January 26, 2006
Naturally, in the great tradition of stinking hot Straya Days of the past, it's been too hot to think.
Your mum and I spent most of the day huddled around the Kazakhstani airconditioner and watching mediocre television. There was a brief respite of thunderstorm, but not enough to clean the wretched heat from our sweating forms.
I'm writing this at 1030pm.
It's 30 degrees outside (that's 86 for our northern compadres)
I was going to write something about national identity and patriotism vs nationalism, but I think I'll save it for tomorrow when I'm in an airconditioned office instead of a hothouse.