But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself. He loved Big Brother.

Apologies for the late posting today, but I was otherwise occupied out at Hobart’s TECHNOPARK with the bigwigs from HQ, looking to solve all of the problems in our small part of the world. Unsurprisingly, my easy-going and gregarious nature (coupled with the tendency towards being an opinionated know-it-all) ensured that I was chosen as spokesperson for a number of the ‘breakout’ groups. This is just what you want when you’re on famine rations of sleep due to a new baby. I’d like to think that I battled manfully through the pain.

However, I do not want to talk about that this evening. I want to talk about the TECHNOPARK. I know what you must be thinking, but no, the TECHNOPARK is not some sort of supersized converted cattle shed cramming in the kids and pumping in equal parts bitchin’ beats, strobe lights and a cocktail of ketamine, ecstasy, methamphetamine laced with generous dosages of Viagra. No that’s not what the TECHNOPARK is about. [That said, a touch of this may have livened up proceedings somewhat.]

NO. TECHNOPARK is more a kind of gated community for boffins, eggheads, experts and skilled practitioners across the field. Think of it as an intelligence hub for high falutin’ ideas and creative responses to complex problems. It is a place for forward planning, future proofing, skilling up, problem solving, naming up, action items, blue-sky thinking, taking ownership, core competencies, strengthening linkages, best practices, deepening engagement, broadening directions, critical masses, narrowing focus, establishing pathways, integrating services, unpacking ideas, gaining traction, quality assurance, evidence based practice, decentralising knowledge bases, empowering from below and leadership from above. Most of all, it is about thinking the unthinkable.

I am sure that you can imagine how that went. That said, I did enjoy my time at TECHNOPARK tremendously. Located in Hobart’s norther suburbs, on a beautiful stretch of the Derwent River, it features the astonishing juxtaposition of untainted wilderness on the magnificent eastern shore (where I live), and the rugged heavy industrial moonscapes of the western shore (where they live). Environment, industry and right in the middle you have TECHNOPARK: the future, and the hope for all of Tasmania’s children. Here we are solving all the problems of the world (with tea, coffee and light refreshments).

It was a very empowering experience.

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

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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