During the comedy festival, my head empties itself of all useful information in order to make way for budget considerations, house sizes, other peoples' names, news on whose show is doing well, what's going on with the actors, what's going on with the reviews, how much sleep I can squeeze in between appointments, and whether or not I can stand to eat one more roast potato from the place on the corner.

That's why I love coming to Sydney for the writers' festival. My empty head has to expand (I'm like a lollypop at the moment). There are sessions about war, environment, history, memory, disease, humour, kids, adults, families, wars, fascism, politics, music, science, space and time.

We're about to go and check out the Press Photography exhibition, which is always very sobering. Not sure if the learnings will fit inside my skull, but I'm going to give it a go.

By the way, I'm on timed internets here, so please excuse the shambles.