Today is my last day at my Canberra job. For six months I showed up there for five and a half, six hours a day, five days a week, all of which I promptly forgot the moment I left the building. I think the air conditioning had something to do with it.

It's been a good job. It paid for MacBain, half a tattoo, a whole bunch of those high-end shampoos I consume with the Freudian zeal Imelda Marcos brought to shoes, and many, many, many cigarettes. I like jobs where you can learn things. I learnt in my old job that the way to get babies out of the mouth of a mouth brooding fish is to hold it up by the tail over a bucket and squeeze its cheeks. I learnt in this job that Tasmanian Devils get a kind of infectious cancer, where the tumours are friable and crumbly, so when the devils get in fights and one bites the other the tumour breaks off in its mouth and burrows in, starting a new tumour.

The other thing about Sydney that I didn't tell the internet about is that I met a giant cuttlefish at Sydney Aquarium. He was beautiful and brown, and kept touching the glass delicately with his tentacles. I had brief, powerful fantasies of diving into the tank, tucking the cuttlefish under my arm and making a break for it. I'd sprint out to Darling Harbour, dive into the water and the cuttlefish and I would drink rum and carouse under the sea. I still want to do that. I get the feeling he'd be up for it.

I'm shit scared about moving to Melbourne, but don't tell anyone.