...thirdly you must hate a Frenchman as you hate the devil!

It was by fortune alone that I happened upon this scene today. Alone in the office, I chose to lock up, take in some air, sling the camera over the shoulder and go for an afternoon stroll during my lunch break. And wouldn't you know it, an entire flotilla of all sorts of ships, boats and all manner of pleasure craft appeared before me!

I felt like Themistocles at Salamis or Nelson at Trafalgar! Only with less bloodshed, and cannons and stuff.

It’s the Australian Wooden Boat Festival, you see. Wooden boats as far as the eye can see!

If you watch this space, I’ll drip feed you some boats...

Comments

USelaine said…

Ooo! Love a good wooden boat, especially the tall ones.

6 February 2009 at 16:28

red dirt girl said…

oh sighs.... more sighs ..... no sight such as this outside any door i walk through ....

already i am thinking english romantic painters ... like JW Turner ... give me time, i might think of more.

6 February 2009 at 17:32

Kris McCracken said…

Elaine, then you need to get down to Tasmania real quick. It runs to the 15th!

6 February 2009 at 18:13

Anonymous said…

I like these wooden boats, but we have not any similar festival here :( what kind of prize u mean? :D

6 February 2009 at 20:13

Kris McCracken said…

Red dirt mule, close your eyes and try to imagine it!

7 February 2009 at 16:00

Kris McCracken said…

Tehran Daily, it's only every second year here. I was thinking an architectural prize or something like that.

7 February 2009 at 16:02

red dirt girl said…

as you might have noted, a mule is no good if she's a'wearin' blinders, so i do appreciate the additional photos - gorgeous boats - all - except for that monstrous 'tuna can of the seas' touristy thing ....

rdm

7 February 2009 at 16:26

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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