Mũici ndathiragwo nĩ marĩ hĩndĩ

I realised that I have failed to post anything regarding Henry's birthday presents and his new found vocation. Let me correct that immediately! As you can see in the above photograph, on the morning of his birthday, Henry awoke to find his father almost complete in the construction of his very own stove!

Inspired by the work of Jamie Oliver, although much more similar in temperament to Gordon Ramsay, Henry (or Henri as he now insists on being called), has turned our living room into his own little Hell’s Kitchen. Barking orders left, right and centre, Henri has been churning out some rather fine examples of the culinary arts for the past week.

As any follower of haute cuisine will doubtless already know, the stakes are high in the modern, ultra competitive world of cookery. After less than a week, La maison de Henri has already picked up not one, but two Michelin stars. He’s been invited to compete in the world famous 料理の鉄人 (more commonly known as the Iron Chef) and has two or three reality TV shows in the works.

I have great respect for the little bloke and all of his achievements, but I fear the negative influence of some of the more extreme television programs that can be seen around the globe. Case in point, upon showing him the Elmo cake, he let loose a stream of expletives, pushed me, and told me that I should be “f$%&#ng embarrassed showing people that”. He then threw his chef’s hat on the ground in disgust, took his shirt off, swore some more and then stormed out in a huff.

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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