbag so we would have some money but it was gone. I supposed my friend must have grabbed it for me. I went to leave but hesitated, trying to think if there was anything else I should take to help us survive what felt like disaster and imminent homelessness. I thought about taking thongs so I could walk on stones under the water in this changed landscape, but felt that my feet would adapt as we walked. I went outside and saw my family waiting on the other side of the street. My friend was with them but the handbag was missing. I ran over, anxious about the wellbeing of everyone but glad that they were all there, and my friend began to talk about feeling exhausted. I felt it was strange considering the scale of what had just transpired that my friend was focussed on her own concerns.

unsteady

B and I were visiting K, a close friend. We were sitting in her lounge room and her baby was sleeping in the adjoining bedroom. Her mother walked in and joined us. It didn't strike me as odd at the time though she is no longer with us in waking life. We had a good conversation and then it was time to go. B and K went into the bedroom to see the baby and I intended to, but as I stood I felt unsteady on my feet. I had to haul myself up, leaning heavily on the back of the chair, and then as I walked across the room, I stumbled into furniture. The mother seemed not to notice and continued chatting with me. I missed the opportunity to see the baby as I was far too slow moving and felt I couldn't trust my body not to fall and wake him.
Next B and I were travelling up a street in our neighbourhood. I experienced the same unsteady, giddy feeling and fell onto the ground. B helped me up and we were observed by an older woman who was standing at the front window of her art gallery. The gallery was in a terrace house and I could see that there were three levels: below ground, ground level and an upstairs level. I wanted to go in but thought it best that I should visit another time as I might knock something over if I fell again.

moving too fast and not getting in

I was travelling down a street in the suburb where I grew up. I was with B and we were moving with some speed. We were neither walking nor driving, rather we seemed to be propelled along, hovering slightly above the ground, as though riding a skate board but with nothing between our feet and the ground. As we passed the Uniting church, B detoured so she could have a look inside. I slowed down and waited for her out the front. There were several dogs tied up outside the church, all barking joyfully. I avoided the bigger dogs and moved slightly out of reach. One of the smaller dogs broke free of his leash and bounded over to me. I knelt down to pat him - he had wonderfully soft pale gold hair, almost like down, and a dear little face. When B came out, I introduced them. I was sorry to leave him. We continued on until we reached the Anglican church further down the road. We 'parked' outside and then went into the church hall. There were quite a few people there, all waiting for something to begin. My friend, G, was there, but where most people were waiting in the hall, he had taken up residence in the Sunday School rooms underneath the church itself. It grew dark and I wanted to find G. I went outside, walked down the back of the church and looked through the Sunday School windows. I could see G sitting inside talking with a woman I know. I wanted to join them so I knocked on the window and G pointed to the way in. I lay down on the ground and tried to squeeze through the small space between the window and the floor. It was quite narrow and I wondered how L had gone inside as she is both taller and bigger than me. I called out to ask if there was another way in. G pointed to a door. I wondered why he had not told me of the best way in earlier and if I should go in at all.
Next I was driving a big brown car. I am not sure what kind of car it was but it was old and cumbersome. I was having trouble driving as I couldn't see out the window properly and I seemed to have trouble handling the steering and reaching the brakes. I suddenly realised that I was driving from the back seat and my vision was obscured by the seat. I needed to climb into the front but I was having great difficulty as the car was moving at great speed and I was on a highway.

