The galahs love the green bindi eyes. Small flocks graze in the paddock and have every day for the past week. The bindi eye seeds must be at their most delectable. Our galahs love them too. As many as they eat it seems we'd have no bindi eyes left. Yet every year we have more than the previous one. They're just getting to the point where it is painful to pull them up as the hardening burrs stab ones fingers. I collect a bowlful for the birds on the verandah. The plants looks soft and feathery now but later on when they've dried and break free from the flattened brown disk they'll coat the bottom of ones shoes to the point in a solid mass of needles.

We are very concerned about Algernon. He has a possible broken leg. It is not weight bearing. He is dragging himself about with his beak and is loathe to move once he has landed. In the vain hope that he'll understand my intention I have put a cocky cage on top of Marvin's aviary. In it is a feed cup full of seed. I spoke to him at length yesterday about why he needed to climb into the cage and allow himself to be caught. Perhaps it won't work but there's no harm in trying. He really needs to have that leg seen to. Perhaps it can be pinned or splinted. There is no obvious wound on the outside, no obvious swelling but it might be broken up at the joint nearest the body. I suspect he had a close call of some sort for on the right side of his head are new sheathed blood feathers coming through. What caused it, I don't know.

W is coming tomorrow for a day or two. I am going to offer her this computer. Once my new one is up and running there is no need to keep this one as well. If she takes it, learns to use it, it would be an ideal way to keep in touch. If she doesn't take it, I'll keep the keyboard, the mouse and the monitor as spares and ditch the CPU.

Had a lovely moment with Jake this morning. He made his usual aggressive overtures when I put his pellets out (that is still a battle of wills as I refuse to succumb and give him seed in the morning and he, just as stubborn, refuses to eat pellets - I do give him perhaps a teaspoon of seed mixed with the pellets but that's only an appetizer, not the meal). Anyway, he was on his perch waiting for me to leave when I noticed him blinking and wiping his eye on his wing. When I peered closer I could see a cobweb across his eye. "Would you like me to get that for you?" I asked. He didn't answer but he remained still so I slowly reached up, luckily got the end of it which was about a quarter inch above his eye, and pulled it away. He didn't budge. I was so pleased. Shows a small degree of trust.

We've been up to Toowoomba to get a memory device so that I can save everything on this computer and transfer it to the new one. As usual I am hesitant about breaking it out of the box and giving it a go in case I have another IT wobbly.

The other night I decided I'd give the hated Ipod another go. It had been packed away in a safe (for it) corner of the furthest cupboard. I'd had such a problem with it that I was sorely tempted to stomp it to death. As a good newbie I went to the website for the beginners beginner instructions. It said to download the itunes software. I should backtrack a bit. The ipod instructions said to plug it into the computer. That it should charge (from blinking orange light to serene glowing green) in about 4 hours. Eight hours later it was still winking sly smug orange blips. Okay, take a deep breath, it'll be right in the end. When I downloaded itunes, taking over an hour to do so, the light glowed briefly green then reverted to orange. Arrgh! And, to make matters unendurable, the itunes software at the very end said it had been incorrectly downloaded and must be done again.

I have not crushed the ipod under my disdainful heel. It sits on the desk in a tangle of white wires and wormy alien earpieces, waiting.

Am reading two books by John Updike; The Widows of Eastwick and a collection of short stories about the Maples, describing the marriage, divorce and grandparenthood of two people amazingly called...The Maples. The Eastwick story is a good story. The writing is fine but it doesn't hit me in the solar plexus like The Maples does. The writing doesn't intrude because it is so good but a part of me can't help but gasp - even as I race ahead with the story - at the beauty, observation and tightness of the writing.

Under the influence of Updike I walked to lunch as an observer of life rather than as a silent screen audience of my own thoughts. There was a man sitting on a wooden bench across from the entrance to Crazy Prices. He had on a forest green tee shirt which served to accentuate the soft tyre of fat around his belly. He was eating chips, completely engrossed in picking out an attractive one and then putting it to his lip. Would he only eat the most attractive fattest chips? Was he a connoisseur of mini fried potato girders? For a moment I wanted to walk over and gently poke his stomach, knowing my finger would disappear up o the second or third knuckle, and say perhaps you should lay off the fast food. I didn't of course.

When I returned the chip cup sat dead center of the bench. He was not a connoisseur after all. The cup was empty.