This is my writing place, the place I sit to feel like I’ve never written anything in my life. I put a mandala from a friend’s mother, Bernadette, Laila’s mother, there a few months ago. I am pretty sure it works, although I don’t know precisely what it does. All of those shelves are triple or quadruple booked, and I will find you anything in there in less than a minute. Don’t ask George about this. In the bottom shelf there’s a plastic Coles bag with two copies of my book, The Open. On the desk is a ceramic hand. When my friend, Ruth, came into this room, many years ago now, the first thing she said was, cool hand. There’s a Conrad book I haven’t read next to where my laptop usually sits. There are a few Adorno books on the floor, at the foot of the desk – these I’ve read lots of times. The ones I read are on the floor, not the desk. Next to Rosa’s bee.