printer

I visited a printers where I was trying to source environmentally sound and inexpensive card and paper on which to print. To see the printer's stock, I climbed up a staircase in a warehouse space, up to the mezzanine level where the paper was stored in cartons and on racks. The paper I was looking for was off-cuts and seconds, destined otherwise for the rubbish heap. I was excited as I found so much that I could use, a plethora of weights, colours and sizes.
Next, I was downstairs in a different space, trying to call someone on the telephone. I felt a little cagey so I hid in the toilet cubicle to make the call. I sat on the lidded seat but then realised that everyone could see through the walls. I was in my old pyjamas. I understood that I was calling the printer.
Next, I observed a scene. The printer went home and his wife walked in. They lived in a large unit or a small house on a hill or cliff in the Hamilton, Brisbane, region. His wife told him that she was leaving him. Her reasons were unclear though she mentioned that he didn't take care of himself or their home, that she had had enough. I remember that she was quite attractive with dark brown hair, brown eyes and distinctive eye liner and shaped brows. She left. I could see that the printer felt mixed emotions; I understood that he had considered leaving for a long time but had delayed out of concern for his wife, and that he was somewhat angered that she had left him so readily and out of the blue. Nonetheless, he started a new life. He rearranged the rooms so that where her bedroom was, he now had a music room. He cleared things out and climbed up onto the roof to clean out the drains blocked with leaves. Water rushed off the roof where it had pooled, stagnant. He took a good look at his appearance and tended to his teeth, his hair and his health. It went on. Rather than witnessing the next phase of the printer adjusting and changing his life, I saw it written in chalk on a blackboard, rather like reading stage directions. 'music lessons, practises yoga, reads books, paints an abstract (it was very good), cooks ...' and many more. The blackboard changed into a newspaper and his story was published. I saw the newspaper pages blown by the wind through the city streets, and stick to people. Men with newspaper pages plastered to their chests, their faces, their suitcases. The news spread far and wide.
Next, I walked along Kingsford Smith Drive, his house up the steep hill on one side and the Brisbane river on the other. I walked until I found a block of units on the river where I would consider living. An old woman welcomed me - the landlord of the building.

perfect day

I was walking the streets of my childhood neighbourhood, up Bender away from my grandparents' house, and along Rae, past the school. I was walking home. There were two people also walking, people I had encountered on my journey, but I knew we would soon part ways. It was late in the afternoon and though it was winter, the day had a delicious balminess about it; whilst the sun shone hotly, a cool wind countered it. The blue of sky was so deep that it veered on turquoise. I felt an expectancy, a sense of well-being. I remarked upon the wonderful day to the two people walking alongside me. Though the man agreed, I could see that the woman felt no joy in the afternoon. Where I would usually want to help her see the beauty I saw and feel the happiness I felt, I wanted to leave them so they would not dampen my euphoria, my delight. I walked on homeward, basking in the afternoon and looking forward to the evening.

stealing

B and I were sitting on our balcony, talking. We heard a noise in the street, looked over the balcony wall, and saw our neighbours taking items from our car. They had their hands through the slightly open windows, stealing things. I screamed at them, telling them to stop. They poked around a little more and then walked off casually. We returned to conversation, and mentioned that as least now we knew who not to trust. We heard another noise and again looked over the wall. This time there were several men taking things from our vehicle; the car had now turned into a ute and they were lifting the tarpaulin, stealing items that were underneath. We both yelled out at them and then found ourselves outside on the street. B was fighting with one or two of them and a couple of the others grabbed me, threw me on the back of their ute and raced off down the street. One of the men guarded me and taunted me. I could see that he was unwashed and smelt of bad cigarette smoke. When they stopped at the lights at the other end of the street, I jumped off the ute and ran away as fast as I could go. The man chased me. The street turned into a staircase and I began to scale it but I felt I had chosen the wrong path as I was struggling to run fast up stairs and he was gaining on me. The stairs seemed to go on and on, one flight finishing and the next beginning. The man tripped at the bottom of a new flight of stairs, so I took the opportunity and pelted away. I raced back down the street toward home.

bathroom

B and I were staying in a hotel in Sydney. It was the early evening and it was dark outside. I went into the bathroom intending to have a bath but there was ankle deep water flooding the whole room. The bathroom was all white with two baths - a small triangular bath and a long and deep bath - as well as a shower, hand basin and toilet. I fetched B from the bed to look at the situation, but when we went back into the bathroom, the water that had covered the white tiled floor was gone and the larger bath was half-full of steaming hot water. I wondered who had filled the bath and noticed a door I had not previously seen, opening into the next apartment. I could hear a television and knew that someone was coming to have a bath. I was dismayed that the hotel had not told us that we were sharing a bathroom and it seemed very unusual, particularly as the hotel was rather opulent. I thought I might be able to squeeze in a shower before our neighbour returned to the bathroom, but she then walked in. B, she and I stood in the room, attempting to negotiate the situation. B and I had to be somewhere very soon and we both felt that we had been cheated by the hotel.