Today was my last at the Sargeson flat; I'm now a Former Buddle Findlay Sargeson Fellow, no longer living among the birds in Albert Park. It was a frantic day, like all my moving days, involving manic cleaning (by T. Middy) and the proliferation of sheafs of paper, from receipts to photocopies to MS pages, all of which apparently needed to be stuffed into our luggage and dragged back across the Pacific.
This was my desk, early on in the residency, before it got messy and I bought a nicer mug.
I'm in my second home, the Koru Club, right now, waiting to fly out, having spent the last of my NZ cash-in-hand on reflexology. (This is why I don't own a house: I take the Jack-and-the-Beanstalk magic-beans approach to spending money.)