It is an expression of bureaucratic Existentialism. It exists without existing.

I am still winging my way to Canberra here, this time from Melbourne airport. As you can see, there was a bit of cloud.

Yes, in response to a question asked by Willits’ finest blogger, USelaine, Canberra is one of those artificially constructed artefacts of the decision-less decision made (not made?) years ago.

The title today is a comment on Canberra from Malcolm Muggeridge, a noted political commentator here from last century here in Australia.

The story of Canberra is far from interesting, fitting to the town. When the Australian colonies decided to federate, you can imagine the keen debate around which of our fair cities would be chosen as the national capital. As the city of Burnie (declared by the Queen herself, no less) was still in its formative years, the decision was made to bypass Tasmania altogether.

That left two candidates for the new national capital. At the time, bloated a gold rush and a superior code of football, Melbourne was Australia's largest – and wealthiest – city, and the standout candidate for the capital. However, dodgy pastoral interests in NSW (the largest colony) and (to a lesser extent) Queensland, favoured Sydney – which was older (and seedier) than Melbourne, and the only other sizeable city in Australia. The intensity of the Sydney-Melbourne rivalry was such that neither city would ever agree to the other one becoming capital.

This dispute, and the lack of Burnie as an option, a compromise was reached! Melbourne would be the capital on a temporary basis while a new capital would have to be built somewhere between Sydney and Melbourne. To sate the egos of the arrogant New South Welshmen, the Australian Constitution specified that the capital must be placed in a Commonwealth territory within New South Wales, but at least 100 miles from Sydney!

Committees are great things. I am not certain whether they served cake or not when agreement was reached.

Still to come: more of the THRILLING and SHOCKING truth behind Canberra!

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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