Skip to main content

It is easy to be nice, even to an enemy — from lack of character.


Here is a seagull ably keeping guard over a pirate brig down on Elizabeth Street dock. He's a good lad, fit, keen of mind and body, the ideal crew mate really. Quick to action, and has a temper. Oh we've had some scrapes over the years!

There was a nasty incident involving a parrot, a spilled mug of grog and a broken cutlass back in Nombre de Dios that meant that we had to high tail it and lay low over in Port Royal for a couple of months. Jimmy got killed and Javier was flayed by some cannibals.

We can laugh about it now, but at the time it was terrible.

Comments

Roddy said…
Shiver me timbers me boy. 'Tis a fine lookin' vessel y've got there. Jonathan Livingston I'm sure on the gunnel. Have ye a sailin'date? Do ya need a motley crew? Me, Henry and Ezra just t' name just three. Show me ya articles and I'll sign on.
KL said…
Australian Seagulls are indeed very beautiful (at least compared to the American ones). Here they don't have such red feet and beaks.
Kris McCracken said…
Roddy, Jonathan wouldn't have lasted three seconds.
Kris McCracken said…
Steffe, quite right too.
Kris McCracken said…
KL, Tasmanian seagulls are the finest in the world!

Popular posts from this blog

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

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

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut