Welcome to Unmade, written early this morning at rainy Sisters Beach, Tasmania. While I was away in the UK, and the East Coast was taking its battering, our tanks ran dry, twice. Now I’m back for a while, and so is the rain. Hurrah, and also, drat. Domestic travel isn’t yet as automatic, or relaxed, as it felt before the pandemic. There were far more anxious moments in the simple trip than there used to be. I arrived at Sydney’s domestic terminal a couple of hours early, having heard the horror stories about security queues, only to breeze through in a couple of minutes.