I am in Ballarat. Eventually there will come a time when a conference of computer scientists eventuates in the vicinity of Ballarat, and when that day comes, as it surely must, I shall not be accounted among the unready. I know this of a certainty, for I have a special bag and my name on a loop of string to go around my neck, and a booklet that says the conference starts tomorrow.
I shall shortly go to explore the many attractions offered by the bustling metropolis of Ballarat (population 91000, according to the woman who drives the university’s bus as a part-time job). Apparently it is a place so exciting that the university was forced to set up its campus some kilometres down the road. They have set up a little village of cinder-block flats (one of which I am occupying this week), lest the students forego their studies for the temptations of the Ballarat Gold Museum, or the Sovereign Hill Historic Re-enactment Tourist Village Place. For my part, I am going to visit the Art Gallery.