See the Bombers fly up, up...

What a big week in footy! The Bombers flying high after thumping North Melbourne, the Tigers spoiling cheating Carlton's party, Melbourne appearing to throw in the towel for the 2008 season about seven minutes in, and the Sydney Swans endeavoring to lift the ratings for SBS's bigamy melodrama Big Love with their special brand of "football".

The sense of excitement has only been heightened with a strong start to the tipping season for our mob, with four tied all on top with a very impressive six from eight, with the inexperienced Henry, pregnant and fatigued Jenry and the unfortunate exile in the city of sin Good Parson Edgar Freelove hot on the heels only one tip behind. This could turn out to be the closest tipping year on record.

A scan of the post-round wrap up in tomorrow's fish and chip wrappers has thrown up an early candidate for comment of the year. The newcomer to footy coverage, the Herald Sun's self-professed girly-girl Miss Saints aptly captured the mood of the Saturday night blockbuster:

[A] big thumbs down to Sydney, and my pity goes out to Sydney supporters who have to watch that kind of game every single week. The Swans lulled the entire Telstra Dome into a Sleeping Beauty-esque doze, with their dull, slow, and monotonous playing style. At least the Saints drummed up some excitement towards the end, because Sydney certainly weren’t planning on doing anything interesting.

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If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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