Learning is not compulsory... neither is survival.

...Now bear in mind that we began out ascent of the great behemoth at 10:43. We reached the summit at 10:59. The snow started to fall at 11.10. Our decision to abort the mission and leave in the face of gale force winds and increasing snowfall (as evidenced in the top photograph), was taken at 11:23.

It was at this point that Henry turned to me and said - in a French accent, oddly - "Daddy, Henry a bit cold".

So we headed back.

Here is the view from Henry's window as we endeavoured to manoeuvre our way out of the pickle we found ourselves in. Even the normally stoic Elmo was a little perturbed by the tempest that had arisen around us.

I will not lie to you, there were tears. A quick slap in the face from Henry calmed me down however, and we made our way gingerly back down to civilisation (via the bakery). To emphasise the shifts in weather, the photograph below was taken at 11:41, just eighteen minutes after the one at the top of the post. Finalmente!

Having learned our lesson, we begged her forgiveness. In her mighty majestic manner, she gave it freely.

On the way back, we sat in silence and considered our near brush with DEATH.

That's not quite true actually, we had Justine Clark's I like to sing on the car stereo, and I've not had a moment without the bugger circling my brain since.

But that, as they say, is another story.

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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