This morning I found yet another diary. It had slipped down the back of the bookcase and was just barely visible. Dated 1979, it contained short daily entries on my life, with occasional comments where space permitted.

One thing that astonished me was just how busy I was. This being my final year of my BA at UNSW, there were plenty of uni and class related jottings, but beyond that, were a plethora of entries about theatre, classes, meeting with friends for the cinema or lunch, parties, work commitments, adventures. In the first four months of the year, there wasn't a day when I was not doing something.

I really can't get my head around that. Sure, university was a great time for socializing and obviously I did, but this much? I guess my life has shrunk - so many of those friends rarely or never seen again as real life took charge, roads diverging irrevocably.

It makes me sad.