16,352.2 km to belfast
Christmas Day. In the pool at six, Kirra in tinsel again, the boys from Galway or ones very like them in the water by nine.
Bridie rang at seven. Christmas Eve for her, eight o'clock, and she'd been to the leisure centre that afternoon because the place was empty. Her card had come the week before, a robin on the front and writing on every bit of the inside, round the edges, and up the back in very small letters. Mine to her was the same, she says. Neither of us has learned to write less.
She's at 220.0, counting that afternoon. Lachie says her pin is right beside Edinburgh Airport and she ought to get on something.
Me 538.8. Prawns, ham, the pavlova cracked. Lachie flew the drone into the jacaranda again, on purpose this time, he says.