SEX AND DEATH

Talk about the roaring forties! It was raining sideways when we stepped off the plane despite days of chatty emails about how gorgeous and sunny Hobart was. And it just got worse. By the next morning it was down to 4 C and it felt like Ushuaia with that strange low light, or anywhere in Finland. The front was moving through they said.

There's a conference on. One session flushed me out - 'End of Life Issues' with a colleague and outspoken director of intensive care alongside someone I've always wanted to hear live. That's tomorrow afternoon. The other and main reason was MONA. It's sucking them in alright. Off we all went last night, bussed down because the ferries had been cancelled. The forties still roaring. Mind you, catastrophe at the pontoon would have been cheaper: for 75 bucks we could have gone and stayed. Brilliant.

No, I'm not one for these work functions which are usually to be avoided like the plague. The last I graced was a World Congress in Paris. Then the evening reception was in the Louvre and where in something resembling a scene out of Holly Dolly, except with exceptional panache and style, handsome svelte waiters with trays of deliciousness over the heads made endless passes under the pyramid before anyone could go anywhere in the museum and I spent the night alone in the Egyptian section. Alone as one can be in the Egyptian section not alone at night.

I have to say MONA gave that memory a run for its money. Speaking of money - when you develop the algorithm which beats the odds, it's not only international attention you attract.

It's pretty in your face, looking at the dark side, sex and death.

We're going back today.