This picture is taken from the back of the Old Melbourne Gaol. I spent quite a long time reading all the exhibits on the walls, and was interested to see that it is possible, according to one death certificate, to die of too much 'self-stimulation'. We have a few regular visitors to our cell-block at home who might benefit from that little bit of information.

Australia was an adventure. Partly because I was escorting my parents on the Vancouver to Melbourne portion of the journey. My dad, who's now seventy, did very well, he was cheerful and excited to be going, but the trip brought into stark relief, for me, my mother's increasing mental confusion and emotional fragility. She had a couple of bouts of alcohol-induced tearfulness, which, to my chagrin, I found very annoying. I would like to think that I could be sympathetic, but I guess the past year or so of dealing with the emotions of drunks in cells, I find that I'm just not. You're drunk. You're crying. Yeah, you and all the other drunks. Oh, right. You're my mother.

There were funny moments, though. Mum has been given a walkman, and she likes it. She puts the headphones on and sings along. People gave her some funny looks. Also, on the plane when she was listening to her music, she kept thinking of things to say to me, while she was still hooked up to the walkman, and yelling them in my ear. At one point, when the flight attendants were about four rows away, she suddenly shrieked, "Tell them I'll have white wine!". Everyone around giggled, even the happy flight attendants (Air Pacific cabin crews are the most laid-back on the planet) but then when they came by, they gave her red wine and she didn't notice until my father pointed it out.