Have you been half asleep and have you heard voices? I've heard them calling my name. Is this the sweet sound that calls the young sailors?

I was greeted with a far lovelier scene out on the fire escape this morning. No doubt, you will recall the snow photographed yesterday. Well, it is still there! Only this time, it had a friendly rainbow there to keep it company.

I want to share with you all part of my day. I just went to a launch of a campaign designed by, and aimed at, 'young people'. It was an open thing, hip and happening. There were TV cameras there, lots of money thrown at glossy brochures, stickers, stick-on tattoos, a new-fangled website, carry bags, magnets, the lot. The central component is a website projected as a 'multimedia portal for young people by young people' and by and large, they have done a reasonable job in their task, I wouldn't want to suggest otherwise.

The thing that I have to note though is the audience. As I said, it was an open launch that was promoted widely. There were tables full of grub and drink for people to pick over. So who was there?

Conservatively, I would wager that (paid staff of the launching organisation exempted, also noting that I myself was there as part of my job), at 31 I would have been the youngest by at least 20 years. In terms of non-drug and alcohol sector employees (the 'general public'), the average age of the punters would have been 75. This would be the long familiar crowd of bored, lonely and (most of all) hungry that attend free events for a feed and a chat.

Question of the day? Well, after a half-hour multimedia extravaganza – a rich visual and audio walk through the site and all of its features – one old dear said, (and you really have to read this in a withered old ladies voice), "one question young lady, has all of this got something to do with computers then?"

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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