Brisbaniana

I'm up in Brisbane, for Lynne and John's housewarming and the Brisbane Writers' Festival—pure indulgence-and-professional-development-of-course. We've had two summery days but today is grey and cool looking, perfect for festivalling.

Wednesday night we went to the Premier's Awards announcement, Peter Beattie's last public engagement before handing over to Anna Bligh. I knew I wasn't going to win the Steele Rudd Award, but there's no shame in losing it to David Malouf, is there! Particularly when he says nice things about his peers on the shortlist. And you're thinking, 'Peers! Grovelling fangirls, maybe.' It was a nice event. The State Library of Queensland is a fabulous building; I'll do more wandering around it and marvelling today.

Yesterday Harry and I ferried up and down the river and walked for hours through gardens and city streets. We saw Peter Beattie again, announced well ahead of time by media vans and scrums. And we got a touch sunburnt—the novelty! Then last night I went with Lynne to her yoga class and gave my walked-out legs some more grief, poor wobbly ol' things.

Today I'm going to at least two sessions, The Passion of the Pen: Why Writers Write, with David Malouf, Patrick Gale, Damon Galgut, Elizabeth Stead and Jenny Pattrick (chaired by David Carter) and Stories from History: Authors and Historians Dig Up Stories, with Jenny Pattrick and Chris Turney.

Plus being a lady who lunches. This is the life.