We had an extraordinary tempest the other night. It was the kind that you read about in novels, where the whole house is shaking under the tyranny of crazed unpredictable wind gusts and pelting rain. The elements always seem on the verge of breaking in and consuming all that is before them. Somehow the leaky lounge-room roof did not leak (a quirk of wind direction, I think) but the garden was inundated and the driveway partly washed away, as usual. Even today there are pools of water amongst the trees and everywhere is wet. The wellies are working overtime.

Added to the excitement of the elements was my getting the coronavirus for the second time. Like last year's visitation, it is not severe in terms of the symptoms. But it means isolating for a period of time, so I had to give up my shift on the Newcastle Herald yesterday, missed church today and will not be able to attend choir tomorrow. I'm sure that there is a lesson in this for me somewhere.

Ann and JJ have gone to Brisbane for a few days, Tom is at his mums, so I am truly isolated. I don't mind being alone though I do enjoy company, for are we not social beings? Perhaps tomorrow I'll record another episode of Writers